Mad Gaters

Six Going on Twenty-Six

2007-10-07T20:25:30Z

Title: Six Going on Twenty-Six
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R for language
Category: Humor, Angst, Crack
Summary: The truth was there were much worse curses than this.
Author's Notes: This is another brainchild of Layton's. *g* She was kind enough to drag me along for the ride. ;)

Because several people have asked, no, we will not allow anyone to take our stories to translate and post onto other websites/forums. Thank you for the offer but we want full control of our stories so no, we won't be giving control of them to anyone.

The truth was there were much worse curses than this.

There was one that would turn the recipient into a bunny rabbit, old movies got that much right, animal spells were more common than most. There were curses that caused death or misfortune, disfigurement or disembodiment.

All things considered, Sam decided, Dean had gotten off light.

He just didn't seem to see it that way, and Sam's laughter probably wasn't helping.

"Seriously, Sam," he said. "I will kill you."

"That would be more menacing if you weren't four feet tall," Sam told him.

Dean pointed at him. "Fix this," he said.

Sam bit his lip, because this wasn't funny, it wasn't. Dean getting turned into a six year old was a logistical problem, and he needed to focus. He really needed to resist the urge to pat his head and offer him a coke, because in a body twenty years too young or not, Dean would probably take his hand off at the wrist if he tried.

"This really is your own fault," Sam told him. "I warned you about mouthing off to a witch."

"Witch. Ha. She's an old crone with a penchant for black magic, and when I find her, she's dead."

"Well, at least you're still you," Sam said.

"Damn right I am, bitch," he snapped, but he had a little bit of a little boy lisp, and Sam nearly bit through the skin of his lip to keep from smiling at the sound. "So you just remember who's in charge here."

Sam shook his head in exasperation. Dean was really the only person he knew that could find trouble like this.

They had visited Merin last night, an old contact of their father's known to have dabbled in the dark arts, because she was the only suspect in the latest spat of suspicious disappearances

She denied any knowledge of anything at all, including witchcraft, despite the altar hidden in the corner of her living room, and Dean had reacted to this lack of help rather badly and true to form, by insulting her ancestry and her work, and demanding she tell them what they wanted to know.

Merin had pointed at him and labeled him an insolent child that hadn't changed one bit since John Winchester first pulled him through her doors, and then said he'd get what's coming to him.

Sam had tried to smooth things over and get Dean the hell out of there before she did something they'd regret. He'd thought they'd dodged a bullet.

Right up until Dean had woken up looking like Dennis the Menace in clothes about four times too big.

"We're going to need guns," Dean said earnestly, and he was staring at the table with a focus that was disturbing framed in a face so young. "We still have that small pistol dad taught us to shoot with?"

"You're not getting a gun," Sam snapped.

"The hell I’m not," Dean said. "I knew how to shoot since I was five anyway, and I'm not going back to that crazy weirdo's house unless I'm armed to the teeth."

"I'm sure if you just apologize," Sam started, but trailed off, because apparently Dean still remembered how to give death glares.

"She'll fix it if she knows what's good for her," Dean said. "'Cause if she doesn't, I'm going to shoot her, old buddy of dad's or not."

Sam shook his head. "No, we're going to do this my way this time. You tried doing it your way and look what happened."

"Stop blaming this on me," Dean snapped. "It's not my fault she's crazy."

Sam shook his head. "I'm going to go get the room for another day, since this case doesn't look like it's going to be as easy as we thought. I want you to stay right here, okay? You're in no condition to be going out alone."

"I got small not stupid," Dean snapped.

"I mean it, Dean," Sam said.

"Sure," Dean said. Sam walked out, but not without one last suspicious glance back at him, and Dean waited until he turned the corner before following him outside.

He saw a family getting ready to leave next door. There were two kids in the backseat of a Subaru, and the dad was half in the back, organizing suitcases. Dean grinned when he caught sight of the small blue suitcase still sitting on the sidewalk.

****

When Sam walked back into the room, Dean was sitting, legs out, on the farthest bed, cleaning a small gun and wearing a pair of jean coveralls over a small white shirt, with a blue baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes.

Sam let the door click closed behind him and glared at Dean suspiciously. "Where did you get those clothes?"

"Kid next door," Dean said. "Don't worry, they left. They won't notice it's gone till it's too late."

"You stole clothes from a little kid?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Well, I would have stolen them from someone older, but that would have kind of defeated the purpose," Dean said. "I don't like looking like a walking ad for Baby Gap, believe me, but I'm going to have to blend in."

"You're unbelievable," Sam said. "I told you to stay in the room."

"And what, you thought that suddenly I would start doing what you told me to?" Dean asked. "I'm not actually six, bitch."

"Stop saying bitch," Sam said. "It's creeping me out." Sam walked over and snatched the gun from Dean's hand. "And I said no guns."

"Wow," Dean said. "It's amazing how much you sounded like dad just then."

Sam's eyes narrowed, because Dean knew how a comment like that would be taken by him. "Considering you need me if you want to get anywhere at the moment, it seems it might be in your best interests to play nice."

"That's never been enough to get me to play nice before," Dean said, and that level of smugness from a six year old voice was more than a little unnerving.

"Maybe I should find you a babysitter and go alone," Sam said.

Dean pulled another small pistol out of his coveralls, and sat it on his lap while staring up at Sam. "I wouldn't," he said, "if I were you."

"You're so not scary anymore," Sam told him.

"Then let's do something about that," Dean said. He slid off the bed, since his feet couldn't reach the floor, and then started for the door.

Sam was quick to try and catch up, and it wasn't that hard, considering how short Dean's legs had become. He snatched the pistol from his hands, and stuck it down the back of his own jeans, near the small of his back.

Dean waited until they had reached the Impala before reluctantly surrendering the keys.

"I'm only letting you drive because I can't reach the pedals, but the usual rules apply, and if you so much as get one scratch on my baby I will have your ass in a sling, comprende?"

A passing woman threw Dean a look somewhere between indulgent and disturbed, and Sam shushed him urgently. "You have to act like a normal little kid," he hissed. "You look like a deranged kindergartner."

Dean just snorted and rounded the car. He crawled into the passenger seat without comment and Sam slipped in beside him, conscious of the pistol digging into his back, but though he wouldn't admit it to Dean, it kind of made him feel better too.

Sam pulled the car out of the parking lot, before glancing over at Dean. "Put your seatbelt on," he said.

Dean frowned but reached for it and pulled it down. Sam noticed it didn't fit him right anymore, but he knew how Dean would react to the suggestion he sit in the back.

"You're going to have to let me lead," Sam said. "Whether you like it or not, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, sure," Dean said, far too quickly, and Sam slammed on the breaks and swerved to a stop beside the curb. "Hey! Gentle, be gentle. She doesn't like it rough."

Dean reached out to pet the dashboard, and Sam's face scrunched up. It was disturbing enough to see Dean treat his car like a lover when he didn't look like a little kid. "Stop that, and listen to me," he said. "Until we get this figured out you don't get to leave my sight. I don't care if you like it or not."

Dean leaned back in the seat, sulkily, but nodded. "Whatever. Can we stop wasting time now? Are you done with your hissy fit?"

"My hissy fit--" Sam broke himself off, deciding not to start up another argument. "Yeah, okay. Going."

****

Merin's house was empty. Sam probably should have been less surprised.

"Son of a bitch," Dean cursed. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his coveralls and started pouting, and Sam's fondness for little kids fought to take hold again. He wanted to offer him ice cream or a toy truck or something.

Except he wasn't entirely sure Dean couldn't find a way to kill him even at his current size, his brother was nothing if not resourceful, so he kept his mouth shut.

"I guess we should have expected this," Sam said. Most of Merin's stuff was missing, including the altar that they'd seen when they were here the night before.

"She can run but she can't hide," Dean said.

Sam nodded, but wasn't quite so sure. They'd underestimated Merin's power if she could put this kind of spell on Dean, and there was no telling what spells she could use to hide herself. She could be anyone, for all they knew.

Dean's expression seemed to show that despite his usual bravado, he'd thought of that too and Sam finally caved, wanting desperately to cheer him up in what was a really disturbing paternal kind of urge. "How about I buy you an ice cream?"

Dean looked up at him with a vicious glare. "Do you really want to take me on?" he asked. "Because I'm at the perfect height to do a lot of damage."

Sam winced and took a half-unconscious step back. "Coffee?" he ventured.

"Coffee sounds good," Dean agreed.

Sam nodded, relieved, but said, as he started for the door, "You know you have to have decaf, right? No way I'm letting you get on a caffeine high."

****

When Sam was a kid, he'd had all his dinners at the cheapest diners in whatever town they happened to be in, and what he remembers most is Dean charming the waitresses, and always getting them that extra slice of pie.

Dean's tactics had changed a lot as he'd grown older, and he'd gotten past the whole little boy lost thing by age thirteen, where he switched tracks and starting imitating James Dean instead.

Now Sam could only watch in horrified wonder as Dean tried to flirt with their thirty-something waitress.

"Really," he was saying, "I'm older than I look."

The waitress laughed like he was the cutest thing ever, but totally not the way Dean was intending, before she turned to wink at Sam. "He's going to be a heartbreaker when he grows up," she told him.

"You have no idea," Sam muttered under his breath.

"What'll you have, cutie?"

Dean frowned a little, staring at his hands for a moment, as if it was just clicking into place why his foolproof routine wasn't working quite to plan.

"Dean," Sam prompted.

Dean glanced up, face scrunched in thought, and Sam couldn't quite fight the dopey adoring grin spreading across his own face, because he remembered Dean being this cool, untouchable older brother, grown up already at only six, and it was kind of weird to realize he'd been this cute.

"Coffee," he said, getting up on his knees on the booth so he could rest his elbows on the table. "Just coffee."

The waitress smiled again. "How about a hot chocolate instead, sweetheart?"

"If I wanted hot chocolate, sweetheart, I would have asked for it," Dean snapped, obviously at the edge of his patience, and the waitress's smile slipped a little, like she didn't quite think Dean was all that cute anymore.

She turned and raised an eyebrow at Sam and for a moment he didn't get what she was waiting for. Then it clicked. He cleared his throat. "Dean, don't talk to the nice waitress like that."

The look that Dean shot him was downright deadly and Sam took a moment to be grateful that he was the telekinetic in the family. "He'll have the hot chocolate," Sam continued. "I'll have a coffee."

"You got it, doll," she said, looking back at Dean with one more assessing glance before spinning on her heel to place their orders.

"I'm going to pretend that didn't just happen," Dean said, "so that I don't have to kill you."

"Getting a little carried away with the death threats today, aren't we?" Sam asked. "I think someone needs a nap."

"Oh, it's on now, bitch," Dean said, a little too loud, and most of the diners turned to glare at them both.

Sam leaned forward with narrowed eyes. "For Christ's sake, Dean, get a hold of yourself."

Dean leaned back and started sulking again, but didn't comment, so Sam took that as an improvement.

The waitress returned looking slightly wary and placed their drinks down on the counter.

"I'm really sorry about him," Sam said. "His last babysitter let him stay up and watch late night cable and I haven't been able to cure him of it yet."

The waitress relaxed again, smiling easily. "Oh, honey, they all go through a phase like that."

"They last longer for some than others," Sam said, shooting a glance at Dean.

Dean stuck his tongue out at him, which made the waitress laugh and just pissed Dean off more.

He leaned half across the table after she was gone and switched their mugs.

"Hey," Sam protested, but too late.

Dean had already tilted the mug back and drank it a fourth down. "I was lured here with the promise of coffee, and after the day I've had, I'm getting it. Enjoy the hot chocolate. I'm sure the waitress will give you marshmallows if you ask."

Sam let Dean drink the coffee, because Dean was kind of right and Sam was pretty sure Dean would snap if he tried to take it away. He dropped the money on the table when the waitress came back with the bill and then threw Dean a contemplative glance.

"Can I trust you to stay here while I go to the bathroom?" he asked.

Dean blinked at him. "Of course," he said.

****

He'd known it was dumb while he was doing it but Sam was still shocked at his own stupidity. Dean wasn't there when he came out of the bathroom. He was gone. Gone or taken and fuck, Sam was going to be the one issuing death threats the moment he got his hands on him because this was the last straw.

He might even have to spring for one those kid leashes.

Sam asked the waitress if she'd seen where Dean went but she looked as worried as he was and ended up being useless. Sam ran out the front doors, edging on frantic, because for all his talk, Dean was helpless at the moment and it had been Sam's rule in the first place not to let him out of his sight.

He saw a flash of a blue baseball cap and let out a sigh of relief, before pushing through the crowd of people on the street. The moment he reached him he grabbed Dean by the back of his coveralls and then picked him up.

Dean was so startled at first that his arms automatically went around Sam's neck, just so he could keep his balance. His surprise didn't last long, however, and his eyes went dark.

Sam didn't really care. He was pissed off too. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" he yelled.

"I thought I saw her," Dean said petulantly. "She was crossing the street and I couldn't wait--"

"Yes you could have," Sam said. "So many things could have happened to you that I can't even list them all."

Sam started back towards the car, trying to get his breathing under control, because he'd always hated not knowing where Dean was--those four years at Stanford had been like holding his breath, waiting for the bad news, because he hadn't known where to find him.

This was even worse. This kind of helped him understand why John would get so angry when he would take the bus because he wanted to go to open house at school or the science fair, and he was suddenly sorry for that, too.

Dean's small arms started to tighten uncomfortably around his neck, pulling Sam out of his musings and snapping him back to the present, reminding him of the fact that while he may be working through his anger, Dean was having a little trouble today managing his.

"If you don't put me down right now," Dean said, "I'm going to kill you and I'll get away with it cause I'm cute."

Sam let him down reluctantly, but grabbed his hand. Dean tugged at it experimentally and then glared up at him when he couldn't break free.

"Oh, hell no," Dean said, and then slammed the heel of his foot down on Sam's ankle, with enough force to nearly send Sam stumbling to his knees.

"God damn it, Dean!" he shouted, and a few people stopped and turned his way, looking at him like he was a monster for using such language around such an adorable little kid.

Dean just flashed the sweetest little smile that Sam had ever seen and said, nice as can be, "You'll have to excuse my brother; he's studying to be a lawyer."

Sam smiled awkwardly at the disapproving stares and grabbed Dean by the shoulder, bending over to hiss in his ear. “We’re supposed to be inconspicuous, remember? Someone’s going to call fucking social services if you keep this shit up, now knock it off!” He pushed Dean back towards the Impala, his grip tight making sure Dean didn’t take off again.

Climbing in and crossing his arms, Dean glared out the windshield—or rather at the dash as he was still too short to see over it. “We need to find this bitch and get her to reverse her mojo right the fuck now.”

Shaking his head, Sam started the engine, peeling out of the parking lot and heading back towards Merin’s place, muttering to himself about soap and a certain someone’s mouth.

Dean turned to glare at him. “What was that?”

Sam shrugged saying, “We’ll check out Merin’s again. We might have missed something the first time.”

****

A second search revealed nothing more than the first and Dean was livid, his tiny six year old hands clenched tight. “This is bullshit,” Dean shouted, his child’s voice breaking halfway through which just pissed him off more.

There was a knock on the door before Sam could even attempt to sooth his brother’s agitation and he pulled his gun, moving quickly to the side of the door, peaking out through the ugly red drapes Merin had on the windows. It was an elderly woman, about sixty-five. Dean could just see her out the bottom of the side window and he motioned to Sam to open the door. Sam rolled his eyes, placing the gun behind his back as he pasted on a smile and opened the door. “Can I help you?” he asked, polite as could be.

The woman looked startled for a moment before she smiled, nodding her head and taking a step closer. “I’m looking for Merin.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, “she’s not in at the moment.”

“Oh,” she said disappointed. “Well.” She looked at Sam appraisingly for a moment before asking, “Could you give her a message for me?”

Sam was nodding, trying to keep Dean away from the door with his foot. Behind him he could hear Dean snort before he received a vicious little jab to his hip and Dean was stepping around him to stare up at the woman.

“My,” she grinned. “What a handsome little boy. And what’s your name, sweetie?” Dean scowled, and Sam was tempted to hit him upside the head for once again completely failing to pull off the normal little kid routine. “Oh dear, you’re so serious,” she said, amusement clear in her voice.

“His name is Dean,” Sam said quickly. “Uh—what was the message you wanted me to give Merin?”

“Oh yes,” she blinked at Sam shaking her head a little as if to jog her memory. “Just tell her that Millie was by—she’ll know what for.” She gave a crooked smile and Dean frowned harder, taking a step back. Sam nodded and said goodbye, quickly shutting the door.

“There’s something rotten in the state of Louisiana,” Dean said seriously.

Sam snorted. “You’re paranoid. She was probably just one of Merin’s neighbors coming for tea or a card game or something.”

“Sure, Sammy,” Dean snapped. “And maybe her house is made of gingerbread too.”

Sam squinted at Dean, tilting his head to the side with a grin. “Are you comparing Millie to the witch in Hansel and Gretel?”

“Shut up,” Dean hissed, stomping towards the door. “Come on, we’ve got a witch that needs killing.”

“We’re not killing her, Dean,” Sam said with a long suffering sigh.

Dean reached up, grabbing the doorknob and yanked the front door open only to stop motionless to stare up at the man in front of him. He was hunched over and gripping the head of his cane in a gnarled, liver spotted hand. He squinted at Dean. "Who are you?"

"Who are you?" Dean snapped back and Sam took a step forward already prepared to explain away his brother's behavior. The old man grinned, reaching a shaking hand out to pat Dean on the head and Sam tried very hard not to laugh at the indignant look Dean shot him, or at the way Dean's small hands went to his hair after the man removed his hand.

"Can we help you?" Sam asked, drawing the man's attention away from Dean and towards himself.

He nodded, both hands now gripping the cane he had in front of him. "Where's Merin?"

"She's not home right now," Sam hedged, smiling charmingly but from the scrutiny he received in response he figured he hadn't succeeded—charming was more Dean's deal than his. So Sam went with his strength, looking earnestly at the man before them. "I can leave her a message—tell her you stopped by, if you'd like."

The man pursed his lips and Sam could see from the corner of his eye Dean scrunching his face up—the man obviously didn’t have any teeth. “You tell that missy Merin that that there hocus pocus she conjured up for me wasn’t worth its weight in horse piss. My poor Sara had her heart set on it too.” The old man winked at Sam and he coughed, folding his arms over his chest and not daring to look at Dean.

“Merin made you via—“

“Hocus pocus?” Sam asked politely, quickly cutting Dean off and the man waved his cane towards him.

“She’ll know what I’m taking about. You tell her Jeb was by and that I want my money back.” He turned slowly on the front porch making his way carefully down the steps as he muttered to himself.

When he was out of sight Dean spun to point an accusing finger at Sam, his voice squeaky in indignation. “I got turned into a fucking six year old by an old woman supplying the neighborhood with Viagra! We need to fix this yesterday, Sammy.”

Sam snorted, not bothering to hide his amusement. “We should get out of here before another one of her customers shows up.”

Dean stomped down the front steps and towards the car, grumbling all the way. “Why doesn’t this shit ever happen to you?”

****

Sam had capitulated to Dean sitting in the front seat, despite knowing that in a child’s body the safest place for him would be in the back. However he had been adamant about the booster seat knowing Dean’s seatbelt wouldn’t fit against his body properly without it. That didn’t stop Dean from throwing the mother of all hissy fits in the parking lot of the Wal-Mart Sam had picked the booster seat up from. But now he was sitting sullen in the seat, staring out the side window with his arms crossed and Sam was loathed to admit his brother was possibly the cutest kid he’d ever seen—in spite of the mouth on him.

Sam pulled down Taylor Street and eyed the field to their right. “Looks like they’ve got a circus in town,” he said casually.

Dean shot him a glare and turned back to the window. “Don’t even think about it.”

Grinning Sam shrugged. “Why not? It’s not like we got to many when we really were kids.”

“I haven’t been a kid in twenty-two years, Sam,” Dean snarled, bottom lip jutting out dangerously. If Sam didn’t know better he’d think Dean was pouting.

“I bet they have popcorn…cotton candy…” Sam wheedled, pulling the Impala into the lot. He figured Dean could use the distraction for a couple hours while he tried to figure out their next move. Merin had disappeared and at the moment they didn’t have a clue where to find her.

Dean struggled with the seatbelt, flinging the door open and hopping down off the booster seat and out of the car. “You’ve got a half hour to get whatever creepy ass paternal instincts you’ve got going on out of your system.” Sam protested but Dean just threw him a withering look that screamed of Dean—twenty-six year old Dean. “Keep it up, Sammy, and I will kick your ass.”

Dean submitted to being forced on the merry-go-round, giving Sam the finger on each pass, grinning deviously when the parents standing around Sam threw him a mix of half-sympathetic, half-horrified looks. When Dean stood up on the back of the fake horse, startling the other children and their parents, causing the guy working the controls to shut down the ride, he grinned triumphantly at Sam and hopped off the horse to stroll away from the rides leaving Sam to follow in his wake.

Halfway across the field and on their way back to the Impala they noticed a small crowd gathered around a tent. There was no sign above the tent but the line was quite clear. Sam tapped a woman on the shoulder, smiling as she turned. “Excuse me, ma’am, can you tell me what the line is for?”

She nodded a tight smile on her face. “Jenny and I are waiting to see Merin, just like everyone else.”

Sam looked down at Dean, eyes wide. “Think it’s the same Merin?”

Dean scanned the crowd, a dangerous glint in his young eyes. “Oh yeah,” he said and pointed to both Millie and Jeb closer to the front of the line. “This bitch has got some explaining to do.”

Sam sighed and then smiled brightly, trying to distract the two women in front of them from Dean’s twenty-six year old language. “Thank you,” he said, tugging Dean a little closer. “Merin is a friend of the family. We stopped by her house but she wasn’t home. I guess we got lucky.”

The women gave Sam a once over, their eyes falling to Dean for a moment before nodding and turning their backs to the Winchesters. Sam glared at Dean, rolling his eyes when Dean just shrugged.

The line went fairly fast and when they were a couple of people away from the front Sam looked down at Dean and whispered quietly, “You need to let me do the talking, Dean.”

Dean snorted, shaking his head. “Fuck that, Sammy. This bitch turned me into a kid. Ain’t no way I’m standing in a corner and being a good little boy.”

Sam knew Dean would argue, he was sure it was an inherited trait, but when they stepped inside the tent he grabbed Dean’s hand anyway, ignoring the tensing of Dean’s small body and moving quickly to cut-off any chance Dean had of causing him injury in retaliation.

Inside the tent was dimly lit with wispy gauze hanging in strategic places to give the tent an ominous feel. Beside him Sam could hear Dean snorting in disdain. Sam had to admit he agreed—the atmosphere screamed cheesy circus fortuneteller.

A few steps more into the tent brought into view a table, an altar off to the side and a very beautiful woman in her late thirties or early forties. Merin was nowhere to be seen.

The woman looked up when she heard them enter, her head tilting to the side with a smirk. “Welcome,” she said sweetly, motioning them closer.

“Hi,” Sam said cautiously.

“Where the hell is Merin?” Dean demanded and Sam sighed loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The woman laughed, her head thrown back. She looked at Dean with undisguised triumph. “Obviously you have yet to learn your lesson, Dean Winchester.” Sam’s eyes narrowed. There was no way this woman could be Merin, she was at least twenty years younger. “And you mocked my ability,” she shook her head before gesturing to herself and then Dean. “Now you see what I am capable of.”

Dean reached up and grabbed the small pistol from Sam's waistband, before cocking it and aiming it at her heart. "Want to see what I'm capable of?" he asked.

Sam easily reached around him and snapped the gun out of his hands.

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean shouted.

"Look," Sam said, trying to appease her, "Dean is very sorry for what he's done, and we'd like it very much if you could reverse this curse..."

"It wasn't a curse," she laughed. "It was a gift. You should be grateful, Dean, ordinarily, I charge 59.99 and I gave you yours for free."

Dean tried to climb up on the table and across it to get at Merin, but Sam grabbed him around the waist with one arm and lifted him back against him before he could. "In that case, Dean is very grateful, but he'd really like to be returned to normal now."

"Yeah, and we'd really like to know where you've been stashing all those disappearing people, you freaky bit-"

Sam covered Dean's mouth quickly. "And if you have any information about the recent disappearances, we'd be grateful for that, as well."

Merin smiled at Sam. "You're polite, and very sweet," she said. "But I'm afraid you misunderstand. My gifts cannot be retaken, they are forever. Dean will be himself again in twenty years."

"Shoot her, Sam," Dean shouted past the palm of Sam's hand. Sam reluctantly removed his hand and Dean's eyes narrowed. "Seriously, just shoot her."

"I'm not going to shoot her," Sam said. "Merin, please, I'm sure we can come to some kind of agreement--"

"Sam," Merin said softly. "You do not need to be here. There is nothing evil here. The people you think have disappeared are my clients--they are fine, better than they were before, younger."

"All those people that have gone missing, you just turned them into six year olds?" Dean snapped.

"No," Merin said, shaking her head. "My power can turn someone twenty years younger, but most of my clients are considerably older than you are."

"So they're all fine," Sam said, grinning. "That's great--"

"Forgettin' a little something there, Sam," Dean hissed. "This isn't exactly what I'd call a successful hunt."

"No one died, Dean," Sam said.

"We have different definitions of successful hunts," Dean said, struggling in Sam's hold. "In mine, something evil always dies."

"You're not killing Merin, Dean," Sam said.

"But I want to," Dean said, and it sounded suspiciously like a whine.

"Oh, honey," Merin said. "You wouldn't, even if you could. I know who you really are."

"Let me down, Sam," Dean said, wiggling. "I mean it!"

"Don't worry, Dean, you'll get used to it," Merin said, and then with a wink, she was gone in a cloud of smoke.

****

Sam had faced a lot of horrible things without flinching. He could meet a demon's eyes, no problem, face them down. But this. This.

Dean, six year old Dean, was crying.

"You should have let me kill her," he said between sniffles. "It would have made me feel better."

"Okay, Dean, man, look, you have to stop crying," Sam said. "This is probably just a side effect, you're fine, everything's fine, and ah, I'm sure there will be something for you to kill soon."

"You're just saying that," Dean said.

"No, no I'm not, Dean, it's true," Sam said.

"I'm stuck this way, Sam!" he shouted. "How am I supposed to go hunting like this? Dad didn't even let me tag along on hunts until I was twelve."

Sam sighed. "We don't know you're stuck this way, okay? Maybe there's a spell that can give you twenty years, just like there's one to take them away, or maybe there's some spell that can reverse any spell or--"

"Man, you're reaching," Dean said, swiping at his eyes to push away the last of the tears. "We both know spells can usually only be reversed by the person that makes them, and Merin doesn't know how, even if we could find her again."

"Maybe she was lying," Sam said.

"Which is why I wanted to shoot her," Dean said.

"She couldn't lift the spell dead, Dean," he said.

"Some lore says that if you kill a witch, it will unbind all of her magic," Dean said.

"What lore?" Sam asked, narrowing his eyes.

"What's it matter?" Dean asked. "It was worth a shot."

Sam sighed. "Look, let's just head back to the motel and try to figure something out, okay?"

Dean glared at him but started back towards the car. "And just so you know, Sammy boy, you ever pick me up like that again and I will kill you."

"Yeah, I know," Sam said, trying very hard not to laugh.

****

Sam knew they wouldn't be hunting anymore. He didn't care what Dean said, he didn't have the physical capability. They'd have to settle down, for a while at least, somewhere they'd go unnoticed. And wait for him to grow up again.

Sam rested his head in his hands, suddenly not as amused by the
situation as he had been.

He wanted his big brother back.

He put Dean on the bed away from the door and surrounded him with a ring of salt. Dean was dead asleep, tired out from navigating a world that had gotten so much bigger overnight.

Sam tried to remember everything he'd ever learned about spells, but they weren't really John's specialty, and they'd never had many
dealings with witches. John said it was best to leave them to
themselves, and from a man that wasn't afraid to face down werewolves or ghosts or demons, he supposes that said a lot about what they were capable of.

It was so stupid, walking into her house uninvited in the first place.

Sam doesn't really remember meeting her the first time, but Dean had no good thing to say about their last visit. He said he remembered graying red hair and pale blue eyes, long nails, all done up in black and blue, at least two rings on each finger.

And the blood on the altar, bones from a cat, a picture of the missing man they'd come to find.

John called her harmless. He said her magic never did a thing, at
least, not what it was supposed to, but it appeared she might have
learned a few new tricks in the intervening years.

Sam went to sleep wondering if maybe Dean was right, and they were out of options.

****

They packed up and got in the Impala at four in the morning, skipping out before they had to pay the rest of their bill. Dean looked sleepy-eyed and annoyed, readjusting the oversized clothes he was wearing – one of his own t-shirts and a pair of drawstring shorts he rarely wore but always seemed to have with him – sitting in the back seat because he'd thrown the booster seat out the window two miles back and Sam refused to drive with him in the front.

There was a woman walking down the road, framed by the orange sunrise, and Sam slowed to a stop when he recognized the dress.

Merin squinted at him through the driver’s side window. Her curly red hair had patches of dark and white grey, the skin around her right eye was wrinkled and shriveled and the eye itself was encased in a cataract.

The left side of her mouth had shriveled and turned down, but the
right side was smiling when she took a step closer. "Well well," she
said. "It's you. You're earlier than I was expecting."

Dean crawled into the front seat, grabbing the steering wheel for balance and glared out at her. "What the hell happened to you?" Sam tried to get Dean to sit down but Dean ignored him, waiting impatiently for Merin’s answer.

She laughed. "It seems my spell was not as permanent as I had believed," she said. "Good news for you, I suppose," she conceded a little ruefully.

Sam looked kind of horrified and Dean stiffened on the seat beside him. "It doesn't look completely reversed," he said. "What's--"

"Oh, don't worry, Dean will be fine," Merin said dismissively. "I've been trying to perfect the spell for years on myself. It's taken a toll. Seems my last round of customers have all been aging back almost overnight. Thought it was about time to move on."

Dean crossed his arms, sitting on his heels and eyed Merin speculatively. "You're lucky, you know that? If I was stuck like this, I was going to have to kill you."

Merin smiled her grotesque smile again. "Apologize," she said coolly.

Dean glared at her. "Why would I--?"

"Dean, do it," Sam snapped. "You know what happened the last time."

Dean frowned, throwing himself petulantly back into the passenger
seat with a grudging sigh. "Yeah. Okay. Sorry. Dad liked you okay, so I should have been nicer I guess."

Merin smiled, and Sam watched as like some trick of light, she looked young again, just for a moment. Then Dean was shouting and Sam was turning away, towards the sound and Merin was gone.

Dean was looking at his hands with a wide smile. "Oh thank god," he said, twenty-six again and laughing like he was still six. "It is good to be me."

Sam let out a relieved laugh. "See, I told you to apologize."

"Bitch, I will kill you," Dean snapped, untying the drawstring on the shorts and giving a sigh of relief, but he was still smiling ear to ear. “Now move over, I’m driving. My baby’s missed me.”

Brave New World

2007-09-30T21:54:11Z

Title: Brave New World
Fandom: SGA/SG1
Pairings: John/Rodney
Rating: R
Category: AU, Humor, crack, established relationship, friendship
Summary: We'll just run the city like the rightful rulers we are, and hopefully they won't even notice.
Author's Notes: AU from the end of S3. Co-written with Layton, aka Nixa Jane. This can be blamed totally on her and her very special brand of crack.

"Going somewhere?"

Daniel froze at the voice, a Trilian Death Mask hovering over a box scribbled with four hastily drawn ‘handle with care’s. "Jack," he said, setting the mask gently down and then looking up with a wide nervous smile.

"I know you weren't going to leave without telling me where you were going," Jack said.

"I said goodbye, remember, dinner last week?" Daniel asked quickly. "I paid. And then I said, 'goodbye, Jack'."

"I know," Jack said. "And then I called Hammond to see what was up with you, because you never remember that you have to actually pay to eat at restaurants."

Daniel sighed. "I know you don't approve," he said. "I asked Sam to tell you after I was gone."

Jack laughed. "I bet she was happy with you."

"She bought Teal'c an ice cream and got him to agree to tell you instead," Daniel told him.

Jack shoved his hands in his pockets and shook his head. "You should have told me yourself, Daniel."

"Look, I know what you're thinking, but this isn't like before. We can get to Atlantis by ship, we can use the gate if we have to, they've even just relocated to a new world, so the Wraith don't even know where they are."

"I've been to Atlantis," Jack said. "From my experience, it's not an altogether friendly place. You're not going."

"You can't tell me I'm not going," Daniel protested.

"Can and have. You're not going," Jack said. "Hey, what do you know, I just did it again."

"Weir stepped down, Jack," Daniel explained. "The IOA wants me to run Atlantis. I can't turn this down, I won't, and you can't stop me because this isn't military--"

"Daniel," Jack said softly. "Don't you have all the trouble you can handle already?"

"The Ori are gone," Daniel said. "The Wraith are still around and pose a more immediate threat. I go where I'm needed."

"Uh huh," Jack said wryly. "And I'm sure this has nothing to do with you wanting to live in a floating city."

Daniel stared him down, but his lips twitched. "Not at all," he said.

"Well, I can see I can't talk you out of this," Jack said sadly.

"No," Daniel agreed.

Jack nodded, then reached over and pulled Daniel into a hug. "Well, we had a good run, right?"

"Jack, it's not like I'm never coming back," Daniel protested, but Jack ignored him, pulling back and giving him a pat on the shoulder.

"I'll miss you, kiddo," he said, heaving a sigh and giving the room one last glance before walking away.

Daniel stood there for a moment, stunned, before shouting after him, "I'm coming home for Christmas, you know!"

-----

Daniel headed off to the gate room with the last of his things, suddenly depressed about his departure. He'd had himself convinced that it was just like any assignment--he used to go on digs that lasted years, and it took longer to fly to Peru than it did to walk through the gate to Atlantis, but Jack was talking like they were never going to see each other again.

His goodbyes to Sam and Teal'c had been casual and fleeting, all of them sure of seeing each other again soon. Vala had grabbed onto him sobbing and pleading with him to stay, but only because she'd been trying to steal his MasterCard so she could have some fun while he was gone.

He wondered if maybe he was becoming desensitized to this life, that he thought nothing more of a trip across the galaxy than just another assignment, admittedly the assignment of a lifetime, but--

"Jack?" Daniel said, bewildered, as he walked into the gate room to find Jack sitting on a crate munching on a power bar.

"Oh," Jack said. "Did I forget to tell you I'm heading up the military contingent on Atlantis now? Cool, huh?"

Daniel let out a breath. "I hate you," he said earnestly.

"Is that any way to talk to your new boss?" Jack asked. "Not making a good impression on your first day, Danny boy."

"Actually, sir," a young woman interrupted. "Dr. Jackson is in charge, since the Atlantis expedition is chiefly scientific."

Jack frowned at her as Daniel broke out into a smug grin. "Who are you?"

"Lieutenant Cadman, sir," she said, grinning widely. "This will be my third tour on Atlantis."

"Well, you're fired," Jack told her.

Cadman remained unfazed. "Yes, sir," she said before wandering back over to wait with the rest of new recruits.

Jack looked back at Daniel. "I don't think she took me seriously."

"She does seem smarter than most, doesn't she?" Daniel asked.

"Oh, shut up," Jack said.

"Is that any way to talk to your new boss?" Daniel asked. "Not making a good impression on your first day, Jackie-boy."

"Jackie-boy?" Jack repeated slowly.

"I was doing an impression of you," Daniel explained. "I couldn't very well call you Danny-boy, or it'd be like talking to myself."

"I think you've gotten weirder," Jack said, contemplatively.

"It's entirely possible," Daniel agreed.

"Look alive, people," Landry shouted from the control room. "We're dialing in five."

"You could have told me Jack was going!" Daniel shouted up at him.

Landry smiled down at him, and pulled the microphone closer. "It's more fun this way!"

"I think I hate him too," Daniel said sullenly.

"Daniel, you don't hate anyone," Jack said.

"I do. I hate the Goa'uld. And the Ori. And Vala. And you. And the Wraith. And now Landry." Daniel counted them off on his fingers, and then looked up at Jack and grinned. "Yep. That about covers it."

"Damn it, Jackson!"

Daniel looked up, eyes wide, as Cameron came sliding into the room, his jacket half on, Teal'c and Sam running in behind him looking apologetic. "Oh. Uh. Hi, Cam."

"Atlantis?" Cameron shouted. "ATLANTIS? I thought we were over Atlantis?"

"I'm guessing you didn't tell him, either," Jack said.

Daniel winced, and Cameron looked near tears. "What about SG-1? You can't leave! There's no SG-1 without you!"

"Hey!" Sam snapped, from behind them.

"I told you I had to do this, Cam, remember?" Daniel asked gently. "I bought you dinner, and then I said, 'goodbye, Cam.'"

Jack looked at him incredulously. "Seriously, how did you think that would work?"

"It was a good filet mignon, but I didn't realize it was a bribe!" Cameron shouted.

"Filet mignon? You took me to the Taco Shack," Jack snapped.

"You love Tacos," Daniel explained.

Jack nodded solemnly. "Okay, that's true."

Daniel turned back to the distraught Cameron. "Cameron, I'm sorry, really, and I've loved working with you, it was nice having a team leader that didn't treat me like I was four years old, but I have to go," Daniel said.

"Was that a dig at me?" Jack asked. "You sure have turned ungrateful all the sudden. And you owe me a filet mignon."

"People!" Landry shouted from the control room. "Pull yourselves together. We're going to start the dialing sequence."

Cameron grabbed onto Daniel's sleeve desperately. "Don't leave us!"

Teal'c grabbed Cameron around the waist and started pulling him back into the hall. "Farewell, my friends," Teal'c said.

Sam waved with a grin and followed them out.

"Write me!" Cameron called pleadingly before the doors shut behind them and the gate started to dial.

"That was a little weird," Jack said after a moment.

Daniel nodded. "Yeah. Cameron's very dedicated."

"Well, it helps if you're a little crazy in our line of work," Jack said.

"You're case and point of that," Daniel agreed.

"Why, thank you. You're a sparkling example of it yourself," Jack said.

Daniel grinned. "We're going to have fun, aren't we?"

Jack slung his P90 over his shoulder and grinned back. "Yeah sure you betcha."

-----

"I can't believe they're letting that tree hugger come in and run the place," Rodney said indigently. "He's going to want to be best friends with the Wraith. We're going to have to watch him every second or he's going to sink this city with all his good intentions."

John followed behind him at a slower pace; mostly just nodding and grunting in what Rodney could take as agreement if he wanted. "I thought you liked this Jackson guy."

"Of course I like him," Rodney said, annoyed. "Everyone likes him. That's not the point. The point is, he's a delusional optimist. He once made friends with an Unas. Do you know what an Unas is? A giant lizard that likes to eat people."

"From what I heard, General O'Neill is coming specifically to keep him in line. I'm sure it'll be fine, Rodney," John said.

"Wait, what--what? General O'Neill is coming, too?" Rodney snapped. "Why didn't you tell me that?"

"I thought I just did," John said. "I only found out myself a couple of hours ago. I guess it was a last minute thing."

Rodney went pale. "O'Neill hates me. Did I tell you he banished me to Russia once?"

"Only about a hundred times," John said.

"Well, he did," Rodney said, before pausing contemplatively. "But still, this may be a good thing. Those two bicker so much they won't have the time to interfere with us. We'll just run the city like the rightful rulers we are, and hopefully they won't even notice."

"Rightful rulers?" John repeated, scrunching up his face. "Look, I'm just glad I get to pass off all my paperwork."

"You have to think big picture! They're sending in the Stargate elite to take us over when everyone knows the job should have passed to me after Weir gave up," Rodney said.

"She didn't 'give up', Rodney, she just..." John trailed off, and then shrugged.

"Gave up, yes, I know," Rodney said. "But I was the obvious choice. Why the IOA chose Daniel over me, I'll never understand."

"They probably didn't want to give you that much power," John said wryly. "Maybe they thought you might go a little power-mad or something, though I can't imagine where they'd get that idea."

Rodney looked shifty. "Well, Daniel's no better. He took over the Earth once."

"Really?" John asked, intrigued.

"No, not really," Rodney said, deflating. "It was just a dream, but his mission report was very detailed and he said it was like it really happened."

John squinted at him. "You have issues."

"Forgive me for trying to look out for the best interests of Atlantis. We just recently escaped certain death for the 65th time and I'm not quite ready for another bout of mortal peril."

"You do realize, of course, you can't actually escape 'certain death', because 'certain death' would imply by its very definition that there was no escape..." John trailed off as he noticed the glare Rodney was giving him. "I'm just saying."

"Almost certain death, then, does that make you happy?" Rodney snapped.

"It's like pure bliss," John deadpanned.

"I need you to be with me, John," Rodney continued, starting back down the stairs to the gate room. "Because if you're not with me then you're against me."

"I'll be honest, I'm finding you a little scary, so I'm gonna say I'm with you just so you don't smother me in my sleep," John said.

"Stop being so dramatic," Rodney said.

"Yes, I'm the dramatic one," John said, hopping down the last few steps and then spinning back around to face Rodney as he stepped down.

"You're overreacting. You said it yourself, Jackson is a nice guy. I've only met him twice for like five minutes, but he seems competent enough."

"Try spending more than five minutes with him," Rodney said. "I spent months with him on Antarctica. The man is not all there. He's entirely lacking anything resembling common sense. I think all those times he's died are having unforeseen side effects."

"All those times?" John repeated with a frown.

"Yes, our new fearless leader has died at least once a year for every single year he's been in the Stargate program, and if that doesn't clue you in on the gravity of our situation, I don't know what will," Rodney said.

"Well, he keeps coming back, apparently," John said, pointing at Rodney to punctuate his point. "So he must be doing something right."

The gate started to light up behind them, and Rodney pressed his eyes shut. "Oh god. They're here. Quick, there's still time--let's hijack the city and find some new planet again--"

"Yeah, cause it was so much fun the last time," John said, grabbing Rodney's wrist to tug him along towards the gate. "Just...be nice. And not so crazy."

Daniel was the first one through the gate, eyes lit up almost as bright as the Stargate and practically vibrating with excitement. Jack followed a second later, and glared at the back of his head. "What's the rule, Daniel?" he asked slowly.

Daniel barely spared him a glance. "I don't have to follow your rules anymore, Jack, I'm in charge now."

"What's the rule, Daniel?" Jack repeated dangerously.

Daniel rolled his eyes. "You go through the gate first," he said, in a way that implied he'd been made to say it more than once before.

"And was I the first one through the gate?" Jack asked.

Daniel heaved a sigh. "We're coming to Atlantis, not some uncharted planet, we're perfectly safe."

The rest of the support crew started filing in behind them, and Rodney latched onto John when he saw Cadman skip into the room carrying a bazooka. "It's the anti-Christ," he whispered fearfully.

John tried to shake him off. "I think we need to put you on medication," he said.

Jack spun around at their voices and grinned. "Oh, hey!" he said. "Sheppard! Long time no see. You getting on okay? Aren't you glad you decided to come?"

John gave a tight grin. "It's like Christmas every day here, sir," he said.

Jack nodded. "Good." He turned back to Daniel. "What's with everyone and Christmas? What month is it?"

Daniel ignored him and bounced down in front of Rodney and John. "Rodney!" he said, pleased. "Colonel Sheppard. It's good to see you both again. How is the new world working out? I've heard it's really beautiful and I can't wait--"

Daniel stopped mid-sentence, leaving Rodney and John standing there staring at an empty space as he raced across the room. "Oh, wow," Daniel said, lifting a small intricately carved wooden box off one of the selves beside the staircase. "This is amazing and extremely reminiscent of the local populations on PX56341, where did you get it?"

"That was a gift from the Umtee," John told him, turning around so he could see him again. "They were real nice right up until they caught Rodney with one of our life-sign detectors and decided to burn him at the stake as a witch."

"Oh, that's nice," Daniel said distractedly, wandering off while staring at the box, enraptured. "I'll have to meet them."

Jack grabbed the back of Daniel's vest to keep him from walking into a wall, and then proceeded to steer him safely up the staircase.

John watched them go in something like disbelief, and Rodney gave a defeated little moan.

"Okay," John said, turning to Rodney. "So you were right. We're doomed."

----

“Teyla,” John called, jogging to catch up to her. “What’s up? I haven’t seen you around much lately.”

She smiled at him, her eyes darting behind him and back again. “John,” she said serenely. “I am well. How are you?” She looked like the calm, tranquil Teyla he had come to know over the last three years but there was a thrumming of tension through her body that made her look like she was ready to sprint away at the slightest sound.

John frowned for a moment, leaning against the wall. “I’m good,” he said with a shrug, his eyes never leaving Teyla’s face. “Are you okay? You seem a little…”

“Teyla!”

Teyla’s eyes widened and she looked panic stricken for a moment before a mask of composure settled quickly over her features. “Daniel,” she said with an incline of her head.

Daniel stepped toward her and John noted with interest that Teyla seemed to tense even more. He placed his hands on her shoulders and greeted her in the traditional Athosian manner before pulling back with a wide grin. “I was hoping we could talk some more about Athosian culture this afternoon.”

“That would be,” she paused searching for a word and John grinned, suddenly realizing she was trying to think of a way out of another tête-à-tête with Daniel.

“Uh, sorry Daniel,” John interrupted, curling a hand around Teyla’s forearm. “Teyla has promised to teach some of the new marines how to use the bantos this afternoon.”

“Oh,” Daniel said, looking disappointed. “Alright, well perhaps another time then?”

Teyla inclined her head again with a brittle smile. “I look forward to it,” she said, letting Daniel once again pull her into the Athosian head touching thing.

Daniel said his goodbyes and headed back down the hall, leaving John smirking at Teyla. “He’s driving you crazy huh?”

“Of course not,” she denied immediately, turning to glare a little at John. “Daniel is a kind and generous man. I am very pleased he is interested in Athosian culture.”

“Uh huh,” John answered, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. “He’s driving you crazy.”

Teyla sighed, looking at John from the corner of her eye. “Perhaps Daniel can sometimes be…overwhelming in his thirst for knowledge.” She smiled crookedly. “Thank you for your assistance, John.”

“Anytime,” he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “I better go check on Rodney, make sure he hasn’t convinced Atlantis to quarantine Daniel and O’Neill yet.”

----

“Whatcha’ doin’?” Jack asked, sauntering into Daniel’s office like he owned it. He flopped into the chair opposite Daniel and kicked his feet up on the edge of the desk, digging a neon green gameboy from his pocket.

“I’m going over the treaty Lorne’s team made with the people on M3X-953,” Daniel responded absently, eyes never leaving the screen of his laptop. “I still need those evaluation forms.”

Jack’s own eyes were glued to his gameboy’s screen. “I gave them to you last week,” he answered.

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes I did.”

“Didn’t.”

“Did.”

“Di-Jack!” Daniel snapped, finally tearing his eyes away from the screen, frowning at the man across from him. “I need them by the end of the day. We’re opening the wormhole back to the SGC at eight tonight.”

“2000 hours, got it,” Jack mumbled. “YES!” He threw his fist in the air, grinning widely. “Take that Sheppard.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Do I want to know?”

“I just beat Sheppard’s high score,” Jack said proudly. “Which means he lost and will be getting those evaluations to you tonight.”

“Jack,” Daniel sighed in resignation. “You’re supposed to do those evaluations yourself.”

Jack looked at Daniel like he’d grown another head. “Sheppard lost,” he said with the patience of someone talking to a child.

Daniel rolled his eyes. “Fine, just make sure he gets them to me before the end of the day.”

“Cross my heart,” Jack said seriously, crossing his heart with the index finger of his right hand. “Come on, let’s go get some pie.”

“I’ve got to finish going over this treaty--”

“Pie,” Jack drawled and Daniel pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Alright, but then I’ve got to get this done.”

“No worries,” Jack grinned, bouncing up from his chair. “I’ll have you back before your treaty turns into a pumpkin.”

----

“You’re all fired!” Rodney screamed and John winced outside the lab. He rounded the corner, dodging the dry-erase marker that Rodney had just thrown across the room, taking in the scene with a sense of awe and a little bit of horror. There were papers everywhere, every white board was filled with equations, every laptop was on and scrolling through various streams of numbers. A group of scientists were huddle in the corner looking shell shocked and numb with terror. Radek look mutinous…or maybe murderous, John wasn’t sure he could tell the difference. Rodney was in the center of the room, hair standing on end, eyes wide and bloodshot while he stared blankly into space, muttering to himself.

“Hey buddy,” John said cautiously, moving slowly toward Rodney. “What’s going on?”

Rodney’s eyes slowly began to track John’s movements and when John was only a few feet away recognition hit and Rodney’s face lit up. “I have a plan!” he shouted, pointing at John in triumph.

“A plan?” John asked warily, eyeing the data pad in Rodney’s hand.

“It is an ingenious, brilliant, perfect plan!” Rodney answered, nodding his head and looking like one of those bobble-headed dogs people stuck in the back windows of their cars. “Of course all my plans are, but this one is especially ingenious--”

“Brilliant and perfect,” John finished, sliding the data pad from Rodney’s fingers before he could hurl it like the marker. “So what’s this great plan for?”

“I,” Rodney said proudly, “have figured out a way to get rid of Jackson and O’Neill.”

John’s eyebrows rose to his hairline.

“Oh, no, no,” Rodney said quickly, seeing John’s look, “I’m not going to off them or anything.” He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know I threatened to when O’Neill ate the last piece of chocolate pie and Daniel tried to re-assign half my team to translate the equivalent of Ancient graffiti.” Rodney’s eyes narrowed and he poked John in the chest. “It was the last straw. I was on the edge. But I wouldn’t actually do it, you know.”

“Sure, Rodney, I know,” John said, his voice placating and calm. “Hey, I hear they’re serving pumpkin pie in the mess. Why don’t we go grab a piece and you can tell me about your plan?”

Rodney’s eyes lit up. “I love pumpkin pie. Not as much as chocolate pie,” he scowled, “but still – enough that I could be persuaded to tell you my ingenious plan in the mess hall.”

“Great,” John said, grinning and throwing an arm over Rodney’s shoulder. He looked behind them, eyes wide as he stared at Radek. Radek just shook his head and set about trying to coax the scared scientists from the corner, erasing the equations Rodney had hastily scribbled all over the white boards.

----

Rodney’s eye started twitching. Jack was sitting in the mess, with Ronon, and both of them were eating pumpkin pie. Daniel was sitting beside Jack, drinking an extra large mug of coffee and trying to ignore the collateral damage beside him. There was a whole pie between Jack and Ronon, only one slice left, and from the looks of things it was the last piece of pie in the entire mess hall. Rodney’s eye twitching got worse. John bit his lip and steered Rodney to a corner table, pushing him into a seat with his back to O’Neill, Ronon and Daniel so that he was staring out at the calm new sea surrounding Atlantis.

“Hey guys,” John said cheerfully, snagging a clean plate and snagging the last piece of pie. At O’Neill’s and Ronon’s glare John shrugged. “Sorry, right now – Rodney needs this more than either of you.” They both looked over to see Rodney, straight back and unmoving. He looked almost catatonic staring out the large stain glass window. The only thing that showed he wasn’t was the twitch still in his eye, visible clear across the room.

“Carry on,” Jack said with a wave of his hand and a raised eyebrow.

John nodded and grabbed a pot of coffee and two mugs before heading back to Rodney. He slid the pie in front of Rodney and poured them both a cup of coffee.

Rodney twitched once more before picking up the fork John had placed beside his plate in a white knuckled grip and stabbed the pie.

“So tell me about this plan,” John said, taking a sip from his coffee and watching Rodney chew the pumpkin pie with vicious satisfaction.

Rodney’s bloodshot eyes met John’s and Rodney grinned, it wa s a little scary. “It’s really quite simple,” he said. His voice almost sounded normal to John’s ears. “You lure them both down to the lab in section G that’s currently not in use, telling them you’ve found something they should both see.” He paused and waited for John to nod before continuing. “Section G has a bank of life pods, all in perfect working order. All we have to do is stun them with Ronon’s stunner and stuff them each in a life pod. The virtual environment is quite extensive. I could program any reality we want for them. Hell, I could program Atlantis; let them both think they’re still in charge. And then, then,” Rodney said, waving the fork in John’s direction.

“And then,” John continued, “we’d look for a rubber room?”

Rodney scowled. “It’s a great plan!”

“Rodney, you want to knock O’Neill and Daniel out and stuff them into life pods!” John hissed, leaning on the table and toward Rodney.

“Well when you say it like that--”

“I’m not the one that said it!”

Rodney put the last bite of pumpkin pie into his mouth and drained his coffee cup. He blinked a couple of times and looked around the mess hall. “When did I get here?”

“Rodney?” John asked, concern coloring his voice. “You okay buddy?”

“I was just thinking about pie,” Rodney mumbled, his eyes a little glazed. “They’re serving pie in the mess today.”

“Come on,” John said gently. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Rodney grinned, a truly dirty little grin and his eyes roamed over John’s body thoroughly. John could feel himself blush. “Alright,” Rodney said slowly.

John grabbed Rodney’s arm and tugged him toward the door. “Now you’re in the mood?” John muttered, ignoring the knowing looks from everyone in the mess hall.

----

John flopped onto his back, panting, Rodney gasping for air beside him. “That was--”

Rodney rolled, throwing an arm over John’s stomach mumbling, “Sleeping now.”

John snorted. “Wam bam thank you Colonel, is that it?”

Rodney pushed himself up onto an elbow and looked down at John, a crooked smile on his mouth. “If you give me an hour, it can be wam bam thank you Doctor McKay.”

John laughed, tugging Rodney down into his arms before pulling the blankets up over them saying, “One hour genius.” But Rodney was already asleep.

----

“So I have it on pretty good authority that McKay is trying to get rid of us again,” Jack said as he strolled into Daniel’s rooms. “Latest gossip is he wants to stuff us into life pods and give us our very own virtual new world.”

Daniel snorted, stacking another report into the inbox on his desk.

“You know you have one of those in your office right?”

“How did John stop him this time?” Daniel asked, pulling off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

Jack flopped onto the bed, crossing his arms under his head and crossing his ankles. “Same as last time.”

Daniel grinned.

“Taking one for the city, hm?” Daniel asked, standing up and stretching before yanking open a drawer and pulling out a chocolate bar.

“Someone’s got to do it,” Jack answered flippantly, eyeing the chocolate bar in Daniel’s hand. “Got another one of those?”

Daniel threw a bar at Jack’s head, grinning when he caught it. “So how long do you think it will take for Rodney to accept that we’re in charge?”

Jack tore into the bar and eyed Daniel. “You’re assuming that he actually will.”

Daniel hopped up onto his desk, chewing thoughtfully. “It’s not like he can spend the next ten or fifteen years thinking up ways to try and get rid of us.”

“Have you met McKay?” Jack asked with an amused lilt to his voice, “Self-proclaimed smartest man in two galaxies? I’m pretty sure he’s got the brain power to save the city and still think up new and…insane ways to get rid of us at the same time.”

“True,” Daniel nodded. “Well I guess we’re just going to have to make him like us then.”

Jack laughed. “He already likes you.”

“Make him like me more then,” Daniel replied, stuffing the last bite of bar into his mouth. “I do still have my stash of Kopi Luwak. I could bribe him.”

Jack eyed Daniel skeptically. “You’d part with your bag of Kopi Luwak to appease McKay?”

“Well,” Daniel amended, “maybe not the whole bag.”

----

“This is bribery,” Rodney whimpered, eyeing the half bag of Kopi Luwak that Daniel was waving in front of him.

Daniel nodded. “Yup. Is it working?”

Rodney tried to fight it, he really did. But it had been almost three years since he’d had the good stuff. He could already hear the coffee calling to him.

He eyed Daniel, a manic gleam in his eye.

“I want more,” he said decisively.

“More?”

Rodney nodded. “A continuous supply. One bag a month – every month – for the duration of your reign as head of Atlantis.”

Daniel bit his lip. He could order the coffee, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was stopping the other scientists from finding out about his deal with Rodney. He couldn’t very well chance one of the other scientists deciding to mutiny to get their own stash of good coffee.

“And you can’t tell any of the minions about this arrangement,” Rodney snapped, reaching for the bag. “The second they heard I had Kopi Luwak they’d kill me in my sleep and steal my coffee.”

Daniel grinned. Perfect. “Deal,” he said, handing the bag to Rodney.

Rodney stroked a hand over the bag before stuffing it under his shirt. He headed for the door. “Oh,” he said casually. “Just so you know – this bribe only covers you. O’Neill will need to come up with something just as good, if not better, to win me over.”

Daniel groaned in the empty office. Jack was going to kill him.

----

When John walked into Rodney’s quarters he was assaulted with the most delicious and aromatic coffee his nose had ever had the pleasure of smelling. “What is that?” he moaned and Rodney cackled from the corner where his coffee maker was.

“I told you I’d get Jackson’s stash,” he said triumphantly. “A half pound of Kopi Luwak, and all I had to do was promise to stop trying to get rid of him as head of Atlantis.”

“He bought you huh?” John grinned, crossing the room to curl an arm around Rodney’s waist.

“He didn’t buy me,” Rodney said indignantly. “I tricked him.”

“Tricked him?” John mumbled, running his lips down Rodney’s neck.

Rodney pressed back against him, humming in appreciation. “You’re damn right I did,” he muttered, letting his head fall back onto John’s shoulder, giving him better access to Rodney’s neck. “And do you want to know how I tricked him?”

“Do tell,” John breathed into Rodney’s ear, making him shudder.

“By pretending to be crazy,” Rodney said smugly, turning to capture John’s lips. He pulled away quickly when the coffee maker had finished dripping.

“Pretending?” John asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Oh please,” Rodney waved a hand and poured himself a cup. “I’m a genius, not a mad scientist. Who knew that forced drama elective would come in handy one day?”

John laughed, shaking his head. “So you’ve called a truce then?”

Rodney nodded, swallowing. “Only with Jackson though. O’Neill needs to be dealt with separately.”

John looked pained.

“Oh don’t worry,” Rodney said, patting John’s shoulder. “I’ve got a plan.”

Dead Like Them: Death Scenes

2007-07-19T01:15:00Z

Dead Like Them: Death Scenes
SGA/SG1/Dead Like Me Crossover AU
John/Rodney
NC17 for various reasons

"You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Rodney, in my life, in my unlife, ever, but that doesn't change what we are."

"And what are we?" Rodney asked quietly.

"We're dead," John said. Then he turned and went out the door.

Art by laytoncolt

Part One | Part Two | Part Three A | Part Three B

Death Scenes

Opening his eyes, Rodney stretched, his body still relaxed from sleep and the previous night's activities. He turned with a smile, eyes still closed, reaching out behind him for John and was instead met with empty air. Sitting up quickly he scanned the room, John was no where to be found, Thales curled up asleep in the spot John had been.

If he was being honest with himself, it wasn't the first time he'd slept with someone only to wake up the next morning and have them be gone but he was so sure that John was different. He was so sure that what they had was something more than just sex. Swallowing past the tightness in his throat, Rodney berated himself for being so stupid as to believe someone like John could ever fall for someone like him.

Pushing himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he reached for his clothes. When he was dressed, Rodney paused, considered what he knew of John from the past months living with him, considered what John had said the night before. It didn't make sense that John would just leave, and though Rodney breathed easy about that, it left only one possible explanation. It was currently 6 a.m. and Rodney knew that John went jogging in the morning but after last night he couldn't see John taking off for a run without at least leaving a note, couldn't imagine him going anywhere without leaving a note... Except for one place.

Swearing under his breath, Rodney yanked on his shoes, grabbing his jacket and keys and hurried toward the door. There was only one place John could be—with Kolya.

Slamming the front door to the apartment building closed Rodney took the stairs two at a time, all the while cursing John for being so damn reckless and swearing on everything he could think of that if Kolya even so much as breathed on John, he'd be sorry.

Just before his foot hit the last step he heard an amused drawl, "Mornin' sunshine."

Rodney's head whipped around to see John standing on the sidewalk, two cups of coffee and a bag of doughnuts in his hands. "Oh thank God," Rodney sighed, sinking to sit on the front steps. "I thought you'd gone off with Kolya again."

John grinned, jostling everything in his hands until he held out a cup of coffee for Rodney. "Oh no, that’s not for a couple of days," John said casually, sipping at the coffee in his own hand.

"What!?" Rodney was on his feet again, glaring at John. "Are you out of your mind?"

John leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Rodney's mouth. "I'm going to tell Kolya, after he gets back from his business trip, where he can shove his job."

Rodney followed John into the apartment, suddenly feeling much more relaxed. "Couldn't you just do it over the phone?" he asked hopefully.

"Trust me," John said, throwing a smile over his shoulder, "a phone call wouldn't cut it."

"You should take Ronon with you," Rodney said, closing the door behind them. "I know you don't like guns, John but you shouldn't go alone. It's not safe."

Tossing the bag of doughnuts onto the couch and taking Rodney's coffee from him, placing both cups on the table by the door, John pulled Rodney closer. Curling a hand behind Rodney's head, John pressed up against him, sliding their mouths together in a heated kiss. Pulling back John smirked. "I could really use a shower--wanna join me?"

Rodney's eyes glazed over at the suggestion. "You're trying to distract me."

"Is it working?" John grinned, letting his hand slip under Rodney's shirt.

Shoving John away from him, Rodney stripped out of his clothes, stumbling awkwardly towards the bathroom in his hurry to get naked. "Yes--but only for a little while so you better take advantage of it."

John laughed, following Rodney, his own clothes discarded haphazardly on the floor before he grabbed Rodney, pressing their naked bodies together, murmuring against Rodney’s lips. "Oh I have every intention of doing just that."

****

Daniel woke up slumped on Jack's couch, groaning when he stretched, looking around the room for Jack. Smelling coffee coming from the kitchen he smiled and stood, getting the last kinks out before stumbling towards much needed caffeine. The kitchen was empty when he walked in and he frowned. Beside the coffee maker was another post-it and he shook his head thinking Jack must have a closet full of the little yellow notes for how much he wasted them on non-reaper business. Picking up the piece of paper he scowled.

"God dammit, Jack."

****

Ronon was already halfway through his breakfast when Daniel got there, and surprise both John and Rodney were late. He slid into the booth, ordering another coffee, his head pounding. Daniel had managed to get Jack to open up a little, he told him that he'd been married to Sara; that they'd had a son Charlie, but Jack wouldn't tell him what happened to either of them. In the end they'd ordered pizza and Daniel fell asleep in the middle of a hockey game.

Daniel looked at Ronon, shaking his head as the man shoveled the rest of his eggs into his mouth. "Where are John and Rodney?"

"Not here yet," Ronon rumbled back and Daniel just managed to refrain from rolling his eyes. "Where's Jack?"

Daniel bit his lip, the post-it in his pocket feeling like it weighed a ton, but feather light compared to the day planner heavy and ominous beside him in the booth. "Jack's not going to be around for a few days."

Ronon raised his head at that, eyes assessing Daniel before shrugging and returning to his breakfast. "That's it? You're not going to ask where he went?"

"None of my business," Ronon grunted, finishing off his coffee. "You handing out the assignments while he's gone?"

Daniel nodded absently, pulling the day planner onto the table and sticking a post-it to the table in front of Ronon. Ronon picked it up, shoving it in his pocket before sliding out of the booth and leaving without another word.

Twenty minutes later John and Rodney hurried in, both of them looking a little guilty and Daniel shook his head with a grin thinking it was about time. "Where's Jack?" Rodney asked sliding into the seat Ronon had vacated when he'd left, grabbing the menu and snapping his fingers at Janet, demanding a large black coffee. Janet was, by now, used to Rodney and just rolled her eyes as she finished taking the couple in the corners order. On the way towards the kitchen she smacked Rodney in the back of the head and he scowled but didn't say anything, John snickering beside him.

"He's got some…stuff to take care of for a few days."

"Stuff—Jack has stuff?" Rodney frowned, narrowing his eyes at Daniel. "What kind of stuff?"

"The personal kind," Daniel said with impatience, pinching the bridge of his nose, and flipping through the day planner, slapping two post-it notes in front of Rodney and John.

"And he left you in charge?" John asked, shocked because he'd spent over twenty years with Daniel and Jack and Ronon and there was no way that Jack would entrust Daniel, Daniel who had tried to save his first reap, who spent an inordinate amount of time contemplating what was on the other side of those pretty lights, who barely remembered to eat and sleep, in charge of them—him. John narrowed his eyes.

Daniel rolled his. "Look, I'm just handing out your assignments for a few days; I'm not vying for Jack's job."

"When is he coming back?" Rodney asked, taking a gulp of the coffee Janet placed in front of him.

"Few days," Daniel shrugged. "He didn't really tell me, left a post-it."

Rodney snorted and John smiled at Janet when she brought his breakfast, ignoring the glare Rodney sent his way.

"So, you two finally gave in to all that sexual tension, huh?" Daniel asked innocently, grinning when Rodney spit coffee all over his breakfast, and John choked on the sausage he was chewing.

****

Ronon pushed his way into the dim bar, eyes scouring the place for a familiar face. He stalked towards a booth at the back, sliding into it and grunting at the man across from him. The man smiled a sickly sweet smile. "Good to see you again, Ronon."

"You know why I'm here," Ronon growled.

The man nodded, sliding an envelope across the table towards him. "She's pretty."

Picking up the envelope, Ronon threw down one of his own, stood and walked away without a second glance. When he was outside, around the corner, he opened the envelope, fingers tracing the smiling face of a beautiful young woman, a face he hadn't seen in a long time. The slip of paper in the envelope gave a location and Ronon nodded to himself, putting both in the inside pocket of his trench coat before slipping into the streams of people crowding the streets.

****

Rodney and John went their separate ways after breakfast; Rodney to work and John to wherever he was going. Rodney tried not to worry, tried not to think about Kolya or what John quitting might entail. Instead he concentrated on getting some work done before his reap after lunch. He'd have to make up another excuse to Felger about why he was leaving early, but that wouldn't be hard. He'd gotten pretty good at lying the last few months.

He rolled his eyes at the newest stack of papers on his desk, wishing he could tell Radek to do his own god-damned paperwork. Rodney missed working at Atlantis Labs, where all he had to concentrate on were his projects. Missed his friends too, even though he'd never really had that many.

John and Jack had tried to tell him to leave his old life behind but every so often Rodney snuck back, hid in shadows and alleyways, just for a glimpse of the people he used to call friends, a glimpse of the life he'd been happy with, a life he still missed.

****

It was the kind of place Jack always knew he would never end up; would have had to be around too long to get here, and as it was, he'd gotten more years than he'd ever bargained for.

Reaping a place like this would be damn easy. Almost everyone had given up already, and those that hadn't would in not too long. It was a long-term care hospital, set aside from the main asylum, and Jack could feel if not see the spirits as though they were still walking the halls.

It was giving him the creeps, and he wasn't easily spooked.

"You sure you want to do this, Jack?" Kowalski asked.

Jack knew the answer, it was no, easy, but it had taken him over eighty years to get this far, and he couldn't turn back now, not with time running out. Jack may have forever now, but not everyone on Earth did.

"Yeah, Kowalski," he said. "Sure."

"Room 86 then. And, Jack--" Kowalski broke off and broke eye contact, and Jack knew it was going to be bad. "Well, you know what to expect."

He didn't have a clue. The last time he'd seen his son, he'd been seven years old, and he'd been holding a gun.

It was a little hard for Jack to move past that image in his head.

****

Any other day he would have had that drawer locked tight. He wondered sometimes how many days Charlie had tried to open it only to find it wouldn't budge, or if that was the very first time, in some cruel twist of fate.

He'd just kissed Sara, and turned to go into the house. He'd been calling Charlie's name, smiling the way he never had much reason to before them.

He didn’t remember much past opening the door. Just that weird little prick in his chest as his body crashed to the ground, and Charlie's anguished cries.

All he remembered thinking was better it him, than Charlie.

****

Charlie never had kids of his own, Kowalski told him. He was in and out of psychiatric hospitals since age nine, when people started to give up on him. Sara never did, but even she couldn't live forever.

Jack had kind of hoped Charlie would just forget it, block it out, move on. Kid should of known he'd never blame him.

He was sitting at the window when Jack walked in, and he didn't look anything like the same. Not even his eyes. They were wide and kind of shell-shocked, like they were stuck in that same moment. His hair was completely white and he looked small, much too small. Not much bigger than he remembered him.

"Charlie," he whispered.

Charlie didn't turn around. "Sorry, sorry, sorry," he said. He'd been saying the same thing for last few years now. Kowalski said he almost never stopped.

Jack went to the window and tried to see what Charlie saw. "It wasn't your fault," he said. "You were just a kid." His voice almost breaks, but it doesn't matter. Charlie can't hear him anyway.

Kowalski finally took his soul at quarter to twelve, and the room lit up with a baseball diamond across the floor.

Jack wasn't like Daniel. He usually didn't think or care about what lay on the other side, but today he knew it was somewhere better. It had to be.

****

Her grave was untouched. All the people that had known her had been dead for years.

Ronon was never much for being sentimental, but whatever capacity for feeling he was missing he'd only lost when he lost her. It had kind of felt like losing his entire world.

The undead weren't supposed to visit people from their lives, but Ronon had no use for rules, and she couldn't be interfered with anyway. Can't interfere with the dead, even John would have to admit to that.

Teyla Emmagan was etched in the stone. Loving daughter, it said. No mention of how she held his heart, no mention of the way she was loved by him. He dropped to his knees and rested his forehead against her name.

He took three long, deep breaths, recited the prayer she taught him, the only one he knew, and placed a small rock atop the gravestone before leaving.

Just so people would know that she was still missed.

****

Rodney ate his lunch outside of Atlantis Labs, on the same bench he'd sat on a hundred times before. Radek walked out the doors at twelve o'clock. His hair was its usual mess and he had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his old, familiar blue windbreaker.

He sat down right beside him. Rodney held his breath, waiting for him to turn, to recognize him. Of course, he didn't; just sat there and mumbled to himself, scribbling equations in a spiral notebook.

Rodney fought the urge to correct his work, or strike up the conversation they left off the day he died. He wanted to tell Radek he was a good friend, one of his only ones, and that he was sorry it had taken his own funeral for him to realize it.

He could imagine the conversation in his head. It would go something like this:

"Radek, hi. I know this is going to sound weird, but I'm Rodney. I'm undead. I take souls now and work for Felger."

Radek would jump to his feet. "You are crazy man, don't kid about my good friend."

Rodney would then say something brilliant that only he would know, and Radek would hug him and start talking a mile a minute, and tell him to come back to work, that there were problems that couldn't be solved without him.

Rodney opened his mouth, ready to speak, but Radek was already on his feet, oblivious, and heading back inside.

Rodney rested his head in his hands and reminded himself that he was dead. Dead. Undead. Whichever. It didn't make much of a difference, even if the science minded Radek could believe him and welcome him back, Jack would put a stop to it.

And even if he could get it back, have it all again, he'd just go back to being that oblivious man that yelled at everyone and couldn't see past his own arrogance. He'd go back to being that man that never even noticed he had friends, that couldn't do anything but solve equations--that man that didn't have John.

In some ways he thought he might be more alive now than he had been then.

****

Daniel had barely been thirty when it happened. He met a man named Jack on his way to the unveiling--strange guy with a baseball cap and a curious smile, and his friend, a young kid with a bounce in his step and whose touch was like an electric shock.

Daniel's stomach had lurched the way it always did that last inch of an elevator ride, but it had passed just as quickly as Jack and his friend could disappear.

He hadn't thought that much of it at the time; he had other things on his mind. He was standing in the center of the exhibit, against Catherine's advice.

One minute he'd been directing the placement of the cover-stone, and the next everyone was screaming and he was dead.

Daniel had taken it better than most. The whole of his response had been a quiet 'huh,' and then a thirty-minute lecture on the various theories of the afterlife and their relevance when faced with the truth.

He hadn't left anyone behind. His family had died before him and he had acquaintances, not friends. His work was his life, and death didn't really interfere with that. He could still read, research, wander the museum.

Since his death, he'd learned to speak seven more languages.

Jack thought it was a waste of time, but the way Daniel saw it, that was something they all had more than enough of now. Why not waste it?

He was an adaptive person, always had been. Had to be for his job. He had gone all over the world and while he worked on digs, he became a part of the culture that surrounded the site.

That was just something Daniel was good at.

The problem was, Daniel wasn't just dead, he now had obligations. He spent his lifetime avoiding getting tied down to any one place. Daniel cared about everyone but no one person more than the rest, because gaining particular attachments...well, Daniel knew how that went. One way or another, you lost them.

He supposed that being undead had made him careless. Jack, John, Ronon, even Rodney now, were people he cared about, people he was concerned with, and they all seemed to be going through their own personal crisis.

And none of them wanted any help.

Daniel sighed and leaned against Jack's truck. He was still inside. It hadn't been hard to figure out where he was going, and it had been even easier to figure out what for. Charlie would be about eighty-eight now, and Jack would have been the first person to see him on the list.

The others would figure things out, Daniel was sure, but Jack--Jack was getting his help, whether he wanted it or not.

****

Rodney found Thales in John's room when he finally made it home. The sheets were still a mess, but he was too tired to wash them, or even head to his own room. He collapsed onto the bed and while Thales protested at the intrusion, he quickly forgave him, and curled up beside his head.

Rodney glanced towards the night table, and that picture of John. He wrapped his fingers around the silver chain of his dog tags and held them up to the light. He was so hard to imagine, the John in that picture, with his cocky grin and that gun strapped on his thigh.

Rodney hadn't changed much since he died. He thought that John seemed like he had morphed into someone else entirely; but that was a lot of guesswork from one single picture, and it wasn't like John talked at length about his life before.

Rodney knew that pictures could lie just as well as people, and for all he knew, John hadn't changed at all.

He sat up when he heard the door, and John wandered in a few minutes later. He leaned against the doorjamb with a grin. "Hey."

Rodney smiled. "Hey. I was just looking at these." He placed the dog tags gently back where he found them, and John's eyes tracked their every move.

"Yeah. It's sentimental, I know," he said, and looked down at the carpet. "That's not why I keep them, though. It's not to remember good times. It's to remember something else."

"John--" Rodney started.

"It's okay, Rodney," John interrupted. "It's fine, really. I'm fine. It was a long time ago."

Rodney took a deep breath. John didn't move any closer. "You know, I've been thinking, and it said they never found you--your body," he said. "On that site."

John's eyes raised to latch onto the wall. "They didn't."

"Then how did you get these?" Rodney asked, reaching out and touching the dog tags again.

"They're called dog tags, Rodney," John said. "We military guys all get them."

"You know that isn’t what I mean, John," Rodney said. "I want to know how you got them back."

****

John spent the Christmas of '66 in Vietnam.

Jack gave him two days, not more, but he took three; spent one of them in the jungle, digging holes in the wet ground. He put Mitch in first, ripped the dog tags from his neck and reached out to close his eyes; there was nothing to be done about the bullet hole between them.

He laid Dex down next, trying not to gag as he pulled the pieces into the shallow grave. He found the dog tags nearby, stained with blood, Dex's blood, Mitch's, his own, and stuffed them in his pocket beside the other pair. John didn't bother marking the graves, because they would never be found, never visited again, even by him.

His own body was stiff and decaying nearby, still tightly gripping the gun he'd used to kill Mitch. John wrapped his fingers around the silver chain of his dog tags, brushing dead skin, and pulled them free.

Then he kicked the empty pistol clear, and lit a match so he could burn the rest.

****

Rodney thought for a minute he'd pushed to far again, asked too much, but John just smiled disarmingly and stepped into the room. "I got them off a friend," he said, because the truth was always easiest to tell, and if he used it right, he wouldn't give any away at all.

John was really very good at that.

****

Ronon taped her picture on the wall above his bed. His apartment didn't really have a place to set a frame, and he couldn't be bothered to steal one anyway. He felt far enough from her as it was, no need to set her behind a piece of glass.

It was funny because he was so relieved when he died. So ready. He never feared it, not once, not even when he still had her. It wasn't so much faith in an afterlife that gave him his indifferent view of death as his appreciation of the time he'd had.

People could say a lot about Ronon, but they could never say he hadn't lived.

He didn't really feel as though he'd died, though. Limbo. That's what they called it. Stuck between the before and the after with no way back to either one.

He wondered sometimes, what she saw, just before. He thought he should probably know what would have tempted her, what would have been shining in that strange blue light, but he doesn't.

He doesn't even know what his would be.

Not that it mattered all that much. Ronon wasn’t sure he’d even get them.

He half-suspected he might just disappear.

****

Rodney's newest reap took him to the mall, a place he avoided in life like the plague. "Why don't these people buy their shit online like a civilized person?" he muttered to himself, stomping through the crowd of overly enthusiastic shoppers.

He had told Felger that morning that his mother had died (which was true in a way—she had died, fifteen years before) and he needed the afternoon off to arrange the funeral as he was her only living relative. The idiot believed him and what was more he actually had given Rodney the next three days off. So here he was traipsing through the dregs of society in search of J. Winston and wondering what the hell he was going to do for the next three days.

John was supposed to meet Kolya tomorrow night to tell him he quit and Rodney knew (whether John liked it or not) that he would be there—with Ronon as backup—just in case Kolya didn't take too kindly to John quitting on him. So that gave him one thing to do over the next couple of days at least—try and convince Ronon they needed to keep an eye on John and make sure Kolya didn't try and hurt him—Rodney could be very convincing when properly motivated. But first he had to find this goddamned idiot he was supposed to reap. Who the hell died in a mall?

"Woohoo!" Rodney heard screaming from somewhere above him. Squinting up to the second floor he shook his head. Of course he'd get stuck with another stoner, this one trying to skateboard down the railing of the fucking escalator. With a put upon sigh he got to the second floor just as the kid—who honestly wasn't a kid anymore, he had to be at least thirty, and definitely should have known better—was ready to perform his very last stunt (not that he knew it would be his last). "Hey, Dude, check this out," Stoner said to Rodney with a grin.

Rolling his eyes Rodney slapped the guy in the back of the head, feeling the familiar tingle whenever he reaped a soul. "You're an idiot and you're going to get yourself killed but by all means, dude," Rodney waved his hand magnanimously towards the escalator. "Have at it."

The mall obviously had shitty security as his reap not only had time to have a conversation, as…stimulating as it was, with Rodney but he had time to actually go ahead and get his ass killed by missing the railing of the escalator and doing a header off the second floor of the mall to land crumbled and broken on the floor below before security even showed up.

"Dude, that is so not cool."

Rodney snorted and shoved his hands in his pockets, turning away from the scene before him. "Congratulations," Rodney snipped, "it's not often my reaps are quite so…" he threw his hands up in the air and turned to glare at the man hovering behind him. "What the hell were you thinking?" Rodney demanded.

"Oh wow," his stoner muttered, ignoring Rodney's question, eyes even more glazed than they were when he was alive. "Righteous!" Rodney turned and watched him running towards his lights—a skate park, of course (obviously whoever was in charge of the light show was anything but imaginative)—and just shook his head again before walking away. Proof positive that his stoner obviously wasn't thinking at all.

The sheer stupidity of some people…Rodney had never known humanity was exactly like he'd always said it was. The absolute unfairness of it was overwhelming at times. He, Rodney McKay, genius, taken well before his time, was left to watch while the rest of these people, dumber than the rocks Johnson studied, were still walking around enjoying their lives—what he could have contributed to the world should have assured his long life; these people weren't contributing anything but carbon dioxide to the air.

"Bad day?" Rodney spun around to see John smiling, slouched against the wall beside…

"Oh thank God, coffee," Rodney muttered, walking past John and into the Starbucks John was leaning beside, ordering an extra large Café Mocha.

"I'll take that as a yes," John chuckled, following Rodney in and ordering a regular coffee.

"The world is full of idiots," Rodney growled, sitting at one of the empty tables and cradling his drink between two hands. John sat opposite him, sipping his coffee with a raised eyebrow. "I'm serious," Rodney said, a little insulted at the look of doubt on John's face. "Do you know how many of my reaps died…"

"All of them?" John replied cheerfully, grinning at the scowl on Rodney's face.

"They all died because of their own stupidity," Rodney snapped. "Today was just another shining example of what humanity has to offer—and believe me, what it's offering, you don't want."

"They're not all that bad," John said, leaning his elbows on the table.

Rodney scowled again, this time at the table top but kept quiet.

John pushed away from the table, placing a hand on Rodney's shoulder. "Come on, let's get out of here."

****

Okay, while Rodney occasionally missed his old life—his actual life—he did admit that being undead had a few…perks.

"Oh god," he moaned, burying his fingers in John's hair, his hips thrusting up into warm, wet heat again and again. So it was kind of a shitty day, but Rodney couldn't have cared less, not with John's tongue doing that and when his fingers were right there. "Stop, stop," he panted, pulling gently on John's hair, biting his lip and squeezing his eyes shut tight at the vision of John's mouth sliding up his cock, releasing it with a wet, lewd slurp. Taking a second to catch his breath, he opened his eyes, John hovering above him, a concerned frown on his face.

"You okay?"

Rodney reached up, pulling him down into a deep kiss before burying his face in the crook of John's neck, breathing him in. "I want you to fuck me."

John's hips snapped forward, sliding against Rodney's with delicious friction making them both moan. His forehead to Rodney's collarbone, John took a deep steadying breath before nodding, pressing a firm kiss to Rodney's skin. "Okay," he croaked hoarsely and a little wobbly, pulling back to look into Rodney's eyes. "You sure?"

Running his thumb over John's bottom lip he grinned, pushing his hips against John's again, his erection poking John in the stomach. "Yes, quite sure," Rodney said wryly, laughing when John nipped his thumb before opening his mouth to John's insistent tongue.

It had been a while since either one of them had done this, no time or inclination for more than the odd hand-job or blow-job from some nameless stranger in a bar or back alley ages from this moment in time and Rodney was left writhing, panting under John as he took his time stretching him, dragging each and every sensation out until all Rodney could do was fist his hands in the sheets and hang on. His heart racing, cock throbbing while John's lips ghosted over every inch of skin he could reach, his fingers never ceasing their torturously slow rhythm as they slid in and out of Rodney's body.

John sliding inside Rodney felt like coming home, like a part of Rodney had been missing until John, with his crazy hair and goofy grin came along, sneaking his way past all Rodney's long familiar walls, each brush of skin against skin silently whispering 'finally'. Rodney had waited a lifetime (literally) to find this and he swore they would need to pry his cold, undead fingers away before he ever gave John up.

When they fell asleep, Rodney's fingers were entwined possessively with John's, not even the relaxation of sleep enough for his grip to loosen.

****

Daniel slid into the booth across from Jack, eyeing the man as he read the sports page, eating his fruit loops and completely ignoring Daniel. Janet came around and Daniel ordered coffee, shifting in the seat, thrumming his fingers along the tabletop as he waited for Jack to acknowledge him. He managed to wait an entire three minutes and forty two seconds by his watch before he broke. "Good morning, Jack," he said with an overly cheerful chirp that usually had Jack demanding to know what Daniel had done, what he was planning to do and how much trouble Jack was going to need to get him out of.

"Daniel," Jack drawled, eyes still firmly glued to the paper in his hand.

"Nice weather," Daniel commented, thanking Janet when she brought his coffee and one of O'Malley's famous steak and eggs platters.

Jack gave a non-committal grunt that would have made Ronon proud, downing the rest of his coffee and pushing away the empty cereal bowl.

The night before Jack had been sullen, quiet and evasive—more so than usual and Daniel hadn't gleaned anything from him that he didn't already suspect. Despite fully intending to help Jack through this, Daniel wasn't quite ready to push too hard. So they'd spent the night watching hockey and The Simpsons reruns before Jack had said he was turning in, telling Daniel he knew where the guestroom was.

Jack was gone when Daniel woke up that morning and Daniel had showered quickly, stopping by his own place for a change of clothes before hurrying here to try and get a little time with Jack before the others got there. He was hoping that Jack would be a little more talkative today but…

"Enough Daniel," Jack growled, finally tearing his eyes away from last night's hockey scores. "I'm fine, alright? Stop worrying—"

Before Daniel could respond Ronon was loping in, sliding into the seat beside Daniel and ordering a stack of pancakes, eggs, sausage, bacon and hash browns and an extra large orange juice. He nodded to both Daniel and Jack, snagging Jack's paper and grinning at Jack's indignant 'Hey'.

Daniel was a little nauseous by the time John and Rodney arrived—Ronon had been particularly intense in his food consumption this morning, which Daniel had gotten used to but Ronon's newest quirk left Daniel a little green.

"Oh my god," Rodney said, nose curled up in disgust. "Did you put mustard and ketchup on your pancakes?"

"S'good," Ronon mumbled before pushing the plate away with a satisfied sigh, downing the rest of his juice before holding out his hand toward Jack.

Rolling his eyes, Jack slapped a post-it into Ronon's hand, watching as the man threw some bills onto the table before he stalked from the restaurant with a rumbled, "Later," thrown over his shoulder.

****

"Okay so I need a favor," Rodney started without preamble, walking quickly after Ronon, glancing once behind himself to make sure John hadn't followed him out of O'Malley's.

Ronon just snorted and Rodney narrowed his eyes, quickening his pace so as to be walking beside Ronon rather than behind. "I'm serious," Rodney snapped. "I need you to help me protect John."

"Sheppard can look after himself," Ronon rumbled and Rodney rolled his eyes because yes, yes, they'd already played a round of 'John's a big-boy'.

"Look," Rodney ground out. "John is going to go meet Kolya tonight." He noted with satisfaction that Ronon's steps began to slow. "He plans to tell Kolya where he can shove his job but we both know that's not going to go over well."

Ronon glanced at Rodney from the corner of his eye. "You've never met Kolya…"

"No," Rodney snapped again, eyes a bright burning blue, "but I got the floor show after his lackeys decided to use John as target practice, remember?"

Nodding, Ronon stuffed his hands in his pockets. "John's not going to like you interfering."

"Well that's just too fucking bad because I am not about to let him get himself killed…again."

"We can't die," Ronon shrugged.

Rodney growled, making Ronon smirk. "I don't care, that's not the point. The point is that we can still get hurt and John has this fucking martyr complex or something and seems to think that scum like this Kolya deserve, just by the mere fact that they are still alive, to get away with it, as long as it's John's undead ass getting hurt."

Ronon grunted his agreement, turning down an alleyway, leaving Rodney's steps to falter before he changed directions, following Ronon. "So are you going to help me or what?"

"What's the plan?" Ronon asked, pulling the yellow post-it note from his pocket and glancing at it before shoving it back in his coat.

"Well," Rodney started, fumbling a little. "I haven't really worked the details out just yet—I wanted to make sure I could convince you to help first." He looked a little sheepish, shrugging before he slipped back into his normal arrogant mask. "But I'll come up with something brilliant, don't you worry. Kolya won't know what hit him."

"You gonna kill him?"

Ronon stuck out a hand, brushing past a homeless man dressed in rags, taking his soul and continuing down the alley. Rodney looked back, watching as the man began coughing, collapsing to his knees before falling to the side. Suddenly he was walking beside them. Ronon clapped him on the shoulder, pointing to the lights ahead of them. A huge house, warmly lit filled the end of the alley and a woman and boy about 4 years old stood on the front steps waving and smiling at the man as he began running toward them.

With a blink the homeless man and his lights were gone.

Rodney shook his head. "I don't want to kill him," he said quietly. "But John is my only concern."

Ronon nodded, slapping Rodney on the back before pointing left. "We're going to need some stuff."

****

Daniel smiled politely at Catherine—this was the third time this week that she had brought him cookies. Out of nowhere she said, "I want you to meet my granddaughter," completely ignoring Daniel's 'deer-in-the-headlights' look as she continued. "She's a sweet girl, loves history and archaeology in particular; I think you'd get along wonderfully. She's about your age, tall, thin, blonde…"

"Catherine," Daniel began but she cut him off.

"I'm not taking no for an answer," she said affectionately. "Daniel, you spend too much time cooped up in this stuffy old museum. You're too young not to have a life outside of these dusty walls."

Daniel smiled. "I appreciate your concern, Catherine," he grinned. "But I like this stuffy old museum, dusty walls and all."

She huffed out a put upon sigh, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Very well, but if you change your mind I know Sarah would love to meet you."

"I'll keep that in mind," he laughed, shaking his head and biting into a cookie. He was a sucker for Catherine's famous chocolate chip.

When she left his office he returned to the notebook open before him on the table. He stared at the entries dating back to his very first reap. He'd started keeping it and couldn't seem to stop. It was full of his observations and his speculations about the afterlife, about the small amounts of information he'd gleaned from each of his reaps—about their lives before death, about what they saw waiting for them.

The others thought he was crazy to wonder about it all. Jack had told him once that there was no point wondering or worrying, when it was Daniel's time he'd get his own lights and all his questions would be answered.

Daniel wondered how long he would have to wait before that happened, before he met his quota and his own lights waited for him.

****

Ronon grinned broadly and Rodney rolled his eyes. "Do you really think we need walkie-talkies?" The look Ronon gave him had Rodney sighing dramatically and adding the walkie-talkies to the already huge stack of 'stuff' Ronon said they needed in order to protect John. Rodney was beginning to think that Ronon was just using this as excuse to trick Rodney into going on a shopping spree for some cool new toys for him because if there was one thing Rodney knew, it was that Ronon could take down anyone with his bare hands. There was no way they needed all of this stuff.

"Alright," Rodney groused. "That's enough, I am officially broke."

Ronon snorted and tossed a shiny bowie knife on top of the pile and clapped Rodney on the shoulder. "Meet you outside."

"Yes, yes," Rodney muttered. "Don't worry about me, it's not like I have a bad back or anything."

When Rodney stumbled out of the military store Ronon had just spent $1300 in, he shoved the bags at the man leaning against the front of the building. "I bought it, you can carry it," Rodney snapped, twisting this way and that after his hands were empty. Ronon just rolled his eyes.

Rodney let Ronon take all the supplies home because he didn't want John to see anything and get suspicious. Rodney headed back to the apartment, desperately wanting a shower, a pot of coffee, and John naked and writhing underneath him.

When he walked into the apartment, Rodney's breath caught in his throat. John was up against the wall, a towel around his hips and there was a gorilla of a man pressed against his back, his hand reaching for the towel around John's waist. "What the fuck is going on here?" Rodney snapped, watching as the man pinning John to the wall turned to face him. He had cold dead eyes, his face pock-marked and scarred. The man released John, taking a step back with an ugly smile on his face.

"Rodney," John said quietly, his voice low and dangerous. "Wait in the bedroom."

"Yes, Rodney," the man parroted, "Wait in the bedroom, John and I aren't quite done…"

"Like hell you aren't!" Rodney yelled, yanking the front door open again. "Get the fuck out of our apartment." He didn't need introductions to know who this man was.

Kolya smirked. "Cozy," he drawled, voice nothing but gravel. "Remember what I said, John," Kolya said quietly, dead eyes locked on John's before they traveled down his body leaving Rodney feeling queasy. And then he marched toward the door, giving Rodney a twisted grin before closing the door silently behind him.

John sagged against the wall; head tilted back, eyes closed. Rodney was so mad he was pretty sure if he wasn't already dead he'd be stroking out about now. "What the fuck was he doing here?" Rodney asked, the panic he'd managed to hide from Kolya beginning to seep into his voice.

"Don't worry about it," John said quietly, not meeting Rodney's eyes as he pushed off the wall. "I'm going to go get dressed."

"John…" Rodney started but John was already in his room, the door closing, shutting Rodney out.

Rodney paced the living room for a few minutes before rushing into his bedroom, reaching for his cell phone and closing the door. He quickly dialed Ronon's number. "It's me," he said as soon as Ronon picked up. "Kolya was just here."

Ronon growled out that he was on his way and hung up. Rodney sat on his bed feeling completely useless and so scared he couldn't think past the image of John, almost naked and vulnerable with fucking Kolya plastered to his back. If he hadn't just walked in… But no, he couldn't think like that, didn't want to think about that because if he let himself think about it he knew Ronon wouldn't get the chance to do anything to Kolya because Rodney would kill the bastard himself for daring to lay a hand on John.

John's bedroom door opened and Rodney was on his feet before he could think twice. "John…"

"I've got to go out," John said, throwing Rodney a grin. "Don't wait up."

"Stop!" Rodney yelled, surprised when John actually did. "You expect me to just let you go after what I just walked in on?"

"I can take care of myself, McKay," John growled, eyes narrowing dangerously. "It's none of your business."

"None of my business?" Rodney snapped. "None of my business that I just walked into our apartment to see you pinned against the wall, naked with some fucking psychopath plastered to your back? None of my business that my lover could have been…"

"Don't!" John shouted, holding his hand up. He took a step closer, eyes pleading, voice soft. "Rodney, please…just…don't…let it go, okay?"

Rodney crossed the space separating them, pulling John into a rough hug. "Jesus," he hissed. "How can you ask me to let this go?"

John wrapped his arms around Rodney, burying his face against Rodney's neck. "Because I'm asking and I need you to," he answered quietly. "I can handle Kolya."

"What are you going to do?" Rodney asked, pulling back and wrapping his arms around himself, his eyes wide and frightened.

John winked. "I'll think of something."

"You don't get to just say that and walk out of here," Rodney snapped. "You haven't thought of a good way to deal with this yet, what's different now?"

"Kolya was here to remind me to show up tonight," John admitted. "And that's exactly what I intend to do."

"Because you're the suicidal undead?" Rodney spat angrily. "Seriously, are you completely unhinged?"

"Kolya thinks I have something he wants," John said. "I don't. Once he realizes that, he'll stop, and it's over. He'll forget all about me just like everyone else--we fade, Rodney. We're the figures they see out of the corners of their eyes. The ones they don't remember once they make it home and lock the door behind them."

"I don't feel dead, John," Rodney said quietly. "I don't. I've got a heartbeat, you know. I feel pain. Pleasure. I've got the same mind I've always had. And so you'll forgive me if I don't want to just fade away!"

John turned away with a sigh. "I didn't mean it like that," he said. "I don't..."

"Them," Rodney repeated. "You keep saying 'them.' We were them, you know, living. And we're still here now. We're here for a reason."

"Exactly," John said. "We're here to take their souls. This isn't borrowed time, this is punishment."

Rodney looked like he'd been struck. "Is that what you really think?"

John pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes, before dropping them agitatedly and turning back to Rodney. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Rodney, in my life, in my unlife, ever, but that doesn't change what we are."

"And what are we?" Rodney asked quietly.

"We're dead," John said. Then he turned and went out the door.

****

Daniel used to be terrified of heights. It never stopped him scaling Pyramids anyway, but still, he was terrified.

He wondered what would happen if he fell now his body couldn’t break. He leaned out over the edge, squinting towards the ground. There was that edge of vertigo still. He wasn't cured completely, even knowing he'd survive, if only to stay as he was.

He leaned back away again and pushed his hands back into his pockets.

"You know, I almost didn't notice."

Daniel spun around at the voice. Jack was leaning against the roof entrance door, staring up at the moon.

"Notice what?" Daniel asked.

"You," Jack said. "Slipping into one of your moods again. I see you've started a new journal."

"I ran out of pages in the last one," Daniel said.

Jack laughed and shook his head. "And you're worrying about me."

"I don't keep things to myself like you," Daniel said. "Writing is cathartic."

"It's more than that. You just can't help yourself, can you?" Jack asked. "I remember watching you before you died. You were so completely absorbed inside your own thoughts you didn't even hear them shouting for you to get out of the way."

Daniel shrugged. "If we learn anything in this job, Jack, it's that we rarely get the death we expect."

Jack continued as though he hadn't spoken. "What worries me is you've got the same look in your eyes now that you had then."

There was a flash of bright blue in the distance, like a tear in the sky. It was only lightening, but it caught Daniel's focus and held it there. "You've been doing this forever," Daniel said, almost dreamily. "Don't you want to know what's next?"

Jack let out a heavy breath, before grabbing Daniel's sleeve and giving him a push back inside. "No, I don't," he said.

****

Rodney opened the door and Ronon stood there like Rambo, a rifle thrown over his back and a pistol about three times the size the one Rodney had hanging loosely from one hand.

Mrs. Troscky, from next door, stood looking through what little space the chain on her door would allow, protectively holding her cat. She slammed it shut the moment Rodney made eye contact.

Rodney sighed. "You missed him," he said. "John's gone, too."

Ronon looked disappointed, and he held the pistol against his chest, almost as though he were consoling it.

"John's still planning to meet him tonight," Rodney said, before turning and moving back into the apartment. He fell down on the couch and placed his head in his hands. "I don't think I can help him."

Ronon kicked the door closed behind them and jumped up to sit on the counter, setting his pistol by the airplane cookie jar Jack had bought as a housewarming gift. "I can help him," Ronon said. "People are really easy to kill. Only took eight bullets to take me down. My gun's special made. It's got twelve."

Rodney winced. "Okay, not what I meant," he snapped. "John, he's screwed up. He thinks he's being punished."

"Maybe he is," Ronon said.

Rodney glared at him and surged back to his feet. "He didn't do anything wrong!"

"Doesn't mean he's not being punished," Ronon said. "All those light shows we see? They each make their own. We make our own hell too, McKay."

"So I'm his hell then?" Rodney asked. "Because it's not like that for me, and I can't keep doing this."

Ronon rolled his eyes. "It's not about you," he said. "Or it is."

"Do you have to work at being this unhelpful?" Rodney snapped.

"What I mean is, John thinks he's being punished right? Then you come along, first time in maybe forever he's happy, doesn't know how to deal. Thinks he doesn't deserve it. Thinks, how can I screw my unlife up? Enter Kolya."

Rodney blinked. "That's possibly the most simplified bit of exposition I've ever heard."

Ronon shrugged. "It's a gift."

Rodney bit his lip, then raised his eyes to meet Ronon's. "I don't know where he's gone."

Ronon jumped down from the counter. "I do," he said. "Been there once before."

****

Kolya was waiting for him when he arrived, Sora just behind him. Kolya grinned smugly at John. "Where's your guard dog gone?"

"I came alone, like you asked," John said, glancing at Sora and back. "See you brought back-up, though. You planning to hide behind her if things get out of hand?"

Kolya glared at him. "Leave," he said, motioning Sora to leave. Sora glared at him for a moment, but did as she was told. "Is that better?"

"Follow her out," John said. "That would be better."

Kolya laughed. "You don't change, John, I'll give you that."

"I can say the same about you," John said. "And to clarify, it's not a compliment."

Kolya pulled out a gun and unceremoniously shot John in the chest. John staggered back, hitting the concrete with a thud and an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu. He coughed up blood and then laughed. "Haven't we done this already?" he asked.

Kolya walked over to him, staring down unemotionally. Then he dropped down to his knees beside John and ripped his shirt open to examine the wound. The bullet wound was obvious, still gushing blood, and Kolya frowned.

"What happens now?" he asked.

John closed his eyes. "Probably not what you're expecting," he said. "I'm not what you think."

"The other night," Kolya said. "They told me they shot you three times, but by my count you've only got one bullet in you."

"I wear a vest on jobs," John ground out, "but then, I've told you that before."

"You're not wearing one now."

"My fault for trusting you," he said.

"You don't," Kolya said. "You never have."

Kolya tilted his head as the bleeding slowed. He ran the palm of his hand over John's chest, ignoring his gasp of pain, and wiped the blood clear of the wound. It was half closed already. Kolya grabbed John by what was left of his shirt and pulled him to his feet, slamming him into the wall. "What the hell are you?" he asked.

"Not really a question I'm qualified to answer," John told him, letting himself rest against the wall, breathing hard. "You're not going to give up, are you?"

Kolya grabbed John's chin, forcing him to look at him. "I've been studying you. You can take life with a touch," he said.

"Maybe you should back off then," John said.

Kolya laughed. "But not from me," he continued. "You've never been able to hurt me. You would have killed me long before now if you could. Do you know what that means?"

"You're going to count yourself as lucky and move to Tijuana?" John asked.

"It means I have power over you," Kolya said. "It means you belong to me now."

Kolya's hand wrapped around John's neck, cutting off any response. Kolya grinned manically. "You never should have turned me down, John."

****

Rodney staggered off the back of Ronon's motorcycle, pulling the helmet off with a sound of distress. "You're insane," he said. "You almost hit that truck head on. We aren't going to be any good to John if we're plastered on a windshield."

Ronon just looked amused. "You said to go fast."

"That was when I thought you had a car...not, not this thing--" Rodney cut himself off as Ronon raised his gun and aimed it at him. "Okay, sorry, wow, I won't insult the motorcycle, it's...lovely, really--"

"McKay, shut up," Ronon said, "and move out of my line of fire."

Rodney spun around and then backed up towards Ronon. A woman with red hair stood just a few feet away, aiming a small gun at them. "You'll want to be leaving," she said. "My boss doesn't want to be disturbed."

"That so," Ronon said. Then he threw his pistol like it was a boomerang and hit her in the head. It clattered to the ground as she fell into a heap. Ronon walked over and picked his weapon up, nudging her with his foot.

"You just--" Rodney started. "You threw it."

"She was annoying me," Ronon said. He dusted his weapon off and examined it closely, making sure it hadn't been damaged at all by her skull. "Looks okay."

"Better than her," Rodney agreed, kneeling beside her. She was out cold.

The night lit up for a moment in another flash of lightening, and Ronon turned back to the building ahead of them and the large, wide open hanger doors. "They'll be in there," he said.

"I can't believe John's never taken me here," Rodney said. "All this time and I never asked to see where he worked."

"Doesn't like bringing people here," Ronon said. "Wouldn't have asked me to come if he hadn't needed me to."

"Why?" Rodney asked.

"Not sure," Ronon said. "Maybe because it's the one part of his past he chose to keep."

The sound of a gunshot brought their conversation to an abrupt halt. Rodney started running without checking to make sure Ronon was behind him, never stopping to wonder what he thought he could do on his own.

Rodney made it to the hanger doors and skid to a stop inside. The lights on the left side were flickering in and out, but the ones above Kolya and John remained steady and Rodney could see them both perfectly clear.

John was gasping around the blood slicked fingers clutching at his throat, and Kolya was smiling, </i>smiling</i>; probably shoot John again just to see if he'd still bleed, and Rodney was glad it was Ronon holding the gun, because if he had it in his hands he'd gladly cross lines he'd never even skirted before.

John's eyes flickered in his direction, a little glazed from pain, though unafraid. Rodney would rather he was terrified, because this quiet acceptance was so much worse, split his heart apart that little bit further, and when this was over he was going to tell John he doesn't deserve this, that he doesn't have to pay some price in blood for things he never had any control over anyway; and he was going to whisper that he was important into every place on his skin.

Rodney took this all in, felt this all, in some kind of small eternity, and then Ronon was swinging into the doors behind him and raising his gun. Kolya didn't even have the chance to turn in their direction and the gunshot was ringing in Rodney's ears, sending a shockwave all the way down to his toes.

The bullet shot straight through one ear to the other and the sound of impact was sickening, but Rodney had spent all of this strange new life watching people die that probably didn't deserve it, and he didn't so much as twitch as Kolya went limp and hit the ground. Rodney knew that this particular death was more than the man deserved, and had it been convenient, he was sure Ronon would have made it slow.

Without someone to hold him up, John followed Kolya to the floor, leaving a streak of viscous red in a path down the wall behind him.

They all stayed frozen for a moment, watching Kolya, waiting for the world to stop turning; because this wasn't the way it worked. People didn't die without it being written on a ledger somewhere, or so Rodney had been told, and the air around him ‘s felt too thin to breath in without suffocating.

Then Kolya started to convulse, and Rodney darted forward, grabbing at John under his arms and pulling him away. Ronon moved to stand in front of them both, lifting his gun and resting it on his shoulder as he stared Kolya down, almost as though he were daring him to come back to life, just so he could kill him again.

Kolya arched off the ground, but he wasn't moaning, and his eyes remained closed. Rodney could hear John's harsh breathing but everything else was deadly silent until a loud inhuman cry burst up from somewhere not of this world, and a small gremlin-like creature tore a path out of Koyla's flesh, and stood poised on the corpse, watching them with familiar eyes.

"What the fuck," John said, forcing the words through his bruised throat and echoing Rodney's thoughts. He held John a little tighter, and tugged them both a little further away.

Ronon just lowered his gun again to a good aim, and fired off three more rounds. They didn't touch the creature, went right through him instead, and Rodney could swear as it darted away, climbing straight up the walls, that it was smiling.

****

Daniel wasn't where he left him. Jack sighed. It was hardly anything new.

Last time he'd checked Daniel had been asleep in the guest room, but the sheets had been kicked into an untidy pile at the foot of the bed and it was empty. After wandering the rooms, Jack finally found him standing on the balcony in the pouring rain, barefoot and only wearing his sweats.

Jack opened the door. "Daniel, get inside."

Daniel's eyes were far away, arms wrapped defensively around himself. He was blinking the rain out of his eyes and didn't turn at the sound of Jack's voice. "There has to be more than this," he said.

He closed his eyes. Jack stepped out beside him, letting himself get just as soaked. "Maybe there is," Jack said. "We'll all know for sure when we're ready."

"I'm way past ready," Daniel said. "I've seen everything I've ever wanted to see. I've done everything I've ever wanted to do. Learned almost all that's left to learn."

"Always something new to learn, Danny," Jack said. "Learned that from you."

Daniel laughed, but still didn't look at him. "Why are we chosen? Is it random? Or are we the ones with unfinished business?" Daniel finally turned to face him. "Maybe we are supposed to interfere. Whatever higher power is pulling the strings has to know we can't resist, can't just stand by and--"

"And what, Daniel?" Jack asked.

Daniel turned away again. "Watch everyone else get their ending."

"Come inside," Jack said again.

"I can't keep doing this, Jack," Daniel said quietly.

"I know, but come inside."

Daniel followed Jack in, but not without one backwards glance at the storm-laden sky.

****

Rodney doesn't know how long he stayed sitting on that concrete floor with John pressed against him and Ronon standing guard, but eventually he started moving again. Ronon helped them get home. Rodney helped John into the shower and helped him wrap a bandage around his chest and the entire time he didn't say a word and neither did John.

"Kolya's dead," John said finally, breaking their silence.

"Yeah," Rodney agreed.

"Ronon killed him," John continued. "Just...he didn't--"

"I would have done the same thing," Rodney told him.

John placed his head in his hands. "But why? I'm not--"

"Not worth it?" Rodney asked dangerously. "I'm getting sick of this, John. You said it, you're already dead, so your suicidal tendencies just come off as pathetic."

"That's not what this is," John protested.

"If you ever do anything like that again," Rodney started. "Well, let's just say I'm not sure I'd be able to forgive you for it. I'd still want you safe, but I don't think I even trust you as it is."

John shook his head. "The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you, Rodney. I just thought, I thought I could talk to him. Don't you get it? I've got enough blood on my hands already."

Rodney kneeled in front of him, grabbing his hands. "I've learned a lot since the day I died. I want you to listen, because this is important. Firstly, life is short. Secondly, people are just as stupid as I always suspected. Third, they can be more amazing then I ever imagined. Fourth, and most important, this isn't punishment, this isn't hell, and it isn't heaven."

"Then what is it?" John asked.

"A second chance," Rodney said, and then he leaned forward and kissed him.

John pulled Rodney up and beside him, resting his forehead against Rodney's neck before falling asleep. Rodney could never fall asleep that way, his brain was too awake the way it always was. He was always at his most brilliant after 1 A.M.

Rodney looked over at John, not sure if he'd made an impact at all, but not willing to give up yet. Rodney didn't think he was going to get another chance after this. This was it, and it was more painful and more perfect than he could have thought possible.

Rodney ran his fingers gently over the bruises around John's neck as he slept on. They were taking longer to fade than they were supposed to, and Rodney wondered if someone was trying to tell them something.

A Fashionable Profit-Supernatural fic

2006-06-14T19:36:30Z

Title: A Fashionable Profit
Rating: R
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: None
Category: CRACK!FIC, Humor
Summary: "Why the hell didn't you tell me they were taking your picture in nothing but a pair of Daisy Dukes?"
Notes: We completely butcher the entire modeling franchise because we know nothing about it whatsoever. We would have done research, but this is crack fic, so we just made stuff up instead.

P.S. Apologies to Calvin Klein for everything.

HUGE thank you to munchkinofdoom for betaing this for us. (Sorry I forgot to include this last night hun.) ;)

Because several people have asked, no, we will not allow anyone to take our stories to translate and post onto other websites/forums. Thank you for the offer but we want full control of our stories so no, we won't be giving control of them to anyone.

"It'll only be this once, Dean—we're running low on cash and it'll be at least another four weeks before the next credit card application comes through."

"Why can't you just hustle some pool?" Dean's arms were crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowed, his lower lip jutting out (and John knows Dean would kill him if he ever said this out loud) in an unhappy pout.

"Look, Dean—I know it isn't ideal, but we need the money. Sammy needs new clothes for school, we're running low on ammunition, and if you and Sammy want to eat this month a couple hundred hustled from pool just ain't gonna cut it." John knew it was kind of low using Sammy, Dean's one real weakness, against him, but they really were reaching a low point money wise and at least this was one way they could get some quick cash without any injuries; though if the look on Dean's face was any indication, John might just have to start sleeping with both eyes open.

"One time--you promise?" John saw the resignation in Dean's eyes and smiled, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Just this once. I promise. Now go grab a shower and find your best clothes—the audition is in two hours."

-----

Dean glared at the smiling kid in front of him, all blindingly white teeth, perfectly combed hair and clothes pressed, making the kid look like a mini banker. "Hi, I'm Jason—is this your first time auditioning? It can be scary, and a little intimidating, especially since all of us here have been on dozens of auditions. I was in a commercial last month for GAP and I'll probably get this one as well. They just love me."

Dean wondered how much trouble he'd get in if he knocked 'Jason' on his ass and marred that pretty little face of his. Glancing at his father, who raised an eyebrow in his direction, Dean figured it probably wasn't worth it. Although the idea of being kicked out for beating the shit out of this asshole was pretty tempting.

Thinking better of it, Dean rolled his eyes at Jason before pivoting on his heel and walking away without saying a word. Flopping into the seat beside his father, Dean scowled at the rest of the teenagers in the room, giving the clear signal to 'fuck off'. "This blows."

"Dean…"

"No, Dad really—I'm seventeen and you have me sitting in some loser agent's office to audition for a fucking GAP commercial when we should be out hunting!" Dean hissed. "Am I the only one that sees how fucked up this is?"

"Watch your mouth," John growled.

Dean blinked, eyebrows furrowing, "Since when have you ever cared about me watching my mouth?"

"Since you sounding like you belong in some back alley is a sure fire way not to get this job."

Dean huffed, bouncing his leg impatiently. "They're not even going to look twice at me, Dad. You should prepare yourself for disappointment."

"Are you kidding me?" John grinned, bumping his shoulder against Dean's. "You're by far the prettiest one here."

"You're lucky I don't believe in patricide," Dean snapped, and crossed his arms.

John raised an eyebrow. "Have you been helping Sam study again?"

"You wouldn't believe the crazy ass words they give him on his spelling tests," Dean said.

"I mean it, Dean," John snapped. "Watch your mouth."

"This is an insult," Dean said. "Why couldn't you have brought Sam down here? He's the one that looks like he belongs in prep school."

"He's barely thirteen," John said with a sigh. "Just try to smile, okay?"

Dean bared his teeth, not exactly nicely. "Yeah, whatever." He watched the people standing around the room. "What a bunch of wimps."

"We need the money, Dean," John said. "I wouldn't ask you otherwise."

"Can't we just knock off a Seven Eleven or something?" Dean asked.

"Dean," John snapped.

Dean rolled his eyes, slouched a little further, and started watching the people walking by outside the glass wall, because they were infinitely more interesting than the people he was stuck with inside. The whole place was all a little more upscale than he was used to, and even his best pair of Vans had dried blood stained down the sides of the left shoe, and were coated with mud around both of the soles. They probably thought the leather jacket was an attempt to look a part, but it was just the only one he had.

He noticed an older man catch his eye and frown at him. Dean straightened a little, going instantly on alert and, beside him, he felt his father do the same. The man approached them, and Dean noticed that the people all quickly moved out of his way, gasping slightly and watching him in awe as he came to a stop right in front of Dean.

"Are you here for the Gap audition?" he asked.

Dean glanced at his father, before looking back. "What's it to you if I am?" he snapped.

The man gave a small smile. "I thought I'd offer you something better."

Dean snorted. "Not interested, thanks."

John leaned forward with narrowed eyes. "As you said, we're here for the Gap audition."

The man smiled again, unperturbed. "Well, if you change your minds, I'll gladly hire this young man without an audition. He has just the attitude I've been looking for."

"Really?" Dean said lazily. "He thinks I need to get a new one."

John gave him a withering glance before turning back to the stranger. "As my son said, we're not interested."

"Here's my card, just in case," he said, and slipped the card to John.

Dean threw him a patronizing wave as he went out the doors again. "Asshole," he said.

Jason wandered up to them, looking a little dazed. "What did he say?" he asked.

Dean resisted the urge to flip him off. "He thinks I'm prettier than you," he said.

Jason frowned a little. "I can't believe this is your first audition and you got scouted out by Calvin Klein."

John's eyes widened and Dean slouched back in his chair. "Calvin who?"

------

They ended up ditching the Gap audition, and Dean almost wished they'd just stuck it out, because he was pretty sure there was no way in hell Gap was ever going to hire him. "You're going to apologize, first thing," John told him.

"He likes me for my attitude," Dean said petulantly. "I'm not apologizing for anything."

"We need this, Dean," John snapped. "You got offered a job by Calvin Klein. This is more than we'd hoped for."

"Damn right it's more than I'd hoped for," Dean snapped. "I'd hoped you'd come to your senses and decide we should spend the day at the shooting range instead."

John just sighed and pushed Dean towards reception. Dean leaned over the counter and smiled at the too perky receptionist behind the desk. "Hi," he said.

She blushed a little and flashed a smile. "Let me guess, you're here for an audition?"

Dean grinned a little wider and flashed the business card, twirling it between his fingers. "Actually," he said. "I was told I didn't need one."

Her eyes danced a little and she reached for the phone. "Just one moment."

John pulled him aside. "So you can be nice," he said wryly.

Dean grinned. "When properly motivated," he said.

"Well, why don't you keep it up when we meet with this guy, okay?" John snapped.

"You want me to flirt with the nice older gentleman that wants to take pictures of me in my underwear?" Dean asked, and raised an eyebrow.

John frowned. "Good point," he said. "Keep up the attitude."

"Mr. Klein wants you to come right up," the receptionist told them. "Just go directly to the top floor."

Dean whistled lowly as they started towards the elevator, nodding towards a group of women. "I guess there is one upside to being here," he said.

John grabbed his arm and gave him a shove towards the elevators. "They're too old for you," he said.

"Ha! Once, in Kentucky, there was this waitress, had to be thirty, and she--"

John slapped him upside the head. "I really don't want to know, Dean."

"I've never had any complaints, that's all I'm sayin'," Dean said.

"For your future reference, if you ever want driving privileges again, you might want to stop talking like this in front of me," John said. "And you don't talk to your brother like this, do you?"

"Sammy?" Dean said incredulously, as he hit the call button for the elevator. "He still believes in cooties. It's a damn shame, if you ask me. I'd already been to third base by his age."

John heaved a sigh as the elevator doors opened, and a herd of stick women came rushing out. Dean smiled at them, and John shoved him inside, hitting the button for the top floor before anyone else could get in with them. He knew it was his own fault, really. He'd been too busy teaching Dean how to shoot a gun to give him the sex talk, so, like with everything else, Dean had figured it out for himself.

"You've filled your quota of telling me things I didn't ever want to know, for the rest of your life, Dean," John said. "So knock it off."

Dean grinned at him as he leaned against the elevator wall, which proved he knew just how uncomfortable he was making his father, and was most definitely doing it on purpose. "Hey, this was your idea," he said, in that way that John knew meant Dean was going to make the whole experience as unpleasant as he could.

The elevator doors finally opened again, onto another wide open and perfectly modeled floor. A young woman with a clipboard met them at the door. "This way," she said, and started off.

Calvin Klein smiled at them when they came in, a little too smugly, in Dean's opinion, so when he held out a hand, Dean just looked at it; until John shoved him and gave him a glare. Dean gritted his teeth and took it, and Klein watched him in amusement. "I never caught your name," he said.

"Dean Winchester," he said, at least it was in this state.

Klein leaned back against his desk and eyed him appraisingly. "I had a model back out on me yesterday, so I need someone on short notice. You up for it?"

"Yeah, I think I can manage to stand around and pout while you take my picture," Dean said. "How much are you payin'?"

"Dean," John snapped, never mind that Dean knew John wanted to know himself.

Klein just smiled indulgently. "That depends on how well the ad does, you'll be paid a set amount whenever it's used, and you'll get 2000 up front."

"Deal," Dean said, because he might know nothing about modeling, but they only needed a couple thousand to get them to the next place. John nodded his approval.

"Have you ever had any modeling experience?" he asked.

"No," Dean said, and flashed a brilliant smile. "But I've done lots of...acting, all over the states."

Calvin Klein raised an eyebrow, either disbelieving or impressed.

-----

"Just...go somewhere else," Dean hissed. They'd been brought down into the middle of the action, so to speak, and were surrounded by clothing racks and half dressed people and camera flashes.

John watched him with narrowed eyes. "After what I've learned today, I'm not sure I trust you alone around all these models."

Dean rolled his eyes. "This is humiliating enough without you around," he said. "This one chick keeps coming at me with a fucking powder puff."

"Language," John snapped.

"Oh, please," Dean said. "It's your favorite word."

"I don't want you here alone," John said, and glanced around suspiciously, fingers toying with his belt loops because that's where his holsters should be.

"These people eat once a week," Dean snapped. "I think I can manage to fend them off."

John was still frowning. "You got your cell phone?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah," he said, "in case Sam needs to call."

John decided not to get into that particular discussion again. Sam always called Dean, because John hadn't answered one too many times, and he hasn't been able to make up for it yet. "Okay," he said. "I've got mine, and I'm keeping it on, anything happens, you call me."

"Jesus, Dad," Dean said. "It's not like we're on a hunt. You're leaving me with a bunch of yuppies."

A few passing models flashed him scathing glances, which quickly melted away when Dean smiled at them. John pointed at him, and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Behave yourself," he said.

"Don't I always?" Dean called after him innocently, as John headed back towards the elevator.

"Dean," Calvin Klein said, as he rejoined him. "This is our photographer, Milton Crane."

Dean nodded at the man, taking him in at once. He was wearing a black mesh top, too tight black jeans, and combat boots, which unfortunately seemed to be the norm around this place. Dean stuck his hands into his leather jacket, grateful for it, right about when the photographer smiled and said, "Now, let's get you out of these clothes."

"I don't even get dinner first?" Dean asked, because he had sarcasm auto-pilot for when he would otherwise have been speechless.

The photographer smiled. "We can do that after, if you want."

Dean snorted and Klein whispered something in the photographer's ear that sounded a lot like "he's underage."

"Angie," Klein said, and snapped his fingers. A woman, somewhere near thirty, jogged over at his call. "Will you get Dean here ready for the photo shoot?"

"No problem," she said, and smiled at Dean. "This way," she said.

Dean followed her. They made their way over to another clothing rack, and Angie eyed him up. He'd think she was checking him out, but he was pretty sure she was just literally sizing him up. She grabbed a pair of ripped blue jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and then a pair of underwear.

He looked at the underwear suspiciously. "What the hell are these?" he asked.

Angie looked at him like he was a visitor from another world. "They're boxer briefs," she said.

Dean glared at them. "There's boxers and there's briefs, since when did they come two-in-one?"

Angie flashed him a grin. "Just strip and put them on, cutie," she said, and then she turned on her heel and flounced away.

Dean sighed, but did as he was told. The clothes were a surprisingly good fit, and Dean was reluctantly impressed by Angie's strange ability to look at someone and know their exact size.

He wandered back out, and Angie pointed at him. "Take off the shoes and socks," she said, without even looking up.

Dean sighed and pulled them off. "And just think," he muttered to himself. "I coulda been out killing things tonight."

"Lovely," Angie said, and grabbed his arm. She pulled him over into one of the photo sets, and stood him up against a faux brick wall. "You're gonna be a hit, darling."

"I'm not really in this for the celebrity," Dean said petulantly. "I'm more of a mercenary model, so there's no reason to stroke my ego."

Angie's lips quirked upwards, but she didn't comment.

"Very nice," Crane said, as he wandered over and started looking through the camera. "But lose the shirt."

Angie didn't wait for Dean; she just reached for the hem and ripped it off. Dean was a little startled, and his hair got a little disarrayed. Angie shook her fingers through it, pulling it up a little more. "Nice," she said, before her eyes strayed down. "And nice. You work out?"

"Like you wouldn't imagine," Dean said.

"Good, good," Crane said, and played with the focus on the lens. "Now undo his pants."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Who would stand leaning against a building with their pants undone?" Dean asked.

"Someone that wants to get paid," Crane told him, and Angie pulled the zipper down.

-----

John looked up when the elevator doors opened to see Dean stalking towards him, a scowl on his face and a blush rising in his cheeks. "How did it go?"

Dean glared at him. "We are never speaking of this again."

"That good, huh?" John smirked.

"They want us to wait around while they develop the proofs." Dean said sullenly, sinking into one of the over stuffed and completely uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room.

John nodded, sat in the chair beside Dean and glanced at his watch. "How long did they say it would take?" Sammy would be out of school soon.

Dean leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling, mouth turned down. "They didn't--just that they need me to hang around in case they need to retake any of the shots."

Twenty minutes later Calvin Klein himself stepped from the elevator, glancing around the reception area and grinning when he spied Dean and John. "Mr. Winchester, I'd like to speak with you for a moment if I may."

Throwing Dean a warning glance not to get into any trouble, he stood and followed the man toward a side office. "Your son's proofs came back."

John nodded.

"I'll be honest with you Mr. Winchester. They were fantastic--some of the best I've seen in a long time. Does your son have an agent?"

"Uh--" John blinked in surprise. "No, actually--he's sort of freelance at the moment."

Klein nodded, leaning against the desk behind him. "I'd like to offer your son a photo spread, ads, billboards--the whole nine yards. He has a look that I think is perfect for our new campaign. The usual payment will be doubled, and of course Dean will receive a percentage each time one of his ads is run."

John's eyes widened. "Uh," he cleared his throat, "I'll have to think about that."

"Of course, of course. You take your time, discuss it with Dean--if he's interested I can have Georgie draw up a contract by the end of the week."

"How long would this photo shoot take?" John asked, mind whirling.

"Truthfully, it depends on how the proofs turn out after each spread, but on average for a campaign the size I'm offering Dean--I'd say at least four, maybe six weeks of work total." Klein stuck out his hand, a smile on his face. "You still have my card? Just give Carol a call when you've decided--we'll go from there."

"Thank you," John said, still shocked. He followed Klein out of the office, sighing in exasperation when he spotted Dean sitting on the edge of the receptionist's desk, smiling widely and leaving the girl blushing. His son--Casanova.

When Dean saw them walking towards him, he hopped off the desk with a wink to the receptionist and took a step towards his father. "Can we get out of here now?"

John rolled his eyes at his son. Klein stuck out his hand with a bright smile. "Thank you for coming down, Dean. The proofs look great. See David in accounting on your way out and he'll cut you a check for today's shoot. We look forward to hearing from you soon." With a nod towards John, Klein disappeared into the elevator, leaving Dean frowning in confusion.

"Hearing from me?" He turned, throwing his father a suspicious look. "What the hell is he talking about?"

John waved Dean's question off. "We've got to stop and pick up your check and then go get Sammy—he'll be out of class in fifteen minutes. You know what he gets like if we pick him up late." John strode towards the hallway that would lead them to the accounting offices, not looking to see if Dean was following him.

Pocketing the receptionist's phone number, Dean jogged to catch up to his father. "What did he say?"

"Apparently you're the greatest thing since sliced bread." John said with a wry smirk, chuckling when Dean straightened at the compliment. "He said the shoot went well, the proofs all came out great."

"Thank God." Dean muttered. "There's no way I was doing that all over again."

John choked, not looking Dean in the eye, "Uh—about that."

Dean stopped in the middle of the hallway. "No way, no fucking way! You promised it would be a one time thing, Dad. ONE time!"

"Dean…"

"Forget it! I am not doing that again. You don't know what they made me do!" Dean waved his hand around, his voice a barely controlled hiss.

John frowned. "What did they make you do?" he asked, suddenly worried this gig hadn't been as on the up and up as he'd first thought.

Dean's hands clenched into fists at his side, "They…" he took a deep breath, "they tried to put eyeliner on me! EYELINER!"

John's brows furrowed deeper. "Eyeliner? Why would they try and get you to put makeup on?"

"Fuck if I know." Dean shook his head, starting back towards accounting, "Said something about it being 'in' and that it'd make me look edgier." He snorted. "They want edgy, I could have brought in my colt."

John coughed out a laugh. "Somehow I don't think they're looking for you to be quite that edgy."

"Yeah well, I'm not doing another one." Dean huffed, glancing at John from the corner of his eye. "We've got too much shit to do; or have you given up hunting to pimp me out full time?"

Cuffing Dean on the back of the head, John growled. "The least you could do is listen to what they're offering you."

"They're offering to take pictures of me half naked with make-up on for Christ's sake, Dad!" Dean barked, not quite loud enough for his voice to echo, but loud enough to show just how pissed he was.

"They're offering to pay you double what you got this time, plus a percentage every time one of your ads runs; that's a lot of money, Dean." John placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, lowering his voice. "We could stick around here till Sammy's done school. We wouldn't need to hustle anyone for some quick cash. There are plenty of things to hunt close to here. It would only be for a month…six weeks tops."

Dean sighed, hunching his shoulders and sticking his hands in his pocket. He really, really did not want to say yes, but Sammy had been complaining louder than usual lately whenever John mentioned having to move on before summer hit, before he finished school. And though Dean didn't get why his kid brother loved school so much, he knew that the chance for Sammy to have a normal life, even if for a few extra weeks, would have his brother practically vibrating in excitement. "This bites."

John grinned. "It won't be so bad."

They reached the accounting offices and John waited in the hall while Dean went in to pick up his check. Ten minutes passed and John stuck his head around the door, seeing his son once again flirting; this time with 'David' the attractive money manager. John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning against the wall to wait for Dean. It was bad enough hearing about his son's exploits with the female population without wondering if Dean was just as experienced with the male population. He was getting too old for this shit.

Dean sauntered out, saw his father frowning, and smirked. John raised a hand, shaking his head. "I don't want to know."

----

Dean had been right. Sammy nearly tackled him when he found out that they would be staying so that he could finish out his year of school. He was thankful his brother hadn't asked what had changed their father's mind; Dean had no intention of telling Sam about the modeling gig—especially since Dean planned to be as far away from this city as possible the minute the photo shoot was finished. He had no intention of sticking around to see the ads come out.

His first week was pure hell. They had him in clothes he wouldn't be caught dead in, had him in almost no clothes at all, forced him into wearing the fucking eyeliner. By the time John picked him up on Friday evening, Dean looked about ready to strangle someone—and the way he glared at his father, John suspected it might be his throat Dean was imagining his hands wrapped around.

John figured a hunt would help take Dean's mind off of the job, and help to burn off a little of his frustrations. Dean was grinning when they took down the werewolf, panting as he held his arm protectively across his ribs. A quick check assured John it wasn't anything worse than a bruised rib and he sighed in relief before they headed back home.

The next morning though had brought out an ugly black and blue bruise on Dean's side, and John cursed to himself. He had a feeling that Dean's employers wouldn't be too pleased. "Shit," John muttered, pressing carefully on the bruise, watching Dean wince. "How the hell are we supposed to explain this?"

"I zigged when I should have zagged?" Dean smirked. Dean dodged the slap John aimed at his head, laughing and rolling his eyes. "Relax—if anything, it'll just add to the edgy image they want me to have."

In reality they were just as upset as John suspected, but apparently Judy the makeup whiz managed to cover the worst of it with her own mix of concealer and they stuck to shooting Dean from the right side until the bruise faded. He'd always been a fast healer, so luckily it only took a couple of days before you could barely see the last smudges of yellowish green on Dean's side. But John had decided that hunting was out for the remainder of the job. He couldn't risk Dean getting hurt again.

Dean stared incredulously at his father. "Wait—let me get this straight. You're telling me I can't go out hunting with you because you're scared I'm going to get hurt? Scared I'm going to get hurt—and ruin the fucking photo shoot?!" Throwing his arms in the air, Dean shouted. "Jesus, Dad! You weren't fucking worried about me getting hurt before, but now that my looks are bringing in some cash suddenly my safety is more important than getting the job done?!"

John slammed his fist into the table, shocking Dean into silence. "You and your brother are the only things that matter to me, God dammit! I worry every time I put a gun in your hand, every time you leave my fucking sight, Dean—but we need this money!" Taking a deep breath, John leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "Look—this is important," he said wearily, the fight suddenly draining from him.

Dean flopped into the chair across from John, rubbing a hand over his face and looking far older than his seventeen years. "I'm sorry—I know it's important, I know we're important. We need the cash. I'll finish the job—you can count on me, Dad."

John smiled tiredly, reaching out and patting Dean's hand. "I know I can." Standing and walking to the fridge, John grabbed a couple of beers. "Thirsty?"

Dean grinned, accepting the bottle and taking it for the apology it was meant as. Downing half of it in one swallow, he narrowed his eyes at his father. "What the hell am I supposed to do while you're out hunting?"

With a mischievous smirk John said innocently, "Practice putting on your eyeliner?"

Grabbing the empty bottle of holy water sitting on the table Dean threw it at his father's head, snorting when John caught it without so much as a blink. "And you wonder how Sammy and I became such smart asses."

----

By the end of the fourth week, Dean was ready to shove the camera down Crane's throat. If he heard 'okay, now pout for me' one more time he wouldn't be held responsible for his actions.

The last two weeks, he was told, would be the 'let's get Dean naked' portion of the shoot—at least that's what Dean heard in his head. The boxer briefs they gave him each subsequent day seemed to get tighter and smaller until Friday came and he looked at himself in the mirror and wondered what the hell the point of wearing them was when they didn't hide a god damned thing. "Oh, hell no!"

"Dean," Angie sighed.

"Look at me!" Dean scowled at Angie over his shoulder in the mirror. "This is practically pornographic!"

Angie rolled her eyes, quirking an eyebrow at Dean. "I didn't realize you were such a prude."

"Hey!" Dean pointed. "I am not a prude!"

"Dean, you look hot—that's the point. Every girl that sees these ads will be fantasizing about you in these tight little black boxer briefs, serving them breakfast in bed." Angie patted Dean on his ass with a wink and started walking away. "They're ready for you; get your ass in gear, Winchester."

Dean narrowed his eyes at the back of Angie's head, crossing his arms over his chest. "That," he muttered, "is just fucking disturbing."

Crane grinned when Dean walked out. "Fantastic, darling! You look smashing; now get your ass in my shot so I can melt my camera with these photos." Dean rolled his eyes at Milton, walking over to the set and standing stiffly beside the fake kitchen counter. "Oh come on now, Dean—give me sexy, give me pouty—make me believe you're in your kitchen…"

"Like I'd walk around my kitchen in these," Dean huffed in annoyance.

"You've got your girl back in the bedroom, she's waiting for you to get the whipped cream…open the fridge," Crane continued, ignoring Dean's comment. "That's right, now put your arm on the door, lean over—that's it, beautiful!" Dean blinked as Milton snapped photo after unending photo. "Cock your hip—there we go. Fantastic!" The fridge was full of food and Dean's stomach growled. Reaching in, he snagged a strawberry, popping it into his mouth and rolling his eyes at the delighted squeals from Crane. "Angie! Lower the boxer-briefs a little, I want to see some hipbone."

When the photo shoot was finally finished, and Dean had managed to scrub off all the makeup they'd applied to his eyes, he pulled on his own clothes with a sigh of relief. Only one more week to go—he didn't think he was going to make it.

-----

Dean placed his pillow over his head and groaned. Sammy had woken up at six, the way he always did, and hadn't stopped his non-stop chattering since. John, always one step ahead of everyone, had gone to get them breakfast and left Dean here alone to deal with him.

"Sammy, I swear to god," he said.

Sam grabbed the pillow from him and looked at him dubiously. "Are you sick?"

"Yes," Dean said. "Yes, I'm very, very sick, now give that back."

Sam put the pillow behind his back. "You can't sleep all day," he said. "It's Saturday. We should do something. We haven't done anything in forever."

"Can't, I've got work," Dean said.

Sam frowned. "Why can't I ever go to work with you?" he asked.

"Because the very thought terrifies me," Dean said, and reached around him to grab the pillow. He collapsed back onto bed with a sigh.

Sam frowned. "What do you do again?" he asked. "My friend Jeremy said Calvin Klein was for pussies."

"If you want to live, don't ever say that word again," Dean said. "And also, you should beat that Jeremy kid up."

"Do you make clothes?" Sam asked, determined.

Dean couldn't really blame him for his persistence. They had pretty much spent their every waking moment together up until the last few weeks, and Sam hadn't been taking it well. He sighed and sat up. "I wear clothing," he said.

Sam raised an eyebrow, in a manner years older than himself. "That's your job?"

"Unbelievable, huh?" Dean said. "We go around saving people's lives for free, and now they're paying me a small fortune to stand around and do nothing."

"That doesn't make any sense," Sam said. "What are you really doing?"

"God, Sammy," Dean said tiredly, and dropped his head into his hands. "Don't make me say it."

Sam crossed his arms. "Say it," he demanded.

"Look, I'm kind of modeling, alright? But not really, just for money."

"You're modeling?" Sam said, incredulous. "Does Dad know about this?"

"Do I know about what?" John asked, as he entered with two greasy food bags and a couple of sodas.

Sam tilted his head back. "That your son is catering to the misconceptions and unrealistic standards of beauty by aligning himself with the advertising companies."

"I never should have let you sign up for the debate team," Dean said.

"Sam's on the debate team?" John asked, and grinned. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Well?" Sam demanded. "Did you know?"

"You think I'd let Dean disappear every day without knowing where he's going?" John asked.

"I stay after school two hours for debate club on Thursdays and you never knew about that," Sam said matter-of-factly. "I can't believe you would allow your son to turn himself into a sex symbol."

John narrowed his eyes. "What do you know about sex symbols?"

"Oh please," Sam said, sounding a little scarily like Dean, "all these motels have cable."

"It's just a one time thing," Dean said reasonably, though he threw an ironic glare at his father behind Sam's back. "I wanted to do it, okay?"

Sam looked at him dubiously. "You wanted to?" he repeated.

"Yeah, sure," Dean said. "It's like free money."

Sam looked uncertain. "This won't end well," he said.

John sighed and wondered why Sam had to act like the adult all the time.

-----

The last week went by faster than Dean was expecting. He was a little worried about himself, but he'd actually started falling into a routine. He went in on Friday for a couple of hours, just to redo a couple of shots, and then it was finally over.

"I'm going to miss you around here, darling," Angie said. "You're not just eye candy, you've got a brain too."

"Gee, thanks," Dean said. "You're such a sweet talker."

"And you're such a smart ass," she said, making no move to leave as Dean slipped his shirt over his head and then leaned down to put on his shoes.

He flashed her a blinding grin, the one they'd never once captured on film. Angie thought Crane had screwed up hugely there. "Well, you're a lot of fun, Angie, and as much as I've enjoyed having your hands down my pants, I can't say I'm sorry to leave."

Angie shook her head. "You're not built for this kind of life," she said. "I think that's probably why you're so good at it. You don't have a blank stare in your pictures like most of these airheads do."

"They're not all bad," Dean said, smiling over at a pair of girls in micro bikinis. He waved at them and they started giggling.

Angie snorted. "Calvin wants to say goodbye, he should be here in a few minutes."

"Can't wait," Dean said, grabbing his jacket, and shrugging into it. "I'm picking up my kid brother from school today."

"I think he's got another offer for you," Angie told him.

Dean turned to face her, but kept walking, backwards, to the elevator. "Yeah, well, that's the other reason I'm not sticking around," he said, and with a quick phony salute, he hit the call button and didn't look back again.

-----

John decided to go ahead and ride out the next couple of weeks while Sam finished up school, and Dean was happy for him, he was, but he really, really wanted to get the hell out of this place. Sam was just so damn excited about finally graduating with people he actually knew, that Dean couldn't bring himself to hold it against him. That didn't stop him from being restless to the point of edgy by the time school was finally out.

"I don't know why I have to wear this," Sam complained.

"It’s graduation," Dean said. "You're leaving elementary school behind. Clip on ties are required for such landmarks."

Sam made a face but let Dean snap it on. "Where's Dad?"

"He's running a little late," Dean said. "We'll meet him there."

Dean called a taxi to take them to the school, using some of the two hundred dollars John had given him from the job.

This place was a little more crowded than the small towns they were used to, and Dean let Sam grab his jacket to pull him through the crowd. "I'd introduce you to my friends," Sam said, "but most of them you've told me I should beat up."

"Most people deserve it," Dean said.

"And that's why I'm not introducing you to my friends," Sam said. "Just sit down somewhere and try and look normal."

"You ask a lot," Dean said, and grinned.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You probably shouldn't bother saving a seat for Dad," he said.

"Hey, he's coming," Dean said. "He just had to meet with an old friend about some guns."

"Shh," Sam snapped.

"For hunting," Dean said slowly. "You know, hunting deer."

"You really don't do normal very well, do you?" Sam asked. "How about quiet, can you do quiet?"

"When did you get to be such a smart ass?" Dean asked with a frown.

"Since always?" Sam said.

"Excuse me."

Dean and Sam glanced, up to see a group of young mothers standing beside them. "Yes?" Dean said.

"We were just wondering, because Alice doesn't think you are, but--" The woman blushed a little and bit her lip.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Are you that Calvin Klein model?" she blurted.

Sam placed his head in his hands. "Why me?" he asked.

"I'm pretty sure this is happening to me," Dean hissed.

Sam took a deep breath and raised his head. "No, no he isn't," Sam said. "Now please, take your seats. The ceremony is going to start any minute."

"What, are you the usher now?" Dean asked when the women left again, though they left reluctantly, and were still watching Dean.

"I got rid of them, didn't I?" Sam asked. He reached over and grabbed the hood of Dean's sweatshirt, and pulled it up. "Try not to look so much like you're a Calvin Klein model. This is my graduation."

"Yeah, yeah, normal," Dean said. "I got it."

"It is him," a young girl said gleefully. "Oh my gawd, you're like so hot. We were just looking at the billboard on the way here, and talking about how hot you were, and then like...it was like wow that's him, right here."

Sam sighed. "You have him mistaken for someone else," he said. "This is my brother. He's just a normal guy."

"No, no, it's him," said another girl. "You can't miss that billboard. It's like...like twenty feet tall."

"What billboard?" Dean asked, stricken. "What are you talking about?"

"They're all over town," she said. "Can I have your autograph?"

"For the love of--" Sam glared at them. "Get lost," he snapped.

"Hey," Dean said. "What happened to all your diplomacy?"

"We're leaving," Sam said.

"But, Sam, this is your graduation, you've been talking about it for months. Look, I'll go if you want, but--"

"What's the point if you're not here?" Sam snapped. "You're the only one that bothered to show up."

"Sammy," Dean said.

Sam ripped off the tie and started for the door.

"Seriously," the girl said. "Can I have your autograph? It might like, be worth money or something."

Dean rolled his eyes and spun on his heel, taking off after Sam. "Sam," he said, catching up with him just as he reached the curb. "I'm sorry, but don't let this ruin everything, okay?"

Sam heaved a sigh. "Even when we try to be normal, try to stay in one place, we can't."

"You're overreacting," Dean said.

Sam just nodded across the street, and Dean glanced up. "Holy shit," he said.

The Impala slid up to the curb beside them, and John leaned out the window. "What's going on?" he asked. "Am I late?"

"It's not worth it," Sam said, and got into the backseat.

"Not worth it?" John shut off the car and turned around. "What happened?"

"Dean's a celebrity now," Sam said. "All the girls in my class want his autograph. I figured I'd cut my losses."

Dean fell down into the front seat. "I hate my life," he said.

John glanced from one son to the other. "What are you talking about?"

"Look out the window to your right if you want to be scarred for life," Sam said.

"Please don't," Dean said, but of course, John did.

"Christ," John said. "What the hell are they doing putting that across from an elementary school?" Then he leaned down a little further, and saw the rest of the poster. "What the--Dean, that's you."

"Tell him what he wins," Sam said.

Dean slouched into the seat. "Well, yeah, see, I kind of did this modeling thing. You might remember."

"Why the hell didn't you tell me they were taking your picture in nothing but a pair of Daisy Dukes?" he snapped.

Dean glanced at him, entirely unflustered. "They're called boxer briefs. They're two-in-one and they're surprisingly comfortable."

"I'm not in the mood, Dean," John snapped.

"Hey, this was your idea," Dean said.

"Can we just leave before the people lining up to ogle Dean get a little braver and start mauling the car?" Sam asked. "And for the love of all that's holy, would you put your hood back up?"

John glared at his younger son in the rearview mirror, but put the car in drive. "I'm not happy about this. I think me and Calvin Klein are gonna have to have a talk."

"You can't kill Calvin Klein," Dean said.

"I said talk," John said.

"When you say talk you mean kill," Dean said.

"He's right," Sam agreed. "Talk means kill in dadspeak. Kind of like I'll be there right at five means I'll be twenty minutes late."

"You're so pushing it, kid," John said.

"I missed my graduation and all my friends’ mothers were looking at Dean like he's jailbait," Sam snapped. "I think I have a right to be upset."

Dean spun to look at him. "Do you even know what that means?"

"Hey, I watch soap operas," Sam said.

"Not anymore you don't," John snapped. "What the hell are they putting on TV these days?"

"Nothing worse than what they're putting on billboards," Sam said petulantly. "And I don't care what you say, I'm not missing Luke and Laura's wedding."

"How did this even happen?" Dean asked. "It was supposed to be one little thing for some extra cash."

"I told you this wasn't going to end well," Sam said, and then smiled, vindicated.

Dead Like Them: Ghost Story (Part Two)

2006-04-22T14:02:20Z

Dead Like Them: Ghost Story
John/Rodney
SGA/SG1/Dead Like Me crossover AU
NC17 for various reasons

"You'd better be there tomorrow," Koyla said. "You won't like what happens if you're not."

John's reap took him to a dingy little bar where the beer was cheap and the women were cheaper. H. O'Brian was three sheets to the wind by the time John got there and he didn't even need to think up an excuse to take the guy's soul. 'Can I buy you a drink?’ O'Brian's slurred voice mumbling he ‘ain't no queer’ has John patting the man's arm, apologizing and moving to one of the corner tables to sit back and wait.

Twenty minutes later and another slob at the other end of the bar, just as piss loaded drunk as O'Brian decided he's none to pleased about getting cut off and whipped out a gun, aiming for the bartender. John watched the graveling, standing on the bar beside the slob’s gun hand; watched as it shoved him, throwing the guy off balance so that when he fired, he fired at O'Brian. He died instantly--head shots tended to have that effect and then he was sitting beside John, staring at his own lifeless body bleeding all over the beer coated bar floor.

"Fuck me," O'Brian muttered and John snorted, clapping him on the shoulder.

"It's a little too late for that now." He smirked, standing and tilting his head towards the door. "Your ride is waiting."
____

After Daniel's reap he headed over to Jack's place. There was another hockey game on tonight and though he really didn't enjoy the sport, he'd been a little worried about Jack lately.

When he walked into the house unannounced to find Jack sitting silently at his kitchen table, his head bent over a shoebox filled with Daniel wasn't sure what, that worry ratcheted up a notch. "Jack?"

In the thirty years Daniel had known Jack he had never once managed to startle the man, but Jack's head snapped up at Daniel's voice, his eyes widening before his mouth turned down, and his eyes went dark. "Daniel--don't you know how to knock?"

"Considering I haven't knocked in over twenty eight years, I didn't think it was necessary." Daniel slid into the chair at the opposite end of the table, folding his hands in front of him. "What's up?"

Jack shoved everything he had been looking at back into the box, replacing it's cover and scowling a little before picking it up and walking into the side room he used as a sort of office. Daniel had only managed to catch a glimpse of a faded and torn old photograph before it disappeared into the box with the rest of Jack's things.

When Jack came back out of the room a couple of minutes later he was all smiles, clapping his hands together, and tilting his head towards the kitchen. "Half hour till game time--feel like pizza? We can have a couple beers while we wait for it to get here."

Daniel frowned. "Jack--what's going on with you?"

"What?" Jack asked in mock innocence. "I'm looking forward to the game and I haven't eaten dinner yet. Something wrong with me wanting a pizza?"

Not sure what exactly was going on with Jack and knowing how pushing tended to just make him clam up even more, Daniel sighed and nodded saying, "Pizza sounds great, but I don't want any of that crap you call beer."

Jack smiled brightly, tossing Daniel the cordless phone and telling him to order--no anchovies--before disappearing into the kitchen to grab their drinks.
____

When Rodney got home his arm hurt, but he couldn't stop the manic smile on his face as he kicked off his shoes and hung up his coat. He never really had an opinion on guns when he was alive--he couldn't even recall having ever held one in his hands before--but after this afternoon...

Ronon told him that just because they were dead didn't mean they couldn't protect themselves, didn't mean that they didn't have just as much right as the living to do whatever it took to survive life in whatever form life may take. Rodney wasn't sure if he agreed with everything that Ronon had told him today but he did agree with one thing. When Ronon had said he thought maybe Rodney should look into getting his own gun--just in case, Rodney had nodded, had asked Ronon to help him get one.

He didn't think John would approve, especially if what Ronon had told him about John was true. But Rodney figured that what John didn't know wouldn't hurt him and might in fact save him if he insisted on working for Kolya.

John wasn't home yet and Rodney hadn't seen him all day. He patted Thales on the head as he walked into the kitchen, pulling down various items and pots and pans, whistling quietly to himself as he flitted around the kitchen. John had cooked for him almost every night that he was home before Rodney, and after releasing a few of his frustrations and worries at the firing range today, Rodney was in a good mood and had decided he’d make his specialty for John.

Glancing at the clock he wondered when John would come home.
__

Jack snorted softly as he glanced over at Daniel, sound asleep, mouth hanging open, head twisted uncomfortably. Flicking off the TV set he took a step closer, shaking him from sleep and pointing him down the hall towards the guestroom. Jack figured he should just call it Daniel’s room since he spent so much time there—either that or stop forcing Daniel into watching hockey so he’d stop falling asleep on his couch.

Leaving Daniel huddled under the comforter, Jack walked down the hall towards his office, groaning as he slid into the leather office chair, head bending over his desk. Sliding the fingers of one hand into his short hair, he flipped the lid off the shoebox sitting on his desk with the other.

Gently pulling a frayed and yellowed photograph from the box, Jack ran a finger carefully over the smiling faces. “God, I miss you,” he whispered quietly before replacing the photo in its box and carefully fitting the lid on it once more.

Opening the drawer beside him he pulled out his newest list of names, setting about writing the post-its for the next morning. Slipping them into his date book he shut off the light in his office and headed for his own room, stifling a yawn as he went.
___

When John showed up, Rodney had the table set and dinner ready. He smiled brightly, ushering John towards the dining room, laughing softly at John’s look of surprise. “What’s all this?”

Rodney blushed slightly, clearing his throat and waving his hand dismissively. “I was bored…and hungry—seemed like a good idea to make dinner.”

John smirked, sitting in the seat opposite Rodney, thanking him when he poured a glass of wine. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

Rodney leered suggestively. “There’s a lot I can do you don’t know about...yet.”

Coughing on the wine he’d just inhaled, John blushed, eyes dropping to the table. “So what are we having?”

“My world famous lasagna,” Rodney said his back to John as he pulled the warming pasta from the oven.

“World famous huh?” John asked with amusement.

“Scoff now,” Rodney answered, “you’ll be singing a different tune once you taste it.”

John snorted, but smiled when Rodney placed a plate in front of him. Waiting until Rodney got his own and had sat down again, John eyed the lasagna. “It smells great.”

“Well, dig in,” Rodney said, gesturing at John’s plate while raising his own fork to his mouth.

John had assumed that Rodney’s lasagna would be edible, that it might even taste alright but he hadn’t for one second expected the explosion on his taste buds. His eyes closed as he moaned around his mouthful of lasagna, swallowing regretfully before opening his eyes and staring at Rodney in stunned awe. “You bastard!” John said.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh my God, Rodney!” John shoveled another forkful into his mouth. Talking around the pasta John continued, “You were holding out on me!”

Rodney raised an eyebrow. “So...you like it?”

“Marry me!” John said.

After dinner was done, John helped Rodney do the dishes and clean up. Rodney was placing the last plate into the cupboard when he asked, "Feel like watching a movie tonight?"

John sighed. "I'd love to--but I have to head out."

Rodney frowned. "Now?"

"Late pick up," John shrugged.

"For Kolya?" Rodney practically spat the name.

John's mouth quirked upwards. "You're cute when you're worried." He winked, tossing the dishcloth onto the counter.

"John..."

"Rodney--we had a really nice meal together, great conversation...can we not ruin it by arguing over Kolya again?"

Narrowing his eyes, Rodney took a step closer to John, trapping him against the counter. "You have to stop this, John. It's too dangerous."

John tilted his head. "I thought we already discussed this," he smirked. "We're dead, Rodney--he can't kill me again."

"That doesn't mean he can't hurt you." Rodney's voice was a little hoarse, his heart pounding. He really didn't want to wake up in the morning to find John bloodied and bruised again--or worse, to find John hadn't come back at all.

"I'll be fine," John said quietly.

Rodney wasn't sure if it was the way John said it, or if it was the way his eyes seemed to cloud over with resignation but before he could over think it, he grabbed John by the front of his shirt, pulling him closer until their lips met. The kiss was soft and gentle but when Rodney pulled back he was panting, his knees feeling a little wobbly. If the look on John's face was any indication he was feeling the same way.

And then he had to go and ruin the moment. "Rodney..." John smiled, a smile that finally reached his eyes as he leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Rodney's mouth before leaning his forehead against Rodney's. Sighing, John raised a hand, cupping Rodney's cheek, his thumb tracing Rodney's bottom lip.

Rodney closed his eyes. "You're still going to go, aren't you?"

John's silence was answer enough. Rodney took a step back, his eyes full of hurt and worry. John's throat felt tight. "I'll be back as soon as I can--I promise."

Nodding, Rodney folded his arms protectively over his chest, not able to say anything else. John stepped closer, hand on Rodney's chin, tilting his head up to capture his lips once more before slipping past Rodney and out the door.
___

Rodney took a deep breath, telling himself that John would be fine as he walked towards his bedroom. He had a feeling he probably wasn't going to get much sleep tonight, worrying about John, so he might as well get some work done.

The high-pitched scream that came out of Rodney's throat when he walked into his room had Thales dashing into the living room and left Ronon wincing. "What the fuck are you trying to do, scare me to death?!" Rodney screeched.

Ronon smirked. "You're already dead, McKay." Shrugging, Ronon walked past him into the living room. "Besides, I didn't think you'd appreciate me interrupting your romantic dinner," he smirked, "bringing you your gun."

"You got it?" Rodney asked, ignoring Ronon's smirk. "That was fast."

Shrugging again, and wandering into the kitchen he said, "I know a guy." Rodney watched as Ronon headed straight for the fridge, opening the door and pulling out the leftover lasagna. "The smell of this was driving me crazy."

"So where is it?" Rodney asked impatiently.

Fishing one hand under his trench coat and around to his back, Ronon drew out a gun, holding it out to Rodney without tearing his eyes from where he was heaping more and more lasagna onto his plate. Rodney took the gun gingerly, getting used to the weight of it, turning it over in his hand.

He looked up when he heard Ronon growling. "Fuck, McKay--" He was shoveling in large forkfuls of the pasta, eyes closed in delight.

Rodney snorted and rolled his eyes. "I'm not marrying you."

Ronon smirked. "Keep cooking for Shep like this and he'll be bending you over the table in no time." Rodney figured he was probably kidding but he still found himself blushing, his cock twitching at the very thought.

Clearing his throat and shaking his head Rodney forced himself back to the situation at hand. "You didn't steal this did you?"

"Do you care?"

"If it gets me thrown into prison for the rest of eternity, then yeah," Rodney huffed with annoyance.

"It's not stolen," Ronon answered with his mouth still full. "You going to tell Shep about it?"

Rodney looked up to see Ronon giving him an assessing stare. Shrugging, Rodney checked to see if the gun was loaded, just like Ronon had taught him. "No need to worry him."

"Worry nothing--he's gonna be pissed when he finds out."

"Then I guess he better not find out," Rodney snapped, glowering at Ronon.

Ronon lifted an eyebrow as if to say 'are you honestly threatening me?' Rodney glared harder, pointing towards the food. "If you breathe a word to John about this, then you'll never get another scrap of food from this apartment."

Smirking, Ronon shrugged, "I'm not going to say anything, but Shep isn't stupid."

"Neither am I," Rodney said quietly. "Where are the extra clips?"

Leaning against the counter, Ronon reached into the pocket of his coat, tossing Rodney two full clips. "Let me know when you need more."
___

Kolya isn't there when John arrives at the warehouse and he curses quietly to himself as he hurries back to the apartment. He hadn't wanted to leave--would have much rathered staying there with Rodney...finishing what they started. But he also knew just how crazy Kolya could get and it was just easier to agree to the job, telling himself that it was only a couple months until the tourist season picked up again and he wouldn't have to deal with Kolya anymore.

Military training had taught him well as he quietly snuck back into the apartment, wanting to surprise Rodney. He silently padded towards Rodney's door, a smile spreading on his face as he thought about the man waiting for him behind it. Turning the knob carefully, he pushed open the door, a cheeky quip ready to fall from his mouth, something like 'honey I'm home' just to see Rodney turn red in annoyance, or flush in endearing embarrassment.

The sight inside Rodney's room though, had the quip dying on his lips, replaced with an angry shout. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"

Rodney's head shot up at the sound of John's voice, eyes wide. "What are you doing home?"

John stalked towards him, reaching out with a fast hand and snatching the gun from Rodney's slack fingers, popping the clip and sliding it into his back pocket before Rodney even had a chance to blink. "Where did you get a fucking gun?" he growled.

Shock at John's sudden reappearance beginning to wear off, Rodney stood, his eyes narrowed. "Give it back."

"Are you out of your fucking mind, Rodney?!" John shouted. He held out the gun like an accusation. "Why do you have this?"

Rodney reached for it, growling in frustration when John pulled it back out of reach. "I don't see how it's any of your business," Rodney said angrily. "If I want a gun for protection that's my fucking choice!"

"You're dead, Rodney!" John yelled, waving his empty hand in exasperation. "How many god damned times do you need to hear that before you just fucking accept it? You don't need protection! You cannot die again!"

"Ronon carries a gun!"

Rodney wished he took the words back as soon as he said them because John's eyes glinted dangerously in the light as he asked, "Did Ronon get you this?"

"Despite the way you're acting," Rodney said quickly, "I am a big boy, John, who can take care of himself. If I want a fucking gun, I can get a gun. Ronon has nothing to do with this."

John snorted. "Yeah, right."

"You don't think I could get a gun if I wanted one?" Rodney asked indignantly.

"That's not the point, Rodney," John said wearily. "I don't want this in the apartment."

"It's my gun--"

"It's my apartment!" John shouted again, eyes flashing as his knuckles whitened around the gun in his hand. Rodney looked like he'd been slapped and John had a moment of painful regret because he didn't want to hurt Rodney.

Rodney swallowed. "Funny--I kind of thought it was our apartment." It pissed him off that his voice wavered when he spoke, but the truth was he expected John to be angry, after all Ronon had told him, hadn't he? But he hadn't expected John to be this pissed, and certainly didn't expect him to be hurtful--no matter how unintentional in the heat of the moment.

"Rodney..." John closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. When he opened them again, he looked right into Rodney's eyes. "This is non-negotiable--no guns in this apartment, period." Not wanting to chance the argument escalating to the point of them saying anything else hurtful, anything else he might regret, he turned on his heel and walked quickly from Rodney's room, the gun still in his hand, Rodney still standing, shocked and hurt in the middle of his bedroom.
__

John paced the floor of his bedroom, throwing angry glances at the unloaded gun sitting on his dresser. He could still feel the clip in his back pocket, and was disturbed by just how right it had felt when he'd handled the gun, popping the clip so Rodney didn't fucking shoot himself in the foot. What the fuck was he thinking?!

He ran his hands through his hair, ears straining for any sounds of movement in the apartment. He was so angry at Rodney right now he could practically hear the blood rushing in his ears and the fact was he wasn't sure that he was entirely justified in what he said. Yes, he believed in non-interference with the living, yes he fucking hated guns, yes they couldn't god damn well die again but the idea of Rodney coming home late from the lab one night, getting jumped by a couple of thugs, of them shooting or stabbing him, hurting him--no matter how quickly Rodney would heal--had John's stomach turning. And he didn't honestly think Rodney would kill anyone...so was it really that wrong for him to have the gun as a form of protection?

Ronon had tried to drill it into John's head on numerous occasions that just because they were dead didn't mean they didn't have rights, didn't mean that when they got shot or stabbed, or beat up that it didn't fucking hurt. That carrying a gun to deter those who had no problems hurting an innocent passerby was not the huge fucking moral dilemma John seemed to like to make it out to be. Was Ronon right?

Staring at the gun, John's heart started to beat faster and his palms began to sweat as the anger began bubbling to the surface again. No, Ronon wasn't right. Rodney having a gun was just wrong on too many fucking levels that John couldn't even wrap his head around them all. Rodney could be pissed with John all he wanted, he'd made up his mind.

Tossing the clip onto the dresser, John sat on the side of the bed, snorting quietly to himself, burying his hands in his hair, resting his elbows on his knees. Who was he kidding? Rodney was a stubborn bastard, if he wanted a gun John wasn't going to be able to stop him from getting another one. And John had no doubts that Ronon was the one that got the gun for Rodney in the first place, no matter how much Rodney protested that he hadn't. As much as John hated the idea of Rodney carrying a gun, of Rodney using a gun he knew he wouldn't be able to stop him. But he also knew he was just as stubborn as Rodney and he had no intentions of making it easy on him. If he wanted another gun, fine--but John would be damned if he just sat back and kept his mouth shut about the whole thing.

Stripping down to his boxers he slid under the covers, smiling grimly in the darkness and not at all thinking about what might have been lost tonight.

-----

It was still there when he woke up.

John had a routine, one he'd stuck to for over forty years and hadn't been all that dissimilar when he'd been alive. He would wake up, go running, come back to shower and eat and start the day. He felt bruised and sore today in places that couldn't be seen, and slept an extra hour instead. The next time he got up he stood and lifted the gun up off his dresser.

He stared at it for a moment, and touching it was electric, filled with sense memory and flashbacks and things that should have been forgotten long before now. The metal was cool and familiar, because holding a gun was like riding a fucking bike, and he knew he'd never have to practice again. He'd be a crack shot the rest of this not-life.

He bit his lip as he looked down at it, it had a nice weight to it, and he wrapped his fingers around and through it; it was a little like being reunited with an old lover, a little like coming home, and if he hadn't been frightened before, that would have done it. He ran his hand up along the side, and let the memories have their hold, if just for a minute.

Then he took it apart, piece-by-piece, and threw it away.

-----

Daniel woke up in Jack's guest room with a post-it stuck to his forehead and winced. The undead didn't get hangovers, allegedly, but Daniel had always been susceptible to bad beer.

Jack was gone when he headed out into the living room, but the shoebox was there, on the coffee table, in the middle of the room. Daniel rocked back carefully on his heels and glanced around, before checking his post-it to see what time he had to make for his reap.

Only it wasn't a name, just said, "don't even think about it" in Jack's hurried scrawl.

Daniel snorted, stuck the post-it to the door, and slipped outside without looking back.

-----

John was sitting on the kitchen counter when Rodney wandered out of his room, and he watched him warily. John didn't yell anymore, though, didn't say a thing. He wouldn't even look at him.

Rodney sighed and reached for the coffee pot, pouring the dregs into his cup before downing them with a wince. He shot John a sideways glance. "I'm thinking I'll get a Glock," he said.

"I'm thinking you've seen too many action movies," John said flatly, before hopping off the counter. "We're going to be late."

"I don't care," Rodney said, crossing his arms. "I'm not finished."

John finally turned and looked at him. "Anytime I find a gun in this apartment, I'm getting rid of it. That's just how it is. You're so set on this? Then I suggest you find yourself another place."

Rodney's eyes widened. "Are you serious?" he asked. "You'd kick me out over this?"

"Never," John said, almost gently. "I'm just going to kick the guns out, as far as I can get them, and that's not going to change."

John didn't seem to get how ridiculous it was, asking Rodney to choose between him and a gun. He was only getting a gun to protect him. Rodney shoved past him, and they didn't talk much on the way to O'Malley's.

-----

Jack was distracted today, and Daniel was beside him, biting his lip and looking generally concerned. John wondered what was wrong, but never asked, as he took advantage of Jack's distraction to take his post-it and bolt without conversation. He wasn't surprised when Ronon showed up beside him; he'd been counting on it.

"I'm guessing you know," Ronon said. "You've got that angry look in your eyes."

"You should mind your own business," John snapped, "instead of trying to warp Rodney into your twisted point of view."

Ronon took this with a shrug. "I'm just trying to protect him. And you."

"I'm trying to protect him," John said. "He used to be a goddamn scientist, still is, for all intents and purposes, and scientists don't generally carry around guns, especially not the dead ones."

"And why don't you?" Ronon asked. "Major?"

"Fuck you," John snapped.

"You're brining a world of trouble down on yourself with Kolya," Ronon said.

"How did you--never mind, Rodney told you. Just stay out of it, Ronon." John shoved his hands in his pockets, and kept walking, but Ronon wasn't letting him get even one step ahead.

"If you don’t want a gun, that's your business," Ronon said. "I don't know what happened to you, and I'll never ask, but if McKay wants one, then maybe you should take your own advice and stay the hell out of it."

John winced. Ronon had a way of making everything look simple, but John knew from experience that nothing ever was. "Rodney isn't going to find trouble if he doesn't go looking for it," he said. "Reapers can slip beneath the radar if they're trying to."

"Like you're trying to?" Ronon asked. "I promised you what would happen if you did this again."

"Ronon--"

"I said I'd kill Koyla if he touched you again, and I meant it." Ronon's eyes were hard. "For someone that likes to pretend they're staying under the radar, you seem to have a habit for stirring up trouble. I just can't figure out whether or not that's what you want."

"Right," John said, "because this what I want."

Ronon just watched him. "If McKay asks me again, I'll get him another gun."

"You do what you have to," John said, shoving past him, "and I'll do the same."

-----

Rodney turned circles in his desk chair. Things hadn't actually gone as planned last night. He'd thought, for a moment there, that he and John might have been reaching some new level, some new brand of closeness that Rodney had never managed with anyone else.

But it seemed, even dead, Rodney's love life was disastrous.

John's reaction to that gun seemed far too strong for the circumstances. Rodney knew some people hated guns, couldn't bear to be near them, but Rodney knew that John had been a Major in the Air Force when he'd been alive, and from the way John had deftly unloaded the weapon the moment he took it from Rodney's hands suggested that he had more than a passing familiarity with them.

From what he'd found out about John's death, he'd died in a helicopter crash, but if his body had never been recovered, then who knew? He could have been killed in a gunfight if he'd survived the crash, only that didn't seem to fit either.

John had come home just the other day with three bullets in him, and hadn't batted an eye, hadn't seemed to care at all about getting shot. Rodney laid his head down on his desk and closed his eyes. He had three hours until he had to go watch some other poor sap die, and he wished, really wished, for the first time since he'd found out he was dead, that he'd gotten his lights too, instead of this.

-----

"You weren't where you were supposed to be."

John didn't bother looking both ways before crossing the street. He pushed on his sunglasses with one hand as he held his cell phone with the other. "Kolya," he said. "Nice to hear from you. Funny, though, because I thought it was the other way around. You didn't show, and I don't wait around for anyone."

"You'd better learn to wait for me," Kolya said, his gravely tones edging a little deeper into something like anger. John had only seen Koyla really angry the once, the same day Ronon made his vow to kill him if he tried something again.

"Can't teach an old dog new tricks, I'm afraid," John said. He watched a young girl walk out of a dress shop, and knew without asking who she was. He asked anyway, he rarely left things to chance. He muffled the phone, and called out, "Hey, are you Bennett's kid?"

She looked startled, before nodding. "Yes, you know my father?"

John paused a minute. "No, I don't, I'm sorry, I thought you were someone else." She frowned at him, and he touched her arm as she walked by.

He returned to the phone call, and Kolya was talking mid-sentence. "I'm sorry," John said. "Could you say that again? I was ignoring you."

There was a short pause, which Koylya was probably using to count to ten. "I have another job for you, you don't want to let me down again."

"I don't know," he said. "It's kind of fun, actually. You turn such interesting colors."

There was the sound of screeching tires and a scream, and then A. Bennett was standing at the crosswalk, watching the aftermath of her death and looking confused.

"And you have such interesting things happen around you," Kolya said. "One has to wonder."

John went still, as people rushed past him towards the site of the wreck. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"Death seems to follow you around, though it doesn't seem to faze you," Kolya said. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed. Just ask that poor girl."

John's head shot up, and he started searching the faces around him. His eyes passed over the dead girl and scanned the stopped cars, before moving to the other side of the road.

"You'd better be there tomorrow," Kolya said. "You won't like what happens if you're not."

John spotted someone standing in the shade of a building across the street and clicking a cell phone closed, at the same time he heard the dial tone replace Kolya's voice.

-----

Daniel knew that Jack was having some kind of crisis with his past. He'd watched it happen with others, Ronon, even, though never John. He didn't know how to help this time, not with Jack. He couldn't just bring Jack a pizza or watch hockey; that didn't really help. That was this life, not the other.

But asking Jack if he wanted to talk usually got the door slammed in his face, like now, for instance. "Open the fucking door, Jack," he snapped, leaning forward with his hands braced on either side.

Jack swung it back open and glared out at him. "Watch your language," he said reproachfully.

Daniel rolled his eyes. "A little bonus of being undead is I don't have to be polite anymore."

"Oh, but you are," Jack said, smiling almost sincerely. "You can't help yourself. I bet you don't even hang up on telemarketers."

"Some of them actually have interesting views on--"

Jack held up his hand to forestall further comment. "Jesus, Daniel, I was kidding."

Daniel leaned back and crossed his arms. "I want to know what's going on with you."

"Oh, is that all?" Jack asked. "Well, see, a long time ago, I was alive, and I had a family, and now I'm not and I don't. Does that about cover it?"

"You had a child," Daniel said, and as Jack's eyes immediately went shuttered, he knew he had it right. "A son, wasn't it?"

Jack's expression tightened and he took a step forward. "Damn it, Daniel, I told you not to look in that box!"

"I didn't," Daniel said, not giving up any of his ground. "I had a fifty-fifty shot. I guess I got lucky."

"I'm not doing this with you," Jack said. "I'm not doing this with anyone. We're grim reapers, Daniel, we've got no call to talk about our feelings."

"Still, it's got to be hard," Daniel said, glancing at the ground. "I know I can't relate, I didn't leave anyone behind, but--"

Daniel always knew how to get to him, Jack thought with a sigh. If he wouldn't talk about his feelings, Daniel started talking about his own, because he knew Jack would never slam the door in his face over that. "What about your parents?" he asked. "You talk about them and how great they were all the time."

"They died when I was eight," Daniel said, and shrugged. "And I wasn't all that great at making friends."

Jack frowned. "You never told me that."

"I figured you wouldn't want to know," Daniel said. "You seem big on avoidance."

Jack couldn't really argue that, but he still moved aside, and let Daniel walk in, and once Daniel had collapsed on the couch, Jack said, in passing, "Look in the damn box if you want to so badly."

Daniel just looked at his hands. "I'd rather you just tell me what's in it."

Jack came to a stop. He closed his eyes, let out a breath, and said, "They are."

-----

Rodney's phone rang while he was going through and correcting all of Felger's work. He picked it up distractedly, and snapped, "What?"

"Hey."

Rodney frowned at the familiar voice. "Ronon? What? How did you get this number?"

"Phonebook," Ronon said simply. "So John is pissed."

"What, is this girl talk?" Rodney asked. "You warned me he wouldn't like it, I didn't listen, end of story."

"I'm trying to help, McKay," Ronon said. "Kolya is bad news."

"I kind of figured that out when I saw John had been shot," Rodney said testily. "If he'd still been alive he would have been dead." Rodney frowned at his own words. "Or something."

"I just wanted to tell you that maybe you should back off," Ronon said. "You don't want to, I won't stop you, but it might help. I've got a feeling John doesn't need this right now."

"He doesn't need to be shot up, either," Rodney said. "I just want--"

"Call me," Ronon said.

"What?" Rodney asked.

"If it happens again, just call me, and I'll take care of it," Ronon said.

Rodney tapped his fingers along the armrest of his chair. "What do you mean by that?"

"Haven't you learned not to ask me those kind of questions yet?" Ronon asked, sounding amused.

Rodney winced. "Right. Should you...ah, be doing that, though? I mean, won't there be consequences?"

"Probably," Ronon said. "You've got my number?"

"Yeah, John gave it to me," he said.

"Good," Ronon said, and hung up.

Rodney set the phone aside. He wasn't entirely sure he was ready to give up the idea of keeping a gun, but Ronon, he was sure, was far more dangerous than anything he could get from an arms dealer.

He grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair, and left his office. He had his reap to do, and this place was feeling a little too closed in for his tastes, anyway.

"Where are you going?" Felger asked him.

"Uh...I have to leave early," Rodney said. "My grandmother died."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Felger said, rising to his feet. "If there's anything--"

"No, I'm good," Rodney said. "Thanks anyway. I just have to go...you know, identify the body."

Felger looked mildly horrified. "Oh, okay. Why don't you go ahead and take the rest of the day?"

"Thanks," Rodney said.

-----

John had tried to catch up with Koyla, but by the time he made it through the crowd in the middle of the street, he was long gone. And Bennett kept following him around, asking stupid questions like "So I'm really dead?"

John nodded towards the body in the middle of the street. "That look alive to you?"

Bennett frowned. "You're kind of mean for an angel."

John shot her a crooked grin. "Oh, I'm not an angel," he said, before leading her away. "And it's time for you to go now."

"Where to?" she asked.

John pointed to the shining blue lights rising from the ground. He couldn't quite make it out, but it looked a little like a mall.

"Oh," she breathed, and took off running. John spun on his heel and started in the opposite direction.

Kolya had thrown him, in a way that no one else had since he'd been dead. John was careful, and he was good at this job. Taking souls was easier than shooting someone point blank, and he could do it smoothly, in a way that no one would remember him afterwards; and that wasn't easy, considering he drew a few glances everywhere he went.

Kolya, though, he hadn't been able to get him to forget.

The first time he'd met Acastus Kolya he'd been taking his tour. Once they landed, Kolya had complimented his flying, and said nothing about the sights.

He got a call the next day about a better job, more money, Kolya said, and John had laughed, because what the hell did he care what he was paid. Kolya kept trying, though, kept showing up at his office anyway; then he said, last chance, and John said, fuck you.

Kolya didn't like not getting what he wanted, so he had a pretty girl with bright red curls shoot him through the heart.

Needless to say, when John started flying tours again the next summer, Kolya was a bit suspicious.

-----

John walked the streets for an hour or maybe two, casting looks over his shoulder every third of a block. He didn't know how long Koyla had been following him, or how much he'd seen. John had laughingly said, "Ever heard of a bullet proof vest?" when Kolya had demanded to know why he wasn't dead, but there had been a whole lot of blood; the concrete of his hanger floor was still stained with it.

Kolya never really believed that story. Kolya was a whole hell of a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them, and John probably hadn't been as careful as he should have been. Kolya had backhanded him after he'd come back late from the last run he'd done for him, but he'd no longer been angry the next day, and John wondered if that was because it had gotten back to him that John had been shot three times by Cowen's men that same night.

Now Kolya thought he was some kind of angel of death, which wouldn't be half so worrying if it weren't kind of true.

John dropped down onto the bench at some bus stop and placed his head in his hands. Rodney didn't understand why would John would keep working for Kolya, and he knew less than half the story, and Ronon didn't understand why he wouldn't just kill the bastard for what he'd done.

But John had been at this for awhile now, and the best thing to do was to keep your head down.

Except he was starting to think maybe he'd been lying to himself all this time, because at the moment he didn't feel fearless at all. He was terrified, not of Koyla, but of himself, and what he was capable of.

He kept telling Rodney to let go, to move on, and after forty years, he hadn't even done it himself.

-----

When Rodney made it home after his reap, he wasn't surprised to find the apartment empty, he was getting used to that. Thales glared at him a little from where he perched on the back of the couch, a little upset himself about having been left there so long alone.

"You're a cat," Rodney told him. "You lay around all day and eat. You don't get to complain."

Thales rolled onto his back and stared at him, which Rodney chose to take as forgiveness. He sighed, petting Thales, before heading into his room. He toed off his shoes and dropped down on the bed.

That was when he saw the pieces of the gun sitting on the dresser.

"I may have overreacted."

Rodney spun around. John was leaning back against his wall, and Rodney decided that people were really going to have to stop sneaking into his room. "What?"

"You can have it back," John said, apparently by way of explanation. "Just try not to shoot yourself in the foot. I kind of lied about it feeling like a Beebe gun, it'll hurt like a bitch."

"John--" Rodney started.

"You're a genius, so I'm sure you can figure out how to put it back together," John continued.

"John," Rodney interrupted, again. "I don't care about the gun. I care about you, and you're scaring me."

John glanced away. "It's just that...this thing, it's not simple, it's not--"

"Nothing's been simple since I died," Rodney said.

John took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Nothing had been simple for him since he was born. "You asked me before how I died," John said.

Rodney watched him guiltily. "Yeah, about that, I kind of...looked it up."

"This isn't something you'd find on the Internet," John said softly, and then he stepped a little closer, and told Rodney about his last day alive, about turning off his radio and ignoring his orders to return, about going back anyway, because those were his friends in trouble down there, and they'd come back for him.

Rodney looked a little pale but he was reaching out, grabbing John by the wrist and pulling him in. John let him, and kept talking, like now that he'd started he didn't know how to stop.

He told him about the hit to his engine and the fall, but that he wasn't dead yet, not quite, he was bleeding too much to believe he'd live, but that he never once felt it. It was all very disconnected, and later he'd learn that was because his soul had been taken before he'd ever left for his flight.

"You were a hero," Rodney told him, looking at him with wide eyes. "I should have known. It's this damn hair, that look in your eyes, it's written all over you."

"You don't get it," John said, and his voice was catching over the oddest words. "He was still alive. Mitch, he was still alive, and he was screaming, begging me to...and no one was coming for us, we knew that, they...I was it, their last shot, and I killed him instead of saving him. I shot him right between his eyes."

Rodney's hands don't pull away the way he expected them to. "It was mercy," he breathed against his neck. "I know you, and it was mercy. You have to let go of it. You know what happened to him. He went somewhere bright, somewhere lovely, he had it easy."

John closed his eyes, let Rodney pull him closer, not further, and he didn't tell him that he lay there four hours before he died from loss of blood, or that he probably would have shot himself, too, if he'd had any bullets left.

"It was my fault," he said instead, because it always came back to that, and it didn't matter if the last thing Mitch ever said was 'thank you.' "I wasn't fast enough, I didn't make it back in time--Dex...god, he was in pieces when I got there..."

"You gave your life for them," Rodney whispered. "You can't give more than that, John, there was nothing more you could have done."

The way Rodney said it, John could almost believe him; but forty years of guilt didn't disappear from words, no matter who spoke them. Rodney kissed him, and then pulled back, whispered "it wasn't your fault" and "you've got nothing to be sorry for" and "you're the most amazing person I've ever known" and then kissed him again.

"You have to know that's true," Rodney said. "I wouldn't settle for less than the best."

They started pulling at each other's clothes then, and John thought it felt a little like falling, this kind of attraction, because it was more than lust, and that was the only parallel he could draw. Rodney pulled his shirt over his head while he worked at his belt, and soon they were crashing against the wall, kissing like that was the only way left to breathe.

"I think I waited my whole life for this," Rodney said. "You were a little late, not showing up till I was dead."

"Better late than never," John told him breathlessly, and maneuvered them over. Rodney took the hint and pushed him gently towards the bed. They lay down together, slow, and still too fast.

"Let go for me," Rodney whispered, as he moved up against him suddenly, sending shock waves through him. John wasn't sure when they'd both been stripped completely, but it was all bare skin and movement now, and it was enough to make him dizzy in the best way possible.

John moaned as Rodney used all of his brilliant knowledge of friction to the best advantage, and then he let go, gave himself over almost completely. He couldn't tell if Rodney noticed the change or not, but he was pretty sure he did, because a second later Rodney was slipping his hands into his messy hair, and kissing him again.

It was over far too soon, with their emotions this high, and it had been too long for both of them. They had both waited more than a lifetime to find someone that fit this well.

Rodney's bed was small, but John didn't mind if Rodney didn't, he was too spent to move and he was asleep in minutes. Rodney, conversely, was wide-awake, and he watched him for a moment before running his fingers over the clear skin of John's stomach, and that spot right beneath his ribs where the bullet holes had been; there was nothing there anymore, because they only got to keep the scars they already had.

It still left John with more than enough, and Rodney placed a kiss over each one.

Dead Like Them: Ghost Story (Part One)

2006-04-22T14:00:32Z

Dead Like Them: Ghost Story
John/Rodney
SGA/SG1/Dead Like Me crossover AU
NC17 for various reasons

"You're bleeding," Rodney said, unnecessarily, and he felt a little sick. Blood didn't faze him much these days, not with his job, but the blood wasn't usually John's.

Art by laytoncolt

Part One | Part Two

Despite the fact that Rodney hated DST with every fiber of his being, and despite the fact that Lee and Felger were quite possibly the most incompetent buffoons he'd ever met, he was beginning to find his rhythm again. After wading through the backlog of paperwork that had met him on his first day on the job, Rodney had insinuated himself into the midst of Lee's and Felger's latest project. It didn't hurt that Felger seemed to spend most of his time; head perched on his fist, staring off into space. Rodney had no problem letting the man daydream the day away--it simply meant he had free reign of the lab.

Lee seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time playing the poor, destitute scientist, begging for funding from this organization or that branch of the government in order to keep the lab afloat. Again, it just meant Rodney was free to do things as he saw fit, which brought back many a pleasant memory as he yelled at the peons, watching them scurry away with their proverbial tails between their legs.

Difficult though it was, he still managed to pull himself away from the lab to do his daily reap before hurrying back and burying himself in his projects once more. Every night he would trudge home to John's apartment, eyes half-closed as he aimed the key for the lock. Most nights John was there, waiting up with an affectionate smile that still made Rodney's heart beat faster no matter how many times he saw it.

John would ask how his day went, how his reap went, when he last ate and then begin to pull various things from the fridge or cupboards to throw something together for Rodney to eat before ushering him off to bed.

A couple of weeks before, John had surprised Rodney. He had a small room that had been serving as a storage space, one that Rodney had begun to take advantage of, storing his limited belongings inside. One night Rodney had arrived home from work, dead on his feet, and John had led him towards the room, opening the door and pushing Rodney inside, despite his protests, before switching on the light.

Rodney's eyes were wide, taking in his surroundings. John had cleared the room of its clutter, replacing it with a single bed, dresser, desk and a few other odds and ends that made the room feel homier. Turning, Rodney saw John's hesitant and hopeful look, waiting for Rodney's approval or disappointment.

When Rodney had asked why John had gone to so much trouble he'd simply shrugged, and with a self-deprecating smile said, "My back was getting sore from watching you sleep on the couch."

Feeling slightly overwhelmed Rodney had huffed that it wasn't as big as John's room but he supposed it would do. He could feel himself beginning to blush under John's amused scrutiny. Crossing his arms over his chest he tilted his head to the side, grinning crookedly. "Thank you."

John smiled brightly and said, "You're welcome."

Since that moment--and if he was being honest, even before that--Rodney had started thinking of John's apartment as home.

Pushing the door open, Rodney sighed. It had been a long day and he'd made a lot of progress at work, but he was glad to be home. He had to admit that before he died he'd spent the majority of his time at the lab, but now, now that he actually had someone to come home to--even if he wasn't technically coming home to John--he didn't mind leaving the lab at the end of the day. Yes, he still stayed longer than anyone else, but whereas when he was living he would be, more often than not, likely to sleep at the lab, he found himself shutting down his projects around ten every night, wondering if John was already home.

Rodney could hear John's muffled voice, tight in anger, coming from his bedroom. He couldn't hear what John was saying but his tone made it clear he wasn't happy. Rodney walked to his own room, throwing his stuff in the corner, peeled out of his work-clothes and changed into jogging pants and a t-shirt. Thales was curled up in the middle of Rodney’s bed and Rodney ran his hand gently through his soft fur, grinning when he began to purr even in sleep.

Hearing John's bedroom door open roughly, Rodney stepped out, seeing John's tensed back as he stormed into the kitchen. Following him, Rodney paused in the doorway, "Hey."

John turned, the scowl on his face quickly being replaced by his ever-present mask. He smiled a smile that didn't reach his eyes, as he looked at Rodney. "Hey--how was your day?"

"I'm guessing better than yours," Rodney said, stepping into the kitchen. "What's going on?"

John shrugged, waving a hand dismissively before turning to the fridge. "Nothing."

"John--"

"It's nothing, Rodney." The tone was deceptively light, but Rodney could hear the underlying annoyance and unspoken 'back off'.

Rodney ignored it, pressing on, "Who was on the phone?"

Sighing loudly, John turned, eyes narrowed. "If I say it’s none of your business, will you--"

"Ignore you and continue to ask?" Rodney nodded. "Pretty much."

Rolling his eyes and fighting the smirk that wanted to escape John pulled two beers from the fridge. "It was a client."

Rodney frowned. "A client?" He took the offered beer and followed John to the living room, flopping onto the couch beside him. John flicked on the TV, the sound down low as he flipped through channel after channel not stopping long enough to see what was on any of them. "You told me you fly people on tours--"

"I do," John interrupted, taking a swig from his beer. "But during the off season I take on a few odd jobs--doing cargo runs or playing chauffeur."

"And this client--"

"Let's just say he'd prefer I only worked for him." John replied before swiftly changing the subject. "Are you hungry?"

Rodney doesn't take the bait, folding his arms over his chest and pinning John with a determined scowl. "There's more to it than you're telling me."

"Its fine, Rodney," John shook his head, a disarming smile on his face. "Don't worry about it."

"Funny thing is," Rodney started, "I can't not worry."

"Aw, I didn't know you cared." John grinned.

"Shut up--stop trying to distract me with your cocky smirk and insane hair." Rodney huffed in annoyance but there was a little truth to what he said--John was a big distraction; not one he's at all interested in ever getting rid of and one he'd most definitely like to do something about, but that's neither here nor there at the moment. "Tell me what's going on, John."

John glared at Rodney, hand gingerly touching his hair before sinking into the couch, his own arms folding over his chest and Rodney could swear he'd started to pout, but then he said, "He’s some rich asshole that's used to getting what he wants. He doesn't like the fact that I prefer flying the tours and has been hounding me with offers, each more extravagant than the next, in order to lure me away from my current job. Like I said--off season I take a few odd jobs here and there and I've been flying for him for a couple months now."

"Who is it?" Rodney's frowning now because this doesn't sound so much about work as it sounds personal.

John waved his hand as if to push away thoughts of his 'client', "His name is Kolya--he's rich enough to have a small army, but for the most part is harmless. He's more annoying than anything." John smiled falsely with a quirk of his eyebrow and Rodney could easily see the lie. "So--is the interrogation over?"

Rodney huffed, but nodded. "For now."

Rolling his eyes John asked again, "So--hungry?"

Rodney looked thoughtful for a moment before grinning crookedly at John. "You buying?"

John laughed, patting Rodney's leg before pushing himself up, off the couch to find the take-out menus.
___

Rodney woke up to the sound of John's voice in the other room, sounding angry again. It still threw him a little; before yesterday, he hadn't know John could get angry. He heard no one respond, so he figured John was either on the phone or having some kind of nervous breakdown. He crawled out of bed, and ran a hand over Thales' back as a good morning before wandering out into the living room.

"I don't give a fuck," John was yelling, and he was on the phone, which was good. Rodney couldn't deal with nervous breakdowns before his morning coffee. "I'm self-employed for a reason; I'm not going to be your errand boy."

John had some kind of sixth sense where Rodney was concerned, because he knew without looking that he'd entered the room and he instinctively lowered his voice.

"I can't do this now," he said quickly, and then bit his lip, and hung up the phone. He looked strangely distraught and vulnerable as he turned to place the phone back in its carriage, but he was smiling by the time he turned back around.

"Hey, Rodney," he said brightly. "Sleep well?" He was apparently going to use the old 'angry phone call? What angry phone call?' ploy again today. How utterly predictable.

John handed him a steaming mug of coffee and turned on the charm a bit higher, taking the wattage of his smile from pleasant to dazzling without any visible effort, and obviously trying to distract him. Rodney hated that it almost worked.

Sometimes Rodney thought John had some kind of internal switch. He could go from brooding and mysterious to Stepford wife in less time than it took Rodney to blink. It was actually more than a little disturbing, because as much as he loved John doing things for him, he always felt bizarrely guilty about it, like John was trying to make up for something he couldn't ever fix.

"Was that the Kolya asshole again?" Rodney asked.

John sighed and jumped up onto the counter. John always sought higher ground when he was feeling cornered. "No, it was my mother," he said.

Rodney sipped at the coffee, and managed to roll his eyes at the same time. "Why do you keep doing things for him if he's so awful? You've been looking like the walking dead for weeks now."

John smirked. "Apt," he said.

"Oh, shut up," Rodney snapped. "You know what I mean. Just drop him."

"He pays really well," John said and shrugged; then he flashed another grin. "I just want to be able to buy you nice things."

Rodney glared at him. It always threw him when John said things like that; he had a feeling it was just John's way of deflecting his attention, and honestly, it was true enough that the man would flirt with anything. He'd had Thales eating out of his hand within the first ten minutes. John was probably just having some harmless fun, but Rodney was dead, not celibate, and he never knew how to respond. One of his biggest regrets about dying was that he'd never learned to flirt while he was still alive.

"You make the best coffee," he said after a moment's hesitation. "What more could I ask for?"

John laughed, but it sounded a little forced, like he had to work at it. He reached across the counter and grabbed something, before pressing it into Rodney's palm. "For you," he said sweetly.

Rodney grimaced. "You shouldn't have," he said wryly, glaring at the post-it.

"I went out running this morning and ran into Jack, thought I'd save you the trip to O'Malley's today," he explained.

"You run?" Rodney asked, looking mortified. "What the hell for? We're dead."

"That's no excuse not to be healthy," John said, smiling at the irony of his own statement, but looking strangely sincere at the same time.

Rodney's mind was boggling. "We've lived together for weeks, I've never seen you run."

"I'm usually back before you're awake," John said wryly. "You're welcome to join me if you want. I would have asked earlier, but you didn't strike me as the morning jog type."

The thought of John sweaty and running was tempting, but not that tempting. "When hell freezes over, I might start running for fun," he said. "Until then I'll stick with sleeping in."

John laughed again and jumped off the counter. "I've gotta head out," he said. "Don't wait up. I'll probably be late."

Rodney pursed his lips shut to keep from saying something nagging like 'again' or 'that's the third time this week!’ "Whatever," he said, instead, but John wasn't fooled.

"You've got a late reap tonight anyway," John said, nodding towards Rodney's post-it, apparently intending for that to be some kind of comfort, when really it just made things worse.

"What are you doing today?" Rodney asked. He was going for casual, but even he could hear the worry in his voice.

"You worry too much," John said grinning. "You're dead, Rodney, live a little."

"That makes no sense!" Rodney shouted after him, but John just waved at him brightly, and then disappeared out the door.

-----

He went out his office window at quarter to five, because Felger kept messaging him these pathetic little comments about how he missed his former assistant Chloe, and he'd never known what he'd had until he'd lost her. He'd figured he either had to leave early or take Felger's soul without a post-it, and skipping out early seemed like less of a hassle.

It was actually kind of fun. He'd never skipped out on work before, because work used to be his fun. He bet John used to climb out windows all the time.

He spent the next two hours in the park, sitting alone on a swing and waiting for J. Harold to show up and die. Harold sat on the swings with him for awhile, after he'd walked by the construction site at the wrong time and got knocked in the face by one of the worker's errant shovel, smashing his nose up into his skull.

"So I'm dead?" he'd asked.

"Yeah," Rodney told him. Then, feeling obligated to give him some words of wisdom he said, "Go into the light, my friend, go into the light."

J. Harold's lights appeared flickering in front of them, shaping into the Eiffel Tower. "I never did get to see it," he said.

"You can see it now," Rodney told him, and then the lights and J. Harold disappeared, and he was alone again, swinging in time with the ambulance sirens coming closer from somewhere far away.

Being a Grim Reaper wasn't the worst job to have, Rodney decided. It wasn't so terribly depressing as it probably should be. Most of the time they weren't even sad.

It was being left behind that made people sad.

He knew he shouldn't, but he ended up outside of Atlantis Labs. The lights were still on, but that wasn't surprising. Atlantis Labs had better scientists than DST; it had the kind that never sleeps. He could see Radek's backlit silhouette at the third floor window, and Rodney wondered if Radek was sad.

He felt bad about it, but Rodney kind of wanted someone to be sad about him, and Radek was the only real friend he'd ever had in his life.

-----

Rodney trudged back home, fully intending to be alone and feeling sorry for himself for the rest of the night, or until John made it back from wherever the hell he was, but when he went to open the door, his palm came off the doorknob sticky with drying blood. He pushed inside quickly. "John?" he shouted, starting down the hall when he wasn't to be found in the kitchen or the living room.

He found him leaning over the bathroom sink; blood was swirling down the drain, and the water ran pink and then clear as the last of it disappeared. John's lip was split open and still bleeding, and he could already see the beginnings of a bruise spreading across his cheek. "Jesus," he whispered. "What happened? Are you okay?"

John pushed off of the sink, and it took visible effort for him to gain his balance and his composure, which alarmed Rodney more than anything. "I'm fine," John said, glancing up at him and then quickly away; not that it helped, Rodney had already seen the damage.

"You're bleeding," Rodney said, unnecessarily, and he felt a little sick. Blood didn't faze him much these days, not with his job, but the blood wasn't usually John's. He reached out instinctively, but paused with his hand mid-air, afraid to touch.

"It's nothing," John told him, reaching up and pushing Rodney's hand gently back down. He even tried to smile. It was a pathetic attempt; the right side of his face looked puffy and sore, and his lower lip had a line of bright red running through it. Rodney had never been really hurt before, not back when he'd been passing his days in an ivory tower, not before that one time where he died, and he winced just looking at him.

"You look awful," Rodney snapped. "I thought we were...you know, undead. I thought we couldn't be hurt."

John laughed, but that looked painful too. "No," he said. "We can be hurt like anyone, we just can't die twice."

"What happened?" Rodney asked again, and his voice was strangely calm now, but he realized kind of distantly that he'd never been this angry. He'd gladly take the soul of whoever had done this.

"Haven't you ever been in a fight before?" John asked him. His eyes were wide and kind of disbelieving, like coming home in one piece every night would be the real insanity.

"John," Rodney said. His voice was still strangely eerily calm, and oddly commanding.

John seemed to sense that Rodney wasn't in a mood to be fucked around with, and he glanced away again. "The job didn't go as planned," he said. "It's not a big deal, Rodney, this will all be gone by tomorrow. We can get hurt, but we heal fast."

Rodney wondered how many other times John had been hurt that he could predict how long it would take to heal. "Did that bastard Kolya do this?" Rodney asked.

John placed a finger against his split lip in distraction, pressing at it like he might be able to hold it closed. "I can take care of myself," he said.

"That isn't an answer," Rodney snapped.

"It's all you need to know," John told him, before pressing up against him to slip sideways out the door. The contact left Rodney a little dizzy and nauseous from the coppery scent of his blood, even though he knew he should really be used to it by now.

His hands got a little more covered in it every single day.

-----

The next morning, as John had predicted, his split lip was no longer visible. He could still see faint bruising across his cheek, a strange yellow-tinged glow, and he was favoring his left side. Rodney trapped John against the counter in irritation when he tried to act like it was just any other morning, and started pulling at his shirt.

"It's a little early to be getting frisky, don't you think?" John asked, and anyone else might think he sounded amused, but Rodney could hear the tension he was trying to hide.

Once he'd wrestled John's shirt high enough he could see why. There were three small holes beneath John's ribs on his side. "You idiot," Rodney shouted. "You were fucking shot and you didn't tell me?"

John shrugged with a self-depreciating smile. "It's that whole undead thing again. A 9 mm feels like a Beebe gun. It's not worth worrying over."

"I want you to stay away from this guy," Rodney told him vehemently, and he was still holding John at his hips, pressing him against the counter. He'd never pushed someone like this before; had never cared enough to.

"Kolya didn't do this," John said, though Rodney noted absently that John had never denied Koyla was responsible for his split lip. "He wouldn't. He wants me."

"That's what worries me," Rodney told him.

"Everything worries you," John said, going for glib, before effortlessly twisting out of his grip. "Be fearless, Rodney, there's no reason left not to be."

Rodney remembered the picture; John's easy grin in the Vietnam sun. He had a feeling John had always been fearless, and that being dead had nothing whatsoever to do with it. "You said we can still be hurt," Rodney said quietly. "That's reason enough for me."

He was pissed off at John for having so little regard for his own well-being, but tried to compose himself before he gave anything more away. It was just his luck that he'd finally found someone to care about and that someone didn't care about himself.

-----

Jack mostly let Rodney get away with not having a baby-sitter anymore, but today he must have noticed Rodney's mood and the way John had grabbed his post-it and hightailed it out of the restaurant as quick as he could manage, because he said just as Rodney was about leave, "Why don't you take Ronon with you?"

Ronon made some kind of protest through the piece of toast he'd just shoved in his mouth, but Jack just flashed him a grin. Jack grinned a little the way John did, in that it never meant what it seemed to. "You'd love to? Great. Have fun then, kids. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Daniel snorted. "And that rules out what, exactly?"

Jack glanced at him. "I don't like knitting. I wouldn't knit," he said.

Daniel rolled his eyes and slouched further in the booth. Rodney, used to these kinds of things by now, just turned on his heel and started out the door. Ronon joined him a moment later, stuffing the rest of his toast into his pockets for reasons known only to him.

They were silent for awhile. Ronon was kind of like that, couldn't be bothered to talk unless you got him started. And getting him started was rarely a good idea, but Rodney was on edge already, and the silence got to him quickly. "You've known John awhile, right?" he asked.

"Going on forty years," Ronon said nonchalantly.

"Right," Rodney said, a little startled, because sometimes he forgot that these people died before he was born. "Is he...I mean, does he get hurt a lot?"

"What's a lot?" Ronon asked, pulling out a piece of bread crust from his pocket to chew on.

"You need me to define 'a lot'?" Rodney snapped. "A lot is a lot."

Ronon shrugs. "He gets hurt sometimes. Not usually too badly. He can take care of himself."

"Yeah," Rodney said petulantly. "So he likes to claim."

Ronon threw him a mischievous grin, which Rodney was a little wary about. "You like him," he said, and then laughed. "Never gonna happen, McKay."

Rodney glared at him, stopping in his tracks and crossing his arms. "What's that supposed to mean? You think he's out of my league?" he snapped.

Ronon paused. "I know he is, but that's not what I'm talking about." Ronon tilted his head, watching him carefully. "It's just that you blew it. You waited too long to make a move. He thinks you're friends now. Roomies. Buddies."

"I get it," Rodney interrupted. "But we're guys. Guys don't work like that. We'll do anything for the possibility of sex."

"Whatever you say," Ronon told him, as he started off again. "John ain't that kind of guy, though. You think he has trouble getting laid? Even dead? Friendships are harder to come by."

Rodney caught up to him again, glaring all the while. "What are you trying to say? You think I'd have trouble getting laid?"

"That's not what I meant," Ronon said. "You're hot in that intellectual geeky way, if I were into guys, I'd fuck you."

Rodney was caught between being flattered and horrified. "Uh...thanks?"

"No problem," Ronon said. "Were you heading somewhere with this? Or can we be done talking now?"

"Oh, we're just getting started," Rodney snapped. "Have you ever heard of someone named Kolya?"

Ronon paused, and shot him a shifty glance. "Now where did you hear that name?"

"From John," Rodney said. "He's doing jobs for him, whatever the hell that means."

Ronon sighed. "Fuck," he said.

Rodney glared. "You know something. What do you know?"

"That Kolya is bad news," Ronon said, before shedding the worry like he'd never been concerned at all. "But John can--"

"Take care of himself," Rodney finished irritably. "Yeah, and I guess that's why he came home last night with his face smashed in and three bullet holes in his chest?"

Ronon's gaze darkened and he stiffened a little. "I'm sure he knows what he's doing," Ronon said.

"I'm not," Rodney said simply. "I think he's got issues. Big huge issues."

"It's hard to be dead and well-adjusted," Ronon said with a shrug.

Rodney admitted, if only to himself, that he made a good point. "If he's so damn good at taking care of himself," Rodney snapped, "why doesn't he just tell this Kolya to go fuck himself? Why does he keep working for him if he's going to get hurt?"

"Kolya is the type to cause trouble if he doesn't get what he wants, and John has a very strict code regarding the living," Ronon said. "He only touches them to take their soul, and does the jobs he needs to do to get by; otherwise, he's completely non-interference." Ronon moved his coat aside, and Rodney caught sight of a rather large gun strapped to his belt before the coat fell back into place. "I don't have any such code myself."

Ronon grabbed the next guy that walked across them by the front of his t-shirt, and pulled him into an ally. He pushed him up against the wall and placed the sharp edge of a knife blade against the terrified man's throat; Rodney hadn't even seen him reach for it. "Gimme your wallet," Ronon said, his voice was deep and threatening, and Rodney nearly scrambled to find his own.

The man quickly handed it to Ronon and Ronon took it, before pushing the man back towards the street.

Rodney blinked as the man went running off shouting for help, and Ronon grabbed him by the arm and started walking in the opposite direction. "Are you supposed to mug people?" Rodney asked incredulously.

Ronon shrugged, and flipped through the wallet, counting money. "Probably not," he said, before turning to Rodney, looking a little creepily pleased with himself. "Now, are you ready to go grab some souls?"
____

John sauntered into O’Malley’s; flopping into the seat beside Daniel and grinning widely at Jack’s bent head. Jack didn’t look up as he peeled of John’s post-it, handing it wordless to him before going back to whatever he’d been doing when John walked in. Daniel was frowning at John, biting his bottom lip and John rolled his eyes. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Daniel answered with a wide-eyed innocent look.

John narrowed his own eyes. “You’re staring.”

“He’s probably staring at the remnants of the big ass bruise on your pretty little face,” Jack mumbled without looking up.

“It’s nothing,” John said quickly, grinning as Janet came over to take his order.

After she left Daniel took a sip of his coffee, turning in the booth; arm over the back of the seat to better see John. “It doesn’t look like nothing; it looks like someone used you for a punching bag.”

“This something I should be worried about?” Jack asked, finally looking up to pin John with an assessing look.

“I told you, it’s nothing—I can take care of myself.”

“Newbie’s worried about you,” Jack said, leaning back in his seat, tapping out an annoying rhythm on the table with his pen.

“I don’t need a lecture,” John snapped, suddenly not all that hungry anymore.

“Who’s lecturing?” Jack grinned charmingly. Turning to Daniel he asked, “Am I lecturing?”

Daniel shook his head, “No—I’ve been on the receiving end many times—this isn’t lecturing.” He smirked at Jack.

John rolled his eyes, used to Jack and Daniel by now. “I’m fine, guys—really.”

Jack nodded, shifting to lean his elbows on the table. “You’d tell me if you weren’t though, right?”

“Of course,” John replied, too quickly, and Jack scowled.

“You enjoy making my life miserable, don’t you?”

John threw Jack a cocky smirk. “It is, by far, my only joy in death.”

Jack snorted before stealing Daniel’s coffee, grimacing at the sweetness.
__

Rodney watched as Ronon’s reap disappeared into the cheesiest looking strip club he’d ever seen. “Huh,” he said. “I didn’t expect that.”

Ronon shrugged, turning away from where the lights had faded and started to walk away. With a final stunned blink Rodney followed. “How long before your reap?”

Rodney glanced at his post-it again, sighing. “Not for another four hours.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” Ronon asked.

Rodney shrugged. “Didn’t feel like going in today. I called in sick.” The truth was, after dealing with—or rather trying to deal with—John and his god damned subterfuge, Rodney was fucking exhausted. “I’ll probably go home and sleep for a few hours.”

Glancing at Rodney from the corner of his eyes Ronon grunted, “I guess you can hang out with me today.”

“That’s—uh,” Rodney stuttered. “I’m kind of tired.” And the idea of spending the day with Ronon after he’d just mugged a man at knife point kind of terrified him.

Slinging an arm around Rodney’s shoulder, Ronon bared his teeth in another startling grin. “It’ll be fun.” Rodney swallowed audibly but let Ronon pull him along.
____

Jack grinned as a man with dark hair and bright blue eyes slid into the seat across from him. “Been a long time,” he said.

Nodding, Kowalski grinned. “That it has, Jack. How’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know, can’t complain.” Waving Janet over, he ordered another coffee, Kowalski doing the same. “Colorado beat New York last night so it’s all good,” he shrugged.

Huffing out a laugh, Kowalski took a drink of his coffee, sitting the cup back on the table carefully before looking Jack in the eye. “You sure about this, Jack?”

Jack nodded, sticking his finger into his coffee before removing it and shaking his hand, rubbing it on his pant leg and leaning on his elbows to stare at Kowalski. “Did you find it?”

“Not too sure you’re going to be happy with what you find…”

“Kowalski,” Jack snapped impatiently. “Yes or no?”

Kowalski paused for a moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling a folded piece of paper out, lying on the table, his hand covering it. “You’re the one that always told me you can’t go back.” He pushed the paper across the table towards Jack. Swallowing the last of his coffee, he threw a couple dollars on the table and stood with a sad smile. “As hard as it might be--not knowing, Jack,” Kowalski said quietly, “sometimes knowing is worse.”

Jack didn’t look up as Kowalski left, his eyes still on the folded white paper in front of him. His hands shook as he picked it up, mouth in a firm, thin line; eyes hardened from years of pain. Sucking in a deep breath, he unfolded the paper.
__

Daniel smiled brightly at his assistant, who had, much to Daniel’s chagrin, taken it upon herself to ‘put some meat on his bones’. She deposited another batch of cookies onto his desk with a motherly pat to his shoulder, tutting about how thin he was getting, how peaky—death warmed over she said. He needed rest, needed good home cooked meals and a nice wife to give him lots of beautiful little babies she said.

She was sixty five and had told Daniel on numerous occasions about her very single granddaughter. Daniel thanked her, accepting the cookies and carefully refusing the granddaughter before turning back to his work. Catherine left him alone, but not before telling him he needed to take his nose out of his books once in a while.

Laughing quietly to himself, Daniel snagged a cookie, glanced at the clock and returned to his reading. He still had time before he needed to do his reap.
__

Rodney flinched again as the bullet hit its mark, dead center. Ronon's smile was growing with each clip he emptied into the paper target and Rodney wondered why exactly he had let himself be dragged along to the firing range when all he really felt like doing was curling up with Thales on the couch and watching bad Sci-Fi...or maybe some bad porno. He didn’t really care at this point. He was getting a headache, even with the protective earphones and the longer he stood beside Ronon, shifting restlessly from foot to foot, the more his thoughts began to jumble together.

Then Ronon shoved a gun into his hand, pulling the earphones from his own head before removing Rodney’s. After a very quick lesson on what to do and what not to do, Ronon pushed Rodney into position in front of the firing window, a new, perfectly pristine paper target waiting for Rodney to begin shooting.

The first shot went wild, hitting the back wall and not even nicking the paper and Rodney growled to himself because honestly killing paper people was not his idea of fun. But just as he was about to tell Ronon he was leaving, that he didn't want to do this anymore, John’s bloodied and bruised face popped into his head and an imaginary vision of the people that did it to him suddenly is superimposed over the blank face of the paper target.

He still wasn't shooting very well but at least this time he was managing to hit the target and he had to admit that picturing the bastards that shot John in front of him as he emptied clip after clip, letting Ronon show him how to reload, he was starting to feel a little better. And if the thought that perhaps he’d get the chance to use his newly learned shooting skills on said bastards was in the back of his mind as he watched the paper explode on impact, well—he was actually okay with that.

On to Part 2

Dead Like Them: Dead Man Walking

2006-04-16T01:28:20Z

Dead Like Them: Dead Man Walking
John/Rodney Pre-Slash
SG1/Atlantis/Dead Like Me crossover AU

"I'm never going to be like you, or like John," Rodney said desperately. "You'd be better off getting someone else to do this."

Dead Like Them: Dead Man Walking

Art by laytoncolt

Part One
_______

Rodney should probably have been a little disconcerted that his afterlife, as it was, had not a few benefits more than he'd ever managed during his life. When he'd been alive, guys like John wouldn't have given him the time of day, guys like John were naturally cool, and Rodney, while he had the most brilliant mind to ever walk the Earth, tended to get tongue tied in social situations. Guys like John, when he'd been alive, certainly wouldn't let him move in and bring him coffee in the mornings, or make him breakfast without being asked.

John even rented The Sixth Sense for him after Rodney had mentioned never getting to see the end. They watched the whole thing together, and considering his situation, Rodney found the ending eerily appropriate.

That wasn't to say he was having the time of his life, or unlife, or whatever. He missed his lab, his work, even Radek, but most of all, he missed his cat.

It still felt a little odd, sneaking in through Elizabeth Weir's window and creeping across her living room, though, and he gave himself a moment to have second thoughts before pressing on. He felt like some kind of pervert or peeping Tom, but he reminded himself that he wasn't here to spy on Elizabeth.

He was here for his cat. Elizabeth had always been after his cat, always coming over with excuses just to try and draw Thales away, and so tracking Thales down had been pathetically easy. He spotted him curled up on the sofa, the small cat bed Elizabeth had placed out for him had been scratched almost to pieces and flipped over in distain. He obviously wasn't happy about not having a real bed. Living with Rodney, he usually got it all to himself, because Rodney had a habit of falling asleep in the lab.

"Thales," he whispered.

Thales opened one eye and glanced at him in disgust before going back to sleep.

"It's me, you stupid cat," Rodney hissed.

Thales didn't move, but Rodney heard someone walking around in the bedroom, and a moment later he heard Elizabeth call out, "Is someone there?"

Rodney's eyes went wide. "Fuck," he whispered, before grabbing Thales up. The cat screeched in protest, but Rodney didn't pause; he just jumped out the window and started running.

Elizabeth could get her own damn cat; this one was his.

-----

The first thing John said was, "Please tell me you didn't."

Rodney was covered in mud up to his knees from where he'd tripped in Elizabeth's garden, and Thales was mud splattered and trying to twist out of his grip, so Rodney decided John must be really optimistic thinking there was a chance he hadn't. "I didn't," he said anyway, obediently.

John collapsed onto his couch and placed his head in his hands. "Rodney," he said, sounding a little pained.

"Is this about the mud?" Rodney asked, looking at the trail of muddy footprints he'd left. "I know you're anal about cleanliness. I'll clean it, okay? You'll never know the difference."

"You stole that cat," John said, glancing up at him. "I can't believe you."

"It's my cat," Rodney said, just as Thales jumped out of his arms and went to hide under the coffee table.

"You're dead," John told him.

"I'm undead," Rodney corrected primly, because John had done it to him often enough. "And I missed my cat. You can't tell me that the cat runs a risk of spreading the news I'm undead. The cat is not a security risk."

"That's not the point," John said. "You can't...you have to let go."

"It's not like I kidnapped Radek," Rodney said. "Elizabeth doesn't know what to do with Thales. She was treating him like just any cat, but he's very smart. He has special needs."

"Rodney," John said again.

Rodney took a deep breath. "Look, do you want me to leave? Is that what this is about? Because I know I was only supposed to crash here for a few days, but as soon as I can get a job--"

"It's not that," John said with a sigh. "Although you will be cleaning up that mud." John ran a hand through his hair. "I'm just worried about you, okay?"

"Didn't you ever try," Rodney started haltingly. "I mean, didn't you ever want something? Something to connect you with what you had?"

John wouldn't look at him. "No," he said. "There was nothing I wanted to remember."

"I guess you were lucky then," Rodney said.

"That's one way to look at it," John said. "Just...keep the cat out of sight, okay? Animals aren't allowed in this building."

Rodney let out a relieved breath, and gave a small smile. "No one will be the wiser, I promise."

-----

Rodney was getting into a routine. It was a fucked up routine, but a routine nonetheless. He'd wake up face down on the couch and pass a wet John on his way to the shower, and if the cosmos really wanted to torture him, then John would only be wearing a towel and looking like he'd walked out of an ad for Lever 2000.

By the time he took his own shower, John would have the coffee made, and then they'd head off to O'Malley's to receive a post-it with the name of whoever's soul they were supposed to take that day.

So when the door buzzed at seven in the morning, it threw him off. John didn't seem surprised, and just glanced at him briefly before asking him levelly, "Can you get that?"

It was Jack. He was leaning against the doorjamb, smiling falsely, when he pulled the door open, and Rodney cursed. He turned to glare at John. "You told on me?" he snapped.

John gave him a tight smile and then looked back at his coffee, which was answer enough.

"Let's go for a walk, shall we?" Jack asked.

Rodney winced, but allowed himself to be pulled out the door. "I just wanted my cat," Rodney snapped. "What's so wrong with that?"

"It wasn't your cat anymore," Jack said. "John convinced me to let you get away with it this once, but it has to end here, understand?"

Rodney glared at him. "I don't get how you can all be so unattached. I just died I'm allowed to...you know, freak out a little."

"Freak out all you like," Jack told him amiably. "Just do it without dragging anyone living into it, okay?"

"I'm never going to be like you, or like John," Rodney said desperately. "You'd be better off getting someone else to do this."

Jack grinned brightly. "Oh, if only I could," he said. "Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way. We're stuck with each other. You should just be grateful that for whatever inexplicable reason, John seems to like you. He's never let anyone stay in that apartment more than fifteen minutes as long as I've known him."

Rodney's eyes widened. "Really?"

Jack shrugged. "I've always known John was a strange one. He likes the craziest things."

Rodney frowned, and glanced back at the closed door for a moment. "Do you know how he--I mean, were you there when...?"

"Was I there when he died?" Jack asked. He slipped his hands into his pockets and rolled back on his heels. "Yeah, I was."

"How did he die?" Rodney asked. Rodney figured that in a world of the undead, death was a fairly defining moment, but he couldn't get John to reveal anything.

Jack gave a slight smile. "That's something you're going to have to ask him," he said, before effortlessly spinning on his heel and leaving Rodney in the hallway. "Don't be late."

-----

Rodney traipsed back into the apartment; slightly chastised, but if he was being honest with himself not enough for him to regret retrieving Thales--and not enough for him to be okay with just forgetting his life. The others might be fine with cutting themselves off--maybe the rest of them were like John and didn't have anything that they wanted to hang on to but Rodney wasn't like them. He had his work, and Thales, and his overwhelming genius and even though it still sometimes surprised him (because Rodney wasn't a genius in name only and knew that he could sometimes be--difficult to be around) he had friends--and he missed his life.

John was rinsing out his coffee mug at the sink when Rodney walked back into the apartment, and even though Rodney wanted to be mad at him for tattling on him to Jack, he really couldn't--not when John was being so nice to him, not when he could see that John was just worried.

Thales was rubbing up against John's leg, probably hoping to entice some food out of him and Rodney smiled when John nudged the cat over onto his side, rubbing Thales' belly with his foot as he quickly dried his newly washed mug. "He likes you."

John turned with a smirk. "I think he's just trying to suck up so I'll give him something to eat."

Rodney bent down and picked Thales up, cradling him in his arms. "Probably."

John snorted.

"So listen--" Rodney cleared his throat. "I appreciate that you only told Jack because you're worried..."

"I told Jack," John interrupted with a shake of his head, "because you didn't listen to me, Rodney. Yes, I'm worried--but you have to understand the rules." John folded his arms. "You can't go back. You can't capture some part of your life that you think you lost unfairly. You're not the same person anymore, Rodney, and you have to move on."

"It's not that simple," Rodney snapped in frustration, letting Thales jump from his arms. "I can't just be blasé about this whole thing. I fucking died, John. There was still so much I had planned for my life. There's so god damned much that I will never be able to do and it's not fucking FAIR!"

Rodney took a deep breath and John stared at him intently, not saying anything before giving a slight nod and pushing away from the counter. "We're going to be late."

"That's it?" Rodney asked.

"I don't know what you expect from me, Rodney." John sighed. "I can't tell you that it's fair, and telling you that it was just your time isn't going to help you either. All I know is that hanging on--trying to live your afterlife in the shadow of your former life is going to bring you nothing but pain. It's not easy to let go--no one ever said it was going to be--but it's so much harder hanging on." John looked at Rodney, sadness in his eyes. "We've all been dead a long time, Rodney--you just have to trust us on this one."

"I can't promise you anything," Rodney said quietly.

"You have to try," John answered, squeezing Rodney's shoulder and heading out of the kitchen. "We have to go--"

Rodney swallowed thickly before asking quickly, "How did you die?"

John paused at the entryway to the kitchen, his back still to Rodney. "Doing what I thought was right."

He doesn't say anything else and Rodney follows him when he leaves for O'Malley's.
___

Daniel was on babysitting detail that morning. Rodney huffed with annoyance when the man sneezed again. "I'm allergic to cats," Daniel explained and Rodney rolled his eyes.

His post-it took him to a car dealership on South St. and Sixth and he saw a fat, balding man in a blindingly bright sports jacket that looked like he bought it from a carpet salesman, step out of the dealership. What little hair he had was slicked back, greasy just like his smile and he stuck out his hand a good twenty feet before he reached them, walking towards them with it outstretched and making himself look like a reject from some cheesy zombie movie.

After Rodney and Daniel explained they were just looking, and after Rodney sputtered out a denial when the man assumed he and Daniel were 'partners', Rodney wandered the lot looking for S. Martinez--not that he at all knew where to find his...reap, while Daniel just wandered. Rodney was actually grateful for the space Daniel was giving him. John had given him a lot to think about this morning, and though he honestly wasn't ready to just give up everything from his former life, he was willing to at least think about what John told him.

At 10:46 a.m. Rodney saw a man strolling towards him, a wide smile, and a swing in his step. He wasn't sure yet how the whole reaping thing worked but when he saw the man something whispered in the back of his mind that this was the person he'd been waiting for.

"Mr. Martinez?" Rodney called and the man stopped, turning an inquisitive look in Rodney's direction.

"Do I know you?"

"Are you George Martinez?" Rodney asked, knowing full well the man’s name wasn’t George, taking a step closer and the man shook his head.

"No, sorry--my name is Sam Martinez."

Rodney apologized, reaching out and touching Martinez's arm before watching him walk away. Daniel came up beside Rodney, hands in his pockets. "You're getting the hang of this."

Rodney snorted, watching as a man pulled up to the front of the dealership, jumping out with the car still running—stupid, but then, Rodney had always believed the majority of people were brainless. Inside the car Rodney caught a glimpse of something. "What the--" He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out a clearer picture of what he was seeing.

"Gravelings," Daniel said quietly as they watched the creature pull the car out of park; watched as it rolled into the side of the dealership; watched as the sign hanging from the building wobbled to and fro and finally watched as Sam Martinez walked right under it just as the metal holding it to the building broke away.

Rodney remembered John mentioning them. "They make bad things happen," he said and Daniel nodded.

In the blink of an eye Martinez was standing beside Rodney and Daniel, looking confused and shaken. "What happened?" He saw his body, partially covered by the sign, and swore quietly to himself before turning to Rodney and Daniel. "I won the lottery last week," he said, his voice filled with shock. "I was coming to buy my very first new car."

Rodney's mouth was turned down and he shook his head. "Hardly seems fair, does it?"

Behind them the shimmering light appeared again. This time Rodney saw a beautiful woman with long dark hair, soulful chocolate eyes, smiling and waving towards Sam. Sam whispered, “Maria?” before taking a step closer, his eyes wide. Rodney ignored the pang of jealousy as he watched Sam running towards her and disappearing into the light just like every other person he'd reaped since he died.
____

Now that Rodney had done his reap he told Daniel that he was going to head home, that he needed to check on Thales and since Daniel still had his own reap to do (not to mention his allergies to cats) he left Rodney on the corner of Tenth and Stewart with a wave and a smile.

He doesn't go back to John's apartment, instead wanders outside the lab, his throat tight and his stomach clenched. He should be in there, making discoveries, figuring out the answers to the universe, earning a Nobel Prize...he ducked behind a tree when he saw Elizabeth and Radek hurrying into the building. He can hear Radek's excited stream of Czech all the way from where he is and his heart begins to beat faster--the desire to run after them, to demand to know what is going on, to be involved, is so strong he can taste it.

Forcing himself away from the lab he eventually found himself back at John's apartment, slipping inside, locking the door behind him. He kicked off his shoes, wandering around the empty apartment for a few minutes before seeing Thales curled up on one of John's pillows. Rodney smiled because for one brief second he could pretend he wasn't dead, that he wasn't living some farce of a life, taking souls and easing their passage to the afterlife; instead pretending he was simply coming home after a long day at the lab to find Thales curled up on his bed.

John's reap wasn't until later that afternoon and it was now just after lunch. Crawling onto the bed, his head beside Thales' sleep warm body, Rodney closed his eyes.
____

Rodney woke up with the sun in his eyes and he winced. Thales was on his back, purring and stretched out on a pillow. Rodney sat up and looked around the room. "John?"

He got to his feet and checked around quickly, but John wasn't there. He sat down in front of the TV and watched the sci-fi channel for a few hours, all of which seemed a lot more plausible considering he felt like he was living something that had less scientific basis than Star Trek did.

He fell asleep in front of the TV and didn't wake up until morning. John was right; time did pass differently when you were dead. He looked towards the kitchen, but for the first time since he'd been staying with John, the coffee wasn't already made. John always had the coffee going by seven.

He frowned and wandered into John's bedroom, but the bed was empty. The blankets were crumbled slightly and Thales was still buried into the pillow, but it was how Rodney had left it. John hadn't been home all night.

He exited the apartment and headed for O'Malley's. He was suddenly feeling a little sick with worry, but John, he reminded himself, was undead. The worst had pretty much already happened, so there was nothing to worry about.

He still walked a little faster than usual.

Daniel, Jack and Ronon were all there in their usual booth, but John was still among the missing. "Where's John?" Rodney asked quickly.

Jack nodded towards the door. "Just got in. Why? Aren't you two roomies?"

Jack was smirking, but Rodney wasn't paying attention to him any longer. John was walking in, wearing the same clothes he'd been wearing yesterday, and he had weird dark circles beneath his eyes. It seemed unfair that even dead they had to worry about things like beauty sleep.

Not that John didn't still look gorgeous.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Rodney demanded.

John shot him a wide smile and slid into the booth. "Didn't know I had a curfew," he said.

Rodney glared at him and sat down next to Daniel. "A phone call would have been nice."

"I wouldn’t waste time worrying about him, newbie," Jack said. "Shep can take care of himself."

"Shep?" Rodney asked.

"Ignore him, Rodney," John said quietly. "Jack just likes to hear himself talk."

Jack snorted, and passed out the assignments. "Daniel's the one that likes to hear himself talk."

Daniel glared at Jack, and snatched his post-it out of his hand.

Rodney kicked John under the table. "Seriously, where have you been?"

"Don't worry about it," John said.

"He goes off sometimes," Daniel confided. "John's the mysterious one. I've never been able to get a straight answer out of him."

"Just because I'm not the open book you are doesn't mean I'm mysterious," John said wryly.

"I'm going to have to agree and go with mysterious," Rodney said petulantly.

John looked away from him and Jack gave a large sigh. "I'm guessing you're wanting to be alone today?" he asked John. John didn't respond. "That's a yes then," Jack said, looking over at Daniel and Rodney. "That means you two get to spend the day together again."

"I don't need a baby-sitter anymore," Rodney said irritably.

"Well, if you don't, Daniel does. It's kind of the blind leading the blind, but since I doubt I'll get Ronon to play nice..." Jack looked over at Ronon.

Ronon grabbed his post-it and snorted. "I work alone," he said, before jumping over the back of the booth and heading towards the door.

"You guys are the light of my life, seriously, have I ever told you that?" Jack called out loudly. Ronon flipped him off and then the bells over the door were ringing, and the door was slamming shut.

Daniel smiled at him. "We are your life."

"Danny-boy," Jack said, grinning, "you do realize that you have no life whatsoever, right? You spend your nights watching hockey with me, which you hate, so don't pretend you do."

"At least I have a job that I love," Daniel protested. "Your job consists of writing names on post-its."

"Your job is morbid," Jack said.

"How is it morbid?" Rodney asked curiously. "Correction: how is it more morbid than what we all do?"

"Jack thinks it's morbid because it's where I died," Daniel said.

"How did you die?" Rodney asked, glancing at John from the corner of his eye. John looked away, and Rodney crossed his arms. It didn't seem fair that they all knew exactly how he had died, and he didn't know anything about them.

"Curiosity killed Daniel," Jack said dryly.

"It was a museum accident," Daniel told him, throwing a glare in Jack's direction.

"What?" Rodney snapped. "You mean you got your old job back? I thought we weren't allowed to do that?"

"Oh, I didn't work there before," Daniel told him. "I worked mostly out of the country, I was an archeologist, you know. I was only visiting here for a weekend, and this was decades ago anyway. I was there setting up an exhibit, and a stone slab fell on me. It was all pretty gory, actually, when they lifted it back up I was--"

Jack slammed his hand over Daniel's mouth. "I'm trying to eat here. I know you found it fascinating, but let's try not to scare the newbie."

Daniel pushed Jack's hand away. "Anyway," Daniel continued unfazed, "long story short, I'm the curator at the museum now. They have a nice plaque up in memoriam for me. It's very tasteful."

"Jack's right," Rodney said, "that is morbid." He looked back to get agreement from John, but John was no longer there. Rodney frowned. "Where did--?"

"Oh, he does that too," Daniel said. "I told you he was the mysterious one, but Jack vetoed me when I suggested we make him wear a bell."

Jack ruffled Daniel's hair. "Actually I said I'd suggest he wear one if you let me get you a leash."

"Whatever, Jack," Daniel said, rolling his eyes. He pushed Rodney out of the booth. "Let's get out of here."

"I haven't eaten," Rodney protested.

"You can pick something up later," Daniel said. "My reap is in twenty minutes and across town."

"You kids have fun now," Jack called after them.

Rodney and Daniel both glared at him, but it did nothing to dim Jack's bright grin.

-----

Rodney watched as Daniel's reap disappeared into a giant glowing blue birthday cake. "I could go for some cake," he said. Any food would be nice, really. He hadn't eaten dinner the night before and Daniel had dragged him away from his breakfast.

Daniel, however, Rodney was learning, didn't like wasting time with things like food. Daniel was almost comically easily distracted. At the moment, he was squinting at the disappearing lights like the fate of the universe was in his hands. "What do you think yours would be?" Daniel asked, glancing at him. "You know, your lights?"

Rodney sighed, giving up on food for now. "I think it would be my lab," Rodney said. "Or maybe a giant cat."

Daniel nodded thoughtfully. "I think mine would be an obelisk, or some kind of cartouche. Maybe a Sphinx," he said, before getting distracted again and wandering off down the street. "What's your reap's ETD?"

Rodney followed him, glancing down at his own post-it. D. Everett. Ellis Court. ETD: 10:30 a.m.. "10:30," he said. "Don't you have to be at work?"

"Not today," Daniel said. "How goes your own job hunt?"

"Non-existent," Rodney said irritably. "Atlantis Labs is the best in the area, and the best deserves the best."

"Then why don't you work there?" Daniel asked.

"Because I know the people," Rodney said. "Isn't that breaking some of the rules?"

Daniel grinned wryly. "Yeah, probably. I don't have a problem with that. Do you?"

Rodney's eyes narrowed. "John tells me you're a trouble-maker," he said.

Daniel shrugged. "He's probably right about that, but then, John's broken a few rules himself."

Rodney caught pace beside him. "How long have you known John?"

"Since I died," Daniel said. "He and Jack were both there. It was the last reap of a friend of theirs."

"Really?"

Daniel nodded. "Yeah, Aiden Ford, I think his name was."

"When did you die?" Rodney asked. Daniel seemed to be the only one that didn't mind talking about it. Rodney wondered if there was a subject Daniel would mind talking about.

"1973," Daniel told him. "I'm almost sixty-five years old now."

"You look good for your age," Rodney said.

Daniel grinned over at him. "I guess. It might have been fun to grow old, though."

"How old is John, do you think?" Rodney asked, trying to sound casual.

Daniel threw him a sideways glance. "You seem pretty interested in John."

"I'm living with him," Rodney said. "I just get curious. Wouldn't you be curious?"

Daniel's eyes narrowed like he knew there was more to it than that, but after a moment he just shrugged. "I think he died in the sixties," Daniel told him. "I don't know anymore than that. John doesn't...talk about things."

Rodney glared at him. "I thought you were the one with the answers," he said petulantly.

"No," Daniel said ruefully. "I'm just the one with questions."

-----

After his reap, Rodney went home and raided the kitchen, partly because he was feeling a little light-headed, and partly to get his mind off the latest death. It hadn't been pretty. Electrocution, Rodney decided, was not a good way to die. The man had looked twice as old by the time the current had stopped running through him.

Still, he had to wonder at how calmly everyone but him seemed to accept their death. Maybe it was because they knew instinctively somehow that it was almost over, that they got their lights and got to cross over. Rodney hadn't had that feeling, because he'd been chosen to be a grim reaper instead.

"This sucks," he told Thales.

Thales just curled up next to him and started purring. Things were a lot simpler in Thales' world, and while Rodney liked to think Thales remembered him, the cat probably just liked him because he gave him food.

John came back early this time, and Rodney watched him as he went straight to the kitchen, hopped up on the counter and pulled down a box of Captain Crunch.

"So what's up with you?" Rodney asked. "Are you bored with me or something?"

John spun over the top of the counter so he was sitting facing him. He grinned. "No, I just had some things to do."

"What kind of things?" Rodney asked.

"The personal kind," John told him.

"We're undead. I thought we weren't allowed personal things," Rodney said.

"Wow. You're in a good mood today," John said wryly.

"Daniel told me that I should get my old job back," Rodney said. "It's extremely high paying, so I figure--"

"Whoa, hold it," John interrupted. "Don't let Daniel give you any ideas. Jack will let Daniel get away with murder, but that's Daniel."

"What does that mean?" Rodney snapped.

"It means he doesn't let the rest of us get away with anything, and I've told you before, you don't want to piss Jack off."

"Have you pissed him off?" Rodney asked. "Have you ever done something he didn't like?"

"I piss him off all the time," John said. "One time I called him away from an episode of The Simpsons, and take it from me, it was bad; man, was he furious."

"I'm serious here," Rodney said. "You've been at this a lot longer than me, you said, so shouldn't you be helping me out instead of spouting a bunch of greeting card dribble? Move on, leave your burdens behind, etc upon mind-numbing etc?"

"Well what do you want me to say?" John asked, setting the cereal box aside. "Be miserable? Go back to your life and let it destroy you? Does that help?"

"Some sharing would be nice," Rodney said, crossing his arms. "We've known each other almost a month and you probably know everything there is to know about me. I don't know anything about you."

"There's nothing to know," John said. "I lived, and then I died. No one cared, no one cried, and I didn't give a fuck one way or another."

"I don't believe that," Rodney said. "You couldn't just die and not care..."

"You say that because things are different for you now," John said. "You can't see your friends. You can't do your job. Nothing much changed for me, so I've got nothing to mourn."

"John..."

"You can use my bed tonight, if you want," John told him, as he hopped off the counter.

"John..." Rodney started again.

"I'm flying a little further than usual, so I'll probably stay the night in a motel. If I'm late, you can tell Jack where I am."

"John," Rodney didn't know why he was bothering. He might as well be silent for as much attention as John would pay him.

John went out the door without looking back, and didn't even have the decency to slam it shut. John couldn't even be bothered to pretend his conversation with Rodney had affected him in any way, because that damn cool he'd admired at first didn't seem to break.

Rodney picked Thales up and wandered back into the bedroom. He collapsed down on the bed, and that was when he saw what had been in front of him all along.

The photo wasn't shiny or glossy like all the rest, it wasn't cut from some magazine; it wasn't even framed. It was old, tinged a little brown with age and frayed around the edges. John was in the center, looking exactly as he still looked, standing smartly in a flight suit in front of a helicopter. Two other men were with him, their arms all around each other, smiling like they were vacationing somewhere and not stationed in a jungle.

There were three sets of dog tags just beside it. One pair belonged to a John Sheppard. Rodney held the dog tags in his hand, and it was suddenly a little hard to breathe, because he'd somehow thought it would bring them closer if he only knew. Now he had a good guess how John had died, and he'd never seemed more untouchable.

It was hard to reconcile the smiling man in that photo with the John he knew; the smile was the same one he'd seen a hundred times already, but in that photo, it didn't look forced or practiced, it looked genuine.

Rodney wondered how long John had between that picture and his death.

-----

Rodney woke up, curled around John's pillow, Thales stretched at the foot of the bed and the sound of running water in the kitchen. He stumbled, bleary eyed towards the noise, squinting in the bright light at John's back. "You're back."

John turned. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

Rodney waved a dismissive hand, flopping into a chair at the kitchen table. "What time is it?"

"Close to three," John answered. "Coffee?"

Rodney was tempted, but knew if he accepted that would be it for sleep, he'd be awake the rest of the night. "No, thanks." John nodded, flicking off the coffee maker. "Aren't you going to have any?"

"I just finished," John smiled. "I got back around one thirty; you were dead to the world...no pun intended." He winked, slouching against the counter.

Rodney rolled his eyes, but there was a smirk tugging at his lips. He stifled a yawn, watching John through blurry eyes. "You should get some sleep."

John shrugged. "I'm good, but you should go back to bed." He grinned. "I don't give up my bed often so you should definitely take advantage."

Rodney shoved away the inappropriate thoughts that statement produced and pushed away from the table. "Well, if you're going to make me go back to sleeping on the couch tomorrow then I am definitely taking advantage tonight." He quirked a shy grin at John and said goodnight before shuffling back towards John's bed--Thales in the same position he was in when Rodney had gotten up.

Climbing back under the blankets Rodney shifted until he was comfortable, arm automatically curling around John's pillow again. With a contented sigh he was asleep in minutes.

John stood at the doorway to his room, watching Rodney snore quietly, a smile playing across his mouth before he disappeared back into the living room to wait the coming morning.
____

Rodney dove into his breakfast, not wanting another day to start with him being dragged away because his 'baby-sitter' couldn't wait five minutes. He hoped that Jack paired him with John today--not that Daniel wasn't nice and all but Rodney was really hoping to have the chance to grill John about where he was and what was going on.

As things rarely went Rodney's way, Jack paired him with Ronon. His eyes widened when Ronon bared his teeth, his long dreads swinging to and fro as he stood, swishing his trench coat behind him. Swallowing Rodney threw a glare at Jack and a 'help-me' look towards John. He wasn't surprised when neither worked. Following Ronon from O'Malley's he tilted his head. "So--"

Not surprisingly things went downhill from there. It turned out that Ronon was not a chatty person, he liked knives--lots and lots of knives, and he took a disturbing pleasure in reaping. Whereas he'd now been witness to both John and Daniel reaping on numerous occasions, not to mention his own reaps, this was the first time he'd seen Ronon in action. And Ronon enjoyed it. John and Daniel and even he himself were somewhat somber when it came to reaping--Ronon looked like he was about to get laid. That in and of itself disturbed Rodney to no end.

Although he had to admit he got a perverse amount of amusement over the reactions Ronon got from passersby. He may not look the same to them as he did to Rodney and the others, but he was still very large and very intimidating and everyone gave him plenty of space.

Today's reap was some stoner skateboarder who, when he popped up beside them, tilted his head back (way back) to see Ronon as he muttered, "Duuuude." Rodney rolled his eyes when Ronon engaged the stoner in some complicated handshake before mumbling something Rodney couldn't quite catch. Then came the shimmering lights and the largest skatepark Rodney had every seen and the stoner yelled 'Sweet!' and took off running, disappearing with the light.

The one good thing about Ronon though, was that he loved to eat even more than Rodney and after they'd done Ronon's reap they killed time waiting for Rodney's in some biker bar Ronon fit perfectly into and Rodney stood out of like a sore thumb. They ate onion rings and fries, had a couple beers and watched the TV above the bar playing the strong man competitions. Rodney didn't really feel inclined to try and make conversation with Ronon, but thought with a mental sigh that if Jack was going to start forcing him to go out on reaps with Ronon he should probably at least pretend to be interested in the man's life—or death...whatever.

Clearing his throat, Rodney rolled his bottle of beer between his hands. "So, how did you end up here?"

Ronon shrugged, tossing a peanut into his mouth. "Found it one day after a reap."

Rodney frowned. "I'm not talking about the bar--how did you become a reaper?"

He turned and looked Rodney in the eye. "I died."

Rolling his eyes in exasperation Rodney snapped, "I never would have guessed, thank you so much for solving the answer to that question! I'm asking how you died, Ronon."

Ronon's eyes narrowed as he growled. "That's none of your business, McKay."

Gulping a little at the look in Ronon's eyes Rodney nodded. "Right--none of my business." When Ronon turned back towards the TV, Rodney fiddled with the label on the bottle. "It's just that--well I mean Daniel got squashed, John I think died in the war, I have no idea how Jack died but I get the feeling no one is really sure and I figured you all know how I died--"

His head snapped up when Ronon's bottled rattled the table as he slammed it down. "You talk a lot."

"Yes, well--I tend to do that when I'm nervous and when the person I'm with refuses to engage in any type of conversation," Rodney said defensively.

A smirk tugged at Ronon's mouth and he regarded Rodney for a moment before leaning back in his chair. "I was shot."

"Shot?" Rodney's eyes widened. "Like--mugged and shot or in a war and shot..."

"As in killed in a shoot out at the bank I was robbing."

"You were a bank robber?" Rodney squeaked, eyes wide in shock.

Another shrug and Ronon reached for his beer. "Needed the money."

"Oh my God," Rodney said, horrified. "And you couldn’t just—oh I don’t know, get a job?"

Snorting, Ronon took a swig from his beer, “Not many people want to hire a convict.”

Rodney rubbed his temples, willing away the oncoming headache. “What were you convicted of?”

“Kidnapping,” he rumbled.

Rodney’s mouth dropped—God, he was sitting with a kidnapper and bank robber...this was the type of people the almighty chose to make reapers? “Who did you kidnap?” Rodney asked warily.

Ronon’s eyes slid up to look at him before turning back to the plate of fries in front of him. “My fiancée.”

He wasn’t sure what surprised him more—that Ronon was actually answering his questions, or that Ronon had been engaged.

“You were engaged?”

“Her father didn’t approve,” he shrugged. “We ran away together--he found us.”

“What happened?”

“He told the authorities that I had kidnapped his daughter--he was well respected in the town and no one was going to take my word for it over his. They arrested me and I spent the next four years of my life in jail—then I escaped.”

“You escaped?”

“I would have been left to die in that prison if I hadn’t—escaping seemed like the thing to do.”

Rodney nodded. “Why didn’t your fiancée tell the authorities you didn’t kidnap her?”

Finishing off his beer, Ronon looked Rodney in the eye and said, “She never got the chance.”

Rodney frowned, “What do you mean? What happened to her?”

Shifting in his seat, Ronon turned back to the TV without a word. Rodney didn't ask him anything else.
_____

"So," Rodney said when he got home that evening after his reap, "I need a job."

John looked up from where he was lounged on the couch doing a crossword puzzle. "Okay," he agreed.

Rodney lifted John's feet, flopping onto the couch beside him and letting John's feet rest on his lap. He laid his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. "I have three doctorates, degrees and brains coming out my ears," Rodney said with a sigh.

John raised an eyebrow, lips twitching as Rodney tapped out some random tune on his ankles. "You're dead now, Rodney--as I keep reminding you," John said with a smile. "In this life...you don't have any of those fancy degrees or PhDs. But with brains coming out your ears you shouldn't have any trouble finding a job." He laughed at the glare Rodney shot him.

"The problem is," Rodney continued as if John hadn't spoken, "is that I'm over qualified for pretty much every job out there and besides--I'm too brilliant to waste on some mediocre job. I can still make a difference..."

"Rodney," John warned. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like where this was going.

"I could fake the credentials proving I have my doctorates--no one would look too closely because my brilliance would be enough to prove I've got brains--"

"Coming out your ears," John nodded, pulling his feet from Rodney's lap and twisting so he was sitting beside him, shoulder to shoulder.

"Exactly," Rodney beamed.

John placed a hand on Rodney's knee, shaking his head. "You can't go back."

"But--"

"No, Rodney--you can't." John turned to stare at Rodney's profile. "Jack wouldn't let you, you know that."

Closing his eyes, Rodney swallowed thickly. "This sucks," he whispered hoarsely.

John squeezed Rodney's leg, patting it gently and saying in an overly cheerful tone, "How bout I help you find a job?"

Rodney smiled, not opening his eyes. "Thanks."

"No problem," John grinned, pushing up off the couch. "You hungry?"

"Do you need to ask?" Rodney smiled crookedly, holding out a hand and letting John pull him up off the couch. As Rodney followed John into the kitchen to find something for supper he asked with wide eyes, "Hey, did you know Ronon hides knives in his hair?"

John burst out laughing, throwing an arm around Rodney's shoulder. "You don't want to know where else he hides them."

Rodney snickered as John pulled away, opening the fridge. Leaning his hip against the counter Rodney asked, "So, do you have any plans for tomorrow?"

John nodded. "Tomorrow--I'm finding you a job."

-----

"This is ridiculous," Rodney snapped. "I'm not going into a place called 'Happy Time'."

"Shut up and smile," John told him sweetly, before pushing him inside and directly into one of the stiff black chairs in the waiting area. "Dolores doesn't help people she doesn't like." John pulled out a portfolio, and held it out to him. "Now, here's your fake diplomas, your new driver's license, your birth certificate, just in case..."

"Hold it," Rodney snapped. "Emmett Brown? Are you kidding? You named me Emmett Brown?"

John flashed him a wide grin. "I love that movie. It was the first name to enter my mind--besides, I think you could totally pull 'mad scientist' off."

"You fucking bastard!" Rodney hissed.

"My, such language!"

Rodney glanced up at the startled exclamation. A woman smiled down at him falsely, taking him in with wide eyes. "I'm Dolores. Dolores Herbig. As in her big brown eyes." Dolores pointed to her eyes for further illustration.

Rodney despised her instantly, but John nudged him and hissed, "smile" so he forced his lips to tilt up.

Dolores held out her hand, and caught his. She shook it quickly before letting go and turning on her heel. "Now, let's see if we can't get you situated, Dr. Brown."

Dolores led him to a small cubicle at the far side of the room, and Rodney carefully sat down across from her. "Emmett Brown," she murmured. "Emmett Brown. Dr. Brown. That is so familiar. Have we met before?"

"No," Rodney said, smiling again, wide and false and until his lips hurt. John was lucky Rodney liked him so much, or he might have had to exact vicious revenge for naming him after someone from the absolutely ludicrous Back to the Future trilogy.

Dolores smiled back. "Oh well, no matter." She took his portfolio and began to sort through it. "My, you are qualified, aren't you? I think you're the most qualified I've ever had! How did you find your way to Happy Time, Dr. Brown?"

Because he'd died and gone to hell. Rodney fought to keep the smile in place. "Someone close to me died and I had to take some time off."

"Oh," Dolores said, putting on an exaggerated pout. "How sad. Let's see..." Dolores turned to her computer and started typing. "Well, this looks promising," she said. "Someone just died over at Atlantis Labs, so there's an opening."

Rodney tried not to wince. "Dr. McKay, wasn't it?" he asked casually. "I've heard he was irreplaceable."

"Oh, dear, no one is irreplaceable," Dolores said. "It says right here, looking for Theoretical Astrophysicist, which you are, are you not?"

"Well, yes, but I can't work there," Rodney said. "I knew Dr. McKay. Wonderful man. I wouldn't feel right."

Dolores frowned. "Hmm, well, alright, let's see here..." She started typing again. "There's also an opening at DST Corporations. It's headed by a Dr. Lee. Do you know him?"

"Dr. Lee?" Rodney snapped. "They put him in charge? That incompetent--" Rodney stopped himself at Dolores’ startled look, and forced the smile back into place. "That sounds...great," he said haltingly.

Dolores smiled. "Well, wonderful. Just wonderful. I'm sure that Dr. Lee will be pleased."

John was waiting for him by the water cooler when he wandered back out. "How did it go?" he asked pleasantly.

Rodney glared at him. "I hate you," he said.

John grinned widely. "That well, huh?"

------

Rodney started work the next day. DST had been looking for a replacement for months with no luck, and they were desperate for the help. John sent him off to work with a smile and lunch money and Rodney pushed his post-it deep into his pocket. He'd have to ask for a cigarette break or something around four o'clock, so he could go take someone's soul.

Dr. Lee was as stupid as Rodney remembered him being, which was evidenced by the fact that he'd hired Dr. Felger on as his next in charge.

Rodney decided that if he were still alive, he'd probably have to kill himself.

"We're called DST on account of us doing Deep Space Telemetry," Felger told him. "It's like an Acronym."

"It is an Acronym, you fucking moron!" Rodney didn't actually say this, of course, but he thought it really, really loudly as he stood there smiling and nodding like John had told him to.

"Your office is just over here, Dr. Brown," Felger said, leading him into a small six by six foot room with a computer desk and a chair, and fluorescent lighting. "We have an instant message network set up so that we don't have to waste time running around the office to ask questions. With your qualifications, I'm sure you'll figure everything out."

There was a huge stack of paper sitting in his inbox. Data backlogs and data entry. Hell was starting to look promising, if it got him away from here.

"Chloe, my assistant," Felger continued, "was transferred over to Atlantis Labs recently, so you'll probably have to do some data entry before you can get to the fun stuff. Call if you need anything!"

"Hey, wait!" Rodney snapped, but Felger was gone. Felger was maybe not as stupid as Rodney had thought, because he'd just effortlessly dumped all of the grunt work into someone else's lap. Rodney reluctantly stepped into the small office and sat in front of the computer.

He looked over the reports in his inbox. It had all been transferred in from Atlantis Labs. He remembered back in the good old days, when Radek would ask him what he wanted to do with all this fucking useless information (only Radek had never said fucking, that was paraphrasing) and Rodney would tell him, send it to those poor saps over at DST.

He slammed his head onto his desk and wished he could go back to being John's kept man.

Rodney moaned. Thinking of John didn't help his mood at all. John was taking mysterious to extremes, and the more he did glean about his former life, the less he felt he actually knew. Rodney bit his lip, getting an idea.

He pushed his inbox to the edge of the desk and out of the way, and then brought up Google on his computer. He ran a search for the Vietnam Veteran's Memorial Wall and easily found a site dedicated to it, thewall-usa.com. There was a search page to look for the dead.

He typed John's name, and wasn't surprised to find him.

He had been a Major in the Air Force, killed on November 7th, 1966, when his helicopter was shot down over Quang Nam, South Vietnam. The body was never recovered.

-----

Rodney was exhausted by the time he dragged himself back into John's apartment. In some ways it had been nice to have any kind of connection to his old life, and even Dr. Lee and Dr. Felger were vaguely familiar and almost comforting, despite that he knew them mostly by reputation, and had only seen them in person a couple of times.

But mostly it was just degrading, letting his brilliant mind go to waste like this.

Spending his one half-hour break watching someone fall to their death from a fifth story balcony hadn't exactly cheered him up any, either.

He'd been planning to sit in front of the TV, and probably fall asleep the moment he made it home. He seemed to be sleeping a lot lately, but dying took a lot out of you.

He hadn't expected John to be at the door to greet him, smiling like he hadn't for awhile, and actually looking happy to see him. "How was work?" he asked.

Rodney blinked at him, and then moved inside. "Hell on Earth," he said. "Forget fire and brimstone. Hell is florescent lighting and knockoff desk chairs."

"I'm glad you had fun," John said brightly, seemingly impervious to Rodney's bad mood. He rocked back on his heels, looking strangely pleased with himself. "I made you dinner."

Rodney continued watching him, not quite making sense of the words. "You what?"

"I made you dinner," John repeated, speaking slower, and with an amused drawl. "As a kind of congratulations for your new suck-ass job."

Rodney looked past John and saw that the table had indeed been set. Candles had been set around a large bowl of pasta, beside a cutting board with a fresh loaf of bread and grated Parmesan. Like the rest of John's apartment, it looked like it had come straight out of a magazine. "Do you like watch a lot of Martha Stewart or something?" Rodney asked.

Thales was asleep under the table, in a satisfied sleep, with some tomato sauce smeered on his ear. Rodney was glad that at least Thales had caught a break when he died--Thales had never been happier.

John rolled his eyes at him. "You're just supposed to say, 'thank you, John'."

"Thank you, John," Rodney said, and John ushered him into a chair and sat him down, before falling into the chair across from him. Rodney couldn't really stop staring at John. The most unbelievable thing about this last month probably should have been the fact that he was dead and still going strong, but it wasn't, it was John.

John seemed too good to be true, a little like he'd walked out of a magazine himself, and Rodney kept trying to figure out how he'd gone from the soldier in that picture to this. He wanted to ask him how it had happened, how he had died, how he had moved on. If he had really moved on at all.

Except John didn't want him to know. John would let him live here, would make him dinners, make him coffee, but he wouldn't tell him one damn thing that meant something. He wouldn't reveal anything that might give himself away.

John reached across the table and poured some wine into the glass beside his plate, before sitting back down and filling his own. "You can still be happy, you know," John told him. "Your life is over, but something new is starting."

Rodney nodded, wondering if John had ever taken his own advice. "Yeah, I guess. My new life of data entry and soul-nabbing."

"Yeah, well," John said. "There's other stuff too."

Before Rodney could ask what he'd meant by that, John was already moving on. "So here's to being dead like us," he said, and lifted his glass with a bright smile. Rodney lifted his own glass and echoed the toast, deciding as he did that John never looked sadder than when he was smiling.

Dead Like Them

2006-04-11T00:01:34Z

Dead Like Them
John/Rodney Pre-Slash
SG1/Atlantis/Dead Like Me crossover AU

He glanced up; feeling like someone was walking over his grave, and locked eyes with a man across the street.

Dead Like Them

Art by laytoncolt

They were serving lemon chicken in the little lunchroom again, just to spite him.

Rodney grabbed his coat and called them all jealous imbeciles that wanted him dead, and then went out the door, slamming it shut behind him. As last words went, he figured his weren't that bad and at least they had the benefit of being true.

Maybe it wasn't anything inspiring or brilliant, but he was inspiring and brilliant all the rest of the time in all of his too short life, so they would always have that to remember him by.

He got a coffee and a bagel from the Starbucks on the corner and then wandered back out into the street. He sat on the bench in front of his lab, not ready to face his annoying colleagues, and then just watched all the stupid people go by as he pondered Atlantis' Labs newest acquisition; a missile drone from a secret research site somewhere in Antarctica.

He was brought out of his thoughts when someone sat beside him, and he rolled his eyes, because that was the last thing he needed. He didn't do that whole small talk with strangers thing, but from his estimate, about 87.3% of the population did, and it was a good bet this one would be a talker.

"Are you Rodney McKay?" the man asked. He was an older man, and balding, but Rodney recognized from his eyes that he wasn't a complete imbecile, so didn't completely blow him off.

"Dr. Rodney McKay," Rodney corrected, rather huffily. "Who the hell are you?"

"That's not important," the man said kindly, before reaching out and patting his leg. It tingled strangely, and Rodney rubbed at the spot he'd touched in irritation, barely noticing as the man slipped away again.

He set his coffee and bagel aside, feeling strangely disconnected and off balance. He glanced up; feeling like someone was walking over his grave, and locked eyes with a man across the street. He was standing on the edge of the curb, wearing a blue track jacket and sneakers, with his hands in his pockets, and he was probably the most effortlessly attractive person Rodney had seen even this close.

He didn't know he was staring until the man threw him a dorky wave and a big grin, and the next instant he was gasping for breath three feet from where he'd been, looking at the smoking mass that had been his body. An organic like missile was sticking out of his back, losing the last of its flickering glow. He recognized it easily, and when his eyes turned to the lab, he saw the front window had been blown completely apart.

"Oh, god," Rodney said. "Oh god. I'm hallucinating. I must be--what the hell was in that coffee?"

Rodney glanced back toward his body. The gorgeous guy that had waved at him had crossed the street, and was holding Rodney's coffee and taking a sip, looking down at the smoking corpse with a frown. People were running around like the morons they were, obviously unable to figure out what to do. He didn't see one person take out a cell phone to call 911, the idiots.

"The coffee's great," the cute guy said, apparently looking right at him. "You're just feeling a little weird because you're dead."

"I'm not dead," Rodney denied instantly. "I'm too brilliant to be dead!"

"Huh," the man said. "That's a new one. I haven't heard that one before." He stepped over the body and out of the way of the gathering crowd effortlessly, and then stopped beside Rodney.

"I'm not, I can't be," Rodney told him, before pointing at him in accusation. "What is this? If I'm dead, then how am I talking to you? Ha! Explain that!"

"You're talking to me because I'm a grim reaper," the guy said, and flashed him another toothpaste ad grin.

"You are not a grim reaper," Rodney snapped. "You're way too pretty."

"Flattery won't get your life back," he said, charmingly, before swinging an arm around his shoulders and steering him away from his body. "I don't think we've been properly introduced, I'm John."

"Dr. Rodney McKay," Rodney snapped. "I demand to see your supervisor."

"Jack? Jack's a little busy," John said. "He's having trouble with Daniel again; he keeps trying to save people; which means you’re my responsibility."

Rodney glanced back again. Radek, Peter and Carson had run out and were standing around his body looking shell shocked and pale. Peter had to hold Miko back, as she screamed his name hysterically through her tears.

"You don't need to watch this," John told him softly.

Rodney just nodded, and let John continue to lead him away. His silence, however, didn't last long.

"Where are you taking me?" he demanded. "Shouldn't I be moving into a light or something?"

"We're going to pick up my laundry," John told him.

"Are you fucking with me?" Rodney snapped.

John grinned at him again. He seemed to do that a lot, and Rodney didn't like the way it distracted him. He was dead for Christ's sake, and still being ruled by hormones. "Hey, calm down," John told him. "We're just killing time until your funeral."

"My funeral?" Rodney asked, suddenly inexplicably delighted. "I get to go?"

"Got you front row seats," John told him.

"It's probably not going to be for days, though," he said, frowning. "I'm sure they're going to need time to plan something spectacular enough to honor my genius. What am I supposed to do until then?"

"You can go haunt people if you want," John said. "That's always fun, and honestly, I can't really do anything with you when you're like this. It’s so disconcerting interacting with the dead. It's like hanging out with Casper or something, I never liked it."

Rodney glared at him. "Well, aren't you dead?" he demanded.

John shook his head. "I'm undead, which means I get to do pretty much whatever I want, so long as I nab a few souls every once and awhile."

"Charming," Rodney hissed.

"Don't worry," John told him. "Time passes differently when you're dead. They'll be having your funeral in no time."

John waved at him again, earning a few strange looks from people passing by that couldn't see who he was waving at, and then slid into the Dry Cleaners to pick up his laundry.

-----

Rodney scowled as John snatched another--Jesus was that lemon?--tart from the table in front of them. "Couldn't you wait until after the service?" Rodney hissed. "And aren't you dead--undead--whatever...do you even need to eat?" He watched as John popped the tart into his mouth with a cocky smirk and raised eyebrow.

"There's nothing wrong with enjoying fine cuisine," John grinned.

Rodney snorted. "Well it's obvious your taste buds are dead."

John shrugged as he reached for a glass of champagne. "You know, this is pretty swanky. They've really gone all out for you."

"Yes, well--it's only logical. I am the smartest man alive."

"Were," John said absently, scanning the room, grinning when he saw the rest of the gang wandering in. Ronon headed straight for them, eyes on the table of food; Daniel looked solemn in his beautifully tailored black suit; Jack sauntered beside Daniel, his suit just as pristine as Daniel's but with an amused smirk on his face as they stopped in front of John and Rodney. "Guys," John nodded.

Rodney had been searching the room, apparently looking for some scientist named Sam something or other that he told John would be devastated by his death; she was after all head over heels in love with him. He pulled his gaze from the room at large though at John's voice, frowning as he took in the three strangers before them. He leaned closer to John, whispering from the side of his mouth, "Can they see us?"

Jack rolled his eyes, scanning the table with a sigh. "What, no beer?"

Daniel held out his hand to Rodney, smiling brightly. "My name is Daniel--and yes, we can see you."

"Are you dead too?" Rodney snapped, staring at the outstretched hand before narrowing his eyes at the large, hairy man, currently stuffing two lemon tarts in his mouth and four in the pocket of his long black trench coat.

Jack stuffed his hands in his suit pockets, looking pointedly at John. "How much did you tell him?"

"Not much," John shrugged. "That's your job," he grinned, rocking on the balls of his feet.

"Hey, dead guy here--care to fill me in?" Rodney crossed his arms over his chest, mouth pulled down in a crooked line.

"Oh look, the shows about to start," Jack said, pointing towards the front of the room where Elizabeth was stepping up to the podium.

Rodney's crooked frown turned into a crooked, and smug, grin. "Ah, Elizabeth--"

"She's hot," Ronon's low voice sounded behind them.

Rodney waved a hand, shushing him. "Shut up--I want to hear how devastated they all are by my untimely--and completely unfair death." He threw a glare at John as if it was John's fault he was dead before returning his eyes to the front of the room.

The scientists that had been thus far milling about the room in various groups, talking quietly amongst themselves, all moved forwards to take their seats as Elizabeth began to speak. "We're all here to pay our respects to our late colleague, Rodney McKay."

"Doctor," Rodney shouted, his grin souring.

"Ssh," John said in his ear, grinning when Rodney huffed indignantly.

Elizabeth went on to talk about Rodney's contributions to the lab, the accomplishments he had achieved in his life, all with Rodney clarifying loudly to the room at large (despite the fact John had told him no one could hear or see them) whenever Elizabeth got something wrong (which was happening far too much for Rodney's liking) or when she left some vital contribution he'd made out (also happening too often). All in all Rodney was very disappointed with the speech. "She should have prepared more--made cue cards or something," he grumbled. "She didn't come close to expressing the true scope of what a genius I really am."

"Were," John grinned.

When Elizabeth opened the floor to anyone who would like to say a few words about Rodney, he turned to John with a triumphant grin. "Now we'll see devastation."

Rodney's eyes were huge, his mouth falling open a little more with each person that spoke and John tried very hard not to laugh. So far, Simpson, Gaul, and someone named Kavanagh had all stood to speak.

Simpson had said she was sorry McKay had died but that his death was just like the man; loud—the rest of her words were drowned out by Rodney's angry squawk of protest.

Gaul had said he didn't think he would ever meet another man whose girlish fear when it came to such innocuous things as bugs and lemon chicken could surpass Rodney McKay's. Rodney had begun waving his hands, yelling about allergies and death and other less coherent things and John was sure Rodney's eyes were going to bug right out of his head, but then Kavanagh had gotten up to speak.

When he announced to the room that with the passing of McKay, his own brilliance would no longer be ignored, John had to literally hold Rodney back as he tried to lunge for the man. "Have you forgotten your current state of death, McKay?" John managed to wheeze, his arm tightening around Rodney's waist, as he tried not to burst out laughing.

Behind them Daniel's eyes were wide in shock, Jack was smirking and shaking his head and Ronon was chuckling to himself as he grabbed something that looked like a pig in a blanket.

Rodney sagged in John's arms, head down, breathing labored. "Fuck!" he shouted, before his voice got quiet and he muttered to himself, "I hope they all die in some horrible lab explosion that only I could have saved them from."

John nodded sympathetically and released his hold, patting Rodney on the shoulder. Glancing up he smiled. "Hey, someone else is getting up."

Rodney looked up just in time to hear the high-pitched sobbing as Miko took the podium. Rolling his eyes, he turned to the four men standing behind him. "This is all a joke, right? Any minute now Grodin, Carson and Radek are going to jump out and yell 'gotcha', right?" Rodney's voice was taking on a slightly hysterical tone as he looked from John to Jack, Daniel and Ronon. "Because really, if this is my fucking funeral then I reserve the right to come back and haunt every last one of these bastards until the day they die!" He was shouting again, his face red, panting hard and John reached over and grabbed a glass of water.

"You look like you could use this," he said carefully.

Rodney scowled at the water. "I'm dead, remember?" But even as he said it he reached out for the water because his throat hurt from yelling and he was suddenly really hungry because he didn't even fucking get to eat his lunch because he fucking died! Watching his hand go right through the glass of water he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Why the fuck am I hungry?" he asked calmly, looking up into the semi-frightened faces before him.

"Wow," Jack mumbled, Daniel nodding.

Ronon snorted and turned to Jack. "Can't we trade him in for a less--crazy reaper?"

Jack elbowed Ronon, smiling brightly at Rodney. "Hey--isn't that Zalinsky getting up to talk?"

Rodney had either not heard Ronon or was too distracted by the way John's hand was making slow, relaxing circles on the small of his back to catch the comment but turned when he saw Jack pointing towards the front of the room again. "Great--I suppose now we get to hear how all my brilliant research was really Radek's--that I'd...I'd read his mind or something," Rodney huffed, arms crossing over his chest again as he focused on the small ruffled man at the podium.

Radek pushed his glasses up, blinking out at the crowd of scientists gathered to pay their respects to Rodney. "Doctor Rodney McKay was the most arrogant man I have ever met--" Radek started and Rodney covered his eyes because he really didn't think his day could get any worse than fucking dying but he'd obviously been wrong because not only had he died, he'd apparently gotten a one way ticket to hell. "He was also the most brilliant man I've ever had the pleasure to work with." Rodney's head shot up. "He was the only person whose arrogance was completely justified," Radek continued and Rodney's mouth was splitting into a wide grin, part smug and part relief.

"The loss to the science community will be great," Radek's head bowed. "Rodney was my friend--and I will miss him terribly."

John patted Rodney on the shoulder as Rodney swallowed thickly. "Yes, well--" he cleared his throat. "I always knew Radek wasn't as stupid as he seemed."

The rest of his funeral went by fairly fast--so much so that Rodney felt like someone had hit the fast forward button--and he found himself slumped in the booth of a diner that looked like it belonged in the sixties. "I can't believe I died," Rodney groaned, head pillowed on his crossed arms on the table. John scrunched in closer beside him, making room for Ronon's large legs under the table.

"At least you went out with a bang," John joked. Rodney raised his head long enough to scowl.

"I hope they shot whatever idiot activated that fucking drone," Rodney mumbled into his arms.

"So, what can I get you boys?" A voice chirped beside them and Rodney raised his head slowly, blinking into the smiling face of a petite brunette with large, friendly eyes and a bright grin.

"Uh--"

"Pancakes, bacon, eggs--scrambled, toast, and a large orange juice," Ronon rumbled.

"Fruitloops, coffee--black," Jack answered, handing over his menu.

"Oatmeal, toast, and a large coffee--black, three sugars," Daniel smiled widely.

John hummed beside him before handing over his menu, "Large orange juice and a bowl of Captain Crunch."

The pretty waitress, whose nametag said 'Janet', nodded as she wrote down all their orders, blindly reaching out to retrieve their menus as she turned to Rodney. "And what can I get for you, handsome?"

"Uh--" Rodney said again, eyes wide as he leaned into John's personal space. "You said no one could see me--can she see me? Why can she see me?" he stage whispered, ignoring the worried look 'Janet' was sending him.

He yelped when Jack kicked him under the table, glaring across at the man. "Order something McKay before the waitress thinks you're crazy," Jack said in a singsong voice, as he played with the napkin holder on the table.

"Me?," Rodney hissed before turning to the waitress. "Give me the largest coffee you have--black--no wait, I want the whole pot; god I've missed coffee...and pancakes, bacon, eggs--boiled, toast with butter, hash browns--" his voice trailed off at the amused faces around him before he scowled and snapped, "No citrus! I am deathly allergic to citrus."

Jack, Daniel, Ronon and John all just shook their heads as the waitress walked quickly away from their table, her heels echoing in the near empty diner.

-----

"I have to get back to work," Rodney said. He was laid out on the diner booth, one arm flung over his eyes.

John ignored him. "This place is closing soon, you know."

"They're going to be lost without me," Rodney continued. "Now that I'm alive again--"

"You're not," John corrected lazily. "You're undead."

Rodney shot up in the booth and glared at him. "What does that even mean?"

"It means you're not alive, but you're not dead," John said, and grinned.

"That's entirely unhelpful. If people can see me, then I'll just find Radek and explain--"

"How you died, changed completely in appearance, and now take souls for a living?" John asked wryly.

"What do you mean changed in appearance?" Rodney asked, looking at his hands in horror. "I still feel like me."

"Yeah, to you, to me," John said. "You look different to the living."

"This sucks," Rodney hissed. "I don't even believe in an afterlife."

John laughed. "You might want to change your views on it now, considering."

Rodney crossed his arms. "I'm way too smart to be wasted doing Death's dirty work. I need to get back to Atlantis Labs."

"No can do," John told him. "It's not so bad, okay? You can still do stuff, you just can't do what you were doing."

"And just how will you stop me?" Rodney asked him.

"I won't stop you," John said. "You'll stop yourself. Legend has it that the more you try to capture of your former life, the less you can hold onto it. You'll start to forget things, and considering the importance you seem to put on your intelligence, I'm thinking you don't want that."

"That's..." Rodney glared at him, and narrowed his eyes. "You're lying."

John snorted. "Yes, I just want your company so desperately, I'll say anything."

"Well what am I supposed to do then? Where am I going to sleep? Where do you send my paychecks?"

"You're going to have to figure that out on your own," John said. "And we don't get paid; this is more of a...public service. You're going to need a day job."

Rodney's eyes lit up. "Then I'll just interview at Atlan--"

"A low profile day job," John corrected wryly. "You want to do something that needs your intelligence? Fine. More power to you. But you can't work at your old job, it just isn't done."

"Where do you work?" Rodney asked, suspiciously.

"I give helicopter tours to the rich and boring," John told him, and then heaved a big sigh. "Look, since everyone else had excuses and bailed out, I'm kind of stuck of with you, so I guess you can stay with me until you get a place."

"You're too kind," Rodney said huffily.

"I'm a fucking saint," John said, and pulled out his wallet. He dropped a twenty and a couple of ones on the table and then got to his feet. Rodney followed him out without being asked again.

------

John's apartment was fairly small, but it looked like a model home. There was no clutter, only the bare essentials and a big screen, with a Playstation on the bottom of the shelf. Rodney looked at the framed photos of smiling people arranged on the shelf above the fireplace and frowned. "Is this your family?"

John came to stand beside him. "Nah," he said. "I cut them out of magazines. I just tell people they're my family."

Rodney continued to frown, but noticed a crinkled edge on the photo of a smiling woman that could have been John's sister, and he could see the frayed edge of a Jack Daniels ad on the other side.

"You can sleep on the couch," John told him. "And I can probably find some clothes for you, but they might be a little tight."

"Hey," Rodney snapped.

John just flashed him a grin. "You can use the Playstation if you want, and help yourself to the food. We have to be at O'Malley's by eight."

"What?" Rodney asked. "Why?"

"So Jack can hand out assignments," John told him easily.

"Assignments, meaning people we're supposed to kill?" Rodney snapped.

"We don't kill them, we just ease their way," John said. "Honestly, would you have wanted to be completely in your body when that drone hit? No, of course not, and that's what we do, we make it easier."

Rodney dropped onto the couch sulkily. "You could have shouted, 'hey, run' instead of waving at me," he snapped. "In fact, I think it's your fault. You had me stuck in place with your stupid fucking wiles."

John gave him a lop-sided grin. "There was nothing I could have done, I just thought I'd try and distract you from it while Hammond popped your soul."

"Hammond?" Rodney asked curiously.

"The nice man that sat beside you right before it happened." John said, as he pulled his curtains shut.

"You mean that weirdo that felt me up?" Rodney asked him incredulously.

"Sure," John said easily. "He took your soul, and it filled his quota, so he's off doing something else now."

"What something else?" Rodney asked him. "And when do I fill my quota?"

"I have no idea," John said. "You'll have to talk with Daniel. He's the one that tries to figure all this stuff out. He drives Jack crazy."

Rodney dropped his head into his hands. "This dead thing is a fucking nightmare."

"You'll get used to it," John told him. "Just get some sleep." John disappeared into his bedroom, turning the light out before he went, and Rodney fell sideways onto the couch, and watched the street lights flicker through the blinds until he fell asleep.

-----

When Rodney woke up, there were a pair of jeans and a long sleeved green shirt folded on the coffee table. John wandered into the room just a moment later, wearing another pair of blue jeans and a white t-shirt, his hair dripping wet, slipping down his neck and soaking the collar. "You can use the shower," John offered, pointing behind him.

Rodney watched him wander into the kitchen, stopping every few feet to better toe on his sneakers. It was funny, because waking up to someone like John had long since been a fantasy, and it just figured he'd have to be dead for it to come true.

Of course, even dead, they'd still been sleeping in separate rooms.

"Thanks," Rodney mumbled. He found the shower easily enough, and stripped off his clothes before throwing himself in. He stood under the spray for fifteen minutes before John was knocking on the door and asking him if he was alright. "I'll be out in a minute!" he shouted.

He got dressed as quick as he could, but the clothes, as John had predicted, were a little tighter than he was used to. Once he finally got in the jeans, they looked like they'd been painted on. He wandered back into the living room and then fell back onto the couch, feeling drained.

"I probably shouldn't be showing this to you," John said, as he walked over with a coffee and a newspaper.

Rodney squinted at him with one eye. "Show me what?"

"Coffee first," John told him. He knelt in front of him and held out the steaming mug.

Rodney took the coffee, reevaluating the whole dead thing slightly. He could get used to the nice gorgeous guy bringing him coffee every morning. "What is it?" he asked.

"You made the front page," John told him softly, before handing the paper over.

The headline read: BRILLANT SCIENTIST KILLED IN BIZARRE LAB ACCIDENT.

"At least they got the brilliant part right," Rodney said. He tried to sound calm, but he felt a little sick, looking at the black and white photo of himself hovering above the caption 'the late Dr. Rodney McKay'. "Of course, genius would have been better."

He quickly read through the article, and then irritably tossed the paper aside.

"What's wrong?" John asked him, still watching him with those large intense eyes.

"No one is getting prosecuted for killing me!" he shouted. "It was that worm Kavanagh, I'm sure; he'd probably been planning it for years, and then the morons rule it an accident! An accident!"

"Maybe it was," John said. "Maybe it was gravelings."

"Gravelings?" Rodney asked. He was supposed to know everything about everything, but he just wasn't up on undead slang.

John nodded. "The things that make bad things happen," he said, before glancing at his clock and getting back to his feet. "We've got to run," he said. "We're going to be late."

-----

They were the last ones there. Ronon was huddled over a plate of bacon and eggs, stabbing at his food and then shoveling it into his mouth. Daniel was poking at a bowl of oatmeal and Jack was taking up a whole bench, sitting with his legs out and sorting through a pile of post-its.

John pushed Jack's legs off the edge and then slid in beside him. Rodney sat down reluctantly and tried not to watch Ronon eat.

"How's the newbie?" Jack asked, without so much as sparing Rodney a glance.

"He cleans up nice enough," John said, and flashed Rodney a grin.

Jack just snorted and stuck a post-it on the table in front of John. "I want you to take him with you today, teach him the ropes."

"I had him all yesterday," John said. He glanced at Rodney. "No offense or anything."

"Oh, none taken," Rodney snapped. He looked across at Daniel. "Are you going to eat that or what?"

"What?" Daniel asked distractedly, before glancing up and staring at Rodney like they'd never met.

"The oatmeal," Rodney said, for clarification. "Are you going to eat it or not?"

"Oh," Daniel said. He slid it across to Rodney. "You can have it if you want."

Rodney dug in without being told twice, and John rolled his eyes. "New reapers always screw things up," John said, turning to Jack. "Don't you remember what happened when you made me teach Daniel the ropes?"

"Hey," Daniel said, leaning forward. "It was a perfectly understandable mistake."

"Shouting 'hey watch out'?" John asked disbelievingly.

"It was instinct," Daniel told him sulkily. "I can't help it."

"Which is why I'm stuck keeping an eye on Daniel," Jack said. "And why you're stuck with the new kid."

"What about Ronon?" John asked. They all looked to Ronon, who grunted at them and went back to his food. John sighed. "Okay, fine. Looks like you're riding shotgun, McKay."

"Doctor," Rodney said.

"Not anymore," John said.

"Must you keep bringing that up?" Rodney demanded.

"For as long as you keep forgetting," John told him, and then picked up his post-it. "Let's go. We've got an early appointment today."

-----

"So where are we going?" Rodney demanded as he fought to keep up.

John had been completely unreasonable and refused to let him finish his oatmeal. He'd just grabbed his arm and started dragging him along. He reached into his pocket and handed Rodney the post-it.

"M. Sumner. Corner of Norad and Pegasus. ETD: 8:40 a.m." Rodney blinked. "ETD? Estimated time of death? Is this all some cosmic joke, or something? Are you fucking kidding me with this? This is all you get?"

"The less we know the better," John said. "For instance, if I'd known what a little ray of sunshine you were, I might have found your death harder to watch."

"You're a bastard," Rodney told him.

John smirked. "I've just been at this awhile."

"How long?" Rodney asked curiously.

"You don't want to know," John said quickly. "I haven't been at it as long as Jack in any case. The man is ancient."

They made it to the spot five minutes ahead of schedule and John leaned against a brick wall and crossed his ankles, looking for all the world like he was just waiting out the end of a lunch break, and not waiting to help someone die.

"I don't think I can do this," Rodney said, feeling sick again. "I'm not really built to kill people."

"We're not assassins, McKay," John said wryly. "Unless thinking of us like assassins helps."

"It doesn't," Rodney snapped.

"Then think of us more like...I don't know...flight attendants for the dead. Please head this way, towards the lights, etc, etc."

"You're completely insane," Rodney told him.

"Sanity doesn't have much use when you're undead," he said. "Mostly I've found it to be counterproductive."

A man started towards them, and Rodney wouldn't have noticed him but for the way John pulled himself up straight the moment he came into view. "Sumner?" he asked, twisting his tone of voice into something oddly giddy and curious, with none of that sardonic wryness Rodney had quickly come to love. "Is that you?"

The man blinked and walked over to him. "Do I know you?"

"You're Sumner, right? Wow, I've heard stories about you, legends--it's...I can hardly believe I'm actually meeting you."

Rodney scrunched up his face at John, wondering what the hell he was going on about, but Sumner just gave a slight grin and stood up straighter. "You in the marines, son?"

"Used to be," John said. "Do you mind if I shake your hand?"

Sumner held his hand out. "You sure we never served together? You look familiar."

"Afraid not," John said. He took the man's arm at the wrist, and dragged his hand gently down; ripples and waves and light seemed to accompany the movement, and Rodney winced.

"I've got to be going," Sumner said. "Take care."

"Take care," John echoed, letting go. "Semper Fi."

Sumner nodded and headed off down the ally. Rodney saw someone in a black trench coat come out of the shadows and push Sumner against the wall, shouting for his wallet and his money.

"So you were a marine?" Rodney asked.

John watched the gun fire off and the bullet hit, splitting apart Sumner's heart with one shot. "No," he said. "I wasn't."

Sumner appeared beside them, bewildered, as the mugger fled from the corpse. "Am I dead?" he asked.

"Afraid so," John told him. Rodney just stared at Sumner's body, thinking about his own recent demise.

"Twenty five years of service," Sumner said, "and I get shot by some punk kid in an ally."

"Yeah," John said, carefully leading Sumner towards a shimmering blue mass. "Ain't life a bitch?"

-----

"You can't just leave me here--what the hell am I supposed to do?" Rodney yelled.

John sighed. "Look, McKay, you remember that nice apartment you stayed in last night? Well my landlord prefers me paying rent to letting me stay for free and in order to pay my rent, I have to work."

"This sucks," Rodney sulked. "I hate my life!"

John grinned. "You mean your death." He ruffled Rodney's hair, ignoring the outraged scowl and tossed a, "See you tonight," over his shoulder.

Rodney reached up, fixing his messed hair and looked around. John had left him in the middle of a busy mall; couples performing PDAs on his left, screaming children on his right. His day just kept getting better and better. "The least he could have done was lend me some money for lunch," he groused, hands just barely squeezing into his pockets as he headed towards the mall exit.

-----

Four hours later Rodney was at his wits end. He had no where to go, couldn't go home to his own house, couldn't go back to the lab, had no idea where John worked, where Jack, Daniel or Ronon spent their days, had no money...Fuck!

Rodney ran his hands through his hair, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, John was standing inches away, grinning with amusement. "Hey, Rodney," he drawled.

"Oh thank GOD!" Rodney breathed, grabbing John by the arm. "I am starving!" John chuckled. "I am hypoglycemic--I have to eat every few hours or I could die!" John rolled his eyes and raised an eyebrow. "Fine, fine, yes I know--already dead, got that but that's totally beside the point. It's been hours."

John slung an arm around Rodney's shoulder, leading him down the street. "So, how was your day?"

"Dreadful," Rodney snorted.

"It'll get better," John assured with a wink that had Rodney's stomach fluttering.

"Can we eat now?" Rodney asked.

"I could eat," John grinned, pulling his arm away and Rodney ignored the pang of disappointment at the loss of contact. "There's a great little place just down the street."
___

The next morning Rodney woke with a shriek when he rolled right off the side of John's couch. John grinned down at him as he lay staring at the ceiling. "Morning, sunshine."

Rodney grunted, lifting an arm for John to help him up. He groaned as the muscles in his back twinged. "I died--shouldn't that make me exempt from things like bad backs and sore muscles?"

John laughed, patting his back and turning towards the kitchen. "Coffee?"

Rodney perked up at that, following John into the kitchen and wrapping his hands around the steaming mug John held out. Inhaling deeply he took a large gulp, sighing as he felt the caffeine hitting his system. "I think I love you," he said earnestly, staring into the mug.

"I love you too, McKay," John snorted.

"I was talking to the coffee," Rodney growled.
___

When they arrived at O'Malley's, Ronon was halfway through his usual breakfast, Daniel was sipping his coffee and reading the newspaper, and Jack was nowhere to be seen. John and Rodney slid into the booth opposite Daniel. "Where's Jack?" John asked.

"Running late," Daniel answered absently.

Janet came over, smiling brightly. "What can I get you boys?"

They ordered and Rodney muttered endearments into his coffee mug again while John just shook his head. Ronon growled when John stole a piece of bacon but otherwise didn't stop him. Rodney eyed Ronon's plate, his hand creeping closer towards the lone sausage left. He yelped in pain when Ronon stabbed him with his fork, clutching his hand to his chest, eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Why didn't you stab John?"

John snickered beside him, earning Rodney's glare. Bumping his shoulder against Rodney's John pushed the rest of his hash browns towards him. Rodney huffed and then quirked a grin at John. "Thanks."

"Gotta keep your strength up," John winked. "Today's your first reap."

Rodney paled, swallowing thickly before pushing the plate back towards John, "Suddenly I'm not really all that hungry." John threw him a worried glance but didn't comment.

"Good morning campers!" Jack's cheerful voice called as he walked towards them.

"Is he always like this?" Rodney asked with a frown.

"Pretty much," Daniel shrugged, sliding over in the booth to make room for Jack.

Rubbing his hands together, Jack smiled at Janet. "Coffee and your biggest bowl of oatmeal."

Daniel, John and Ronon all stared at him. "You feeling okay, Jack?"

"Just peachy."

John's brow wrinkled. "You don't eat oatmeal...ever."

"It's good to be open to new experiences," Jack said seriously. Opening the day planner in front of him he slapped post-it notes down in front of Ronon and John.

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "What about me?"

"You, Danny boy--have the day off." Jack clapped him on the shoulder.

Daniel grinned maniacally as he shoved Jack out of the booth. "See you guys later."

Shaking his head Jack yelled, "Stay out of trouble." John and Ronon snorted.

Turning back towards Rodney, Jack folded his hands in front of him. Rodney shifted uncomfortably under the steady gaze. Jack peeled off a post-it from his day planner and placed it carefully in front of Rodney. Rodney swallowed. Jack leaned back, placing a hand along the back of the seat as he turned to John. "You're babysitting again today," he said with a grin that showed none of the intensity from the previous moment.

"Aw man," John groaned.

Rodney stared at the post-it in front of him, not touching it. F. Collins. Spring Garden and Fifth. ETD: 3:27 p.m. Taking a deep breath, and tearing his eyes from the post-it he looked at Jack. "So what happens if I'm not there at 3:27?"

Jack's eyes hardened. "You'll be there."

Rodney nodded. "Yes, yes but what if I'm not?"

John cleared his throat, pushing on Rodney's arm and sliding out behind him. "He'll be there." He smiled charmingly at Jack, patting Ronon on the shoulder before hustling Rodney out of O'Malley's and into the warm summer air.

"Trust me, you do not wanna piss Jack off," John said in a low voice, grabbing Rodney's wrist and pulling him down the street.

"I tend to piss most people off," Rodney stated matter-of-factly. "Besides--I like to understand things and if I'm going to be the star in ‘night of the living dead’ I'd like to have all the facts."

John smirked. "You're just going to have to learn as you go."

"I hate that," Rodney muttered.

"So," John grinned. "We've got some time to kill."

"What time is your--"

"Not till later tonight," John said quickly. "So...job hunting?"

Rodney frowned. "Did you get fired?"

Rolling his eyes, John sighed. "Not for me, McKay--you're going to need to get a job too."

Rodney pursed his lips in what looked like a pout. "But I like being a kept man."

John snorted and shoved Rodney, throwing him off balance and laughing when Rodney threw him a crooked grin.
__

At 1:30, after totally blowing off the job search, John's eyes had lit up when they passed an amusement park. "They have a Ferris Wheel!" John was practically bouncing. Rodney gave a well practiced, long suffering sigh and let John pull him towards the ride, shaking his head as John's grin just kept getting bigger the closer they got.

By 2:00 Rodney was nauseated from four trips around the Ferris wheel and had to bodily drag John away, feeling vaguely guilty at John's pout of disappointment. He made it up to him by borrowing some money from John and then buying him a stuffed penguin. "I don't do sports," Rodney explained.

John chuckled. "I don't think you can really call the ring toss a sport." But he clutched the penguin close, grinning happily beside Rodney as they left the amusement park.
___

They were on Spring Garden by 3:00 and Rodney was, by that point, ready to offer John anything. "Seriously--I'll get the next one. I promise."

John shook his head. "Rodney--it's your post-it."

"So?" Rodney snapped in frustration.

"You're the only one that can reap F. Collins."

"Have I mentioned how much this fucking sucks?" Rodney bitched.

"Numerous times," John said wryly.

Rodney sighed beside him, looking around at the unsuspecting peons scurrying around them. A familiar, wild tuft of hair caught his attention. "Radek!" Rodney yelled, squeaking when John shoved him against the side of a building, pressing his lips to Rodney's.

When John pulled back his eyes were dark. "What the fuck are you doing?" he hissed.

Rodney's brain was still stuck on John kissing him. "Huh?"

"You're dead, Rodney--dead. You need to break off all ties with your old life." John's voice was quiet and serious.

Rodney swallowed and nodded. "Sorry, sorry--I...I wasn't thinking."

John sighed, as he pulled back. "I know--just--aw, damn." Rodney blinked as John bent down in front of him. "You made me drop Steve."

"Steve?" Rodney frowned.

John dusted off the penguin, holding it in front of Rodney's face. "Steve." John tucked the penguin under his arm and headed towards Fifth, Rodney hurrying to catch up.

"So," Rodney smiled smugly, "you kissed me."

John glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "No I didn't."

"Oh, yes--you did." Rodney was humming to himself, hands in his pockets.

Shaking his head, John snorted. "So Radek wouldn't see you."

Rodney scoffed. "Hello--" he waved a hand towards himself, "he wouldn't recognize me anyway."

John looked at him pointedly. "I think the arm waving would have caught his attention."
__

At 3:20 Rodney couldn't breathe. "I can't kill anyone."

"Rodney--we've been over this."

"I don't care!" Rodney shouted, lowering his voice when John stepped closer. "I can't do this."

"Yes, you can," John said calmly. "All you have to do is touch the guy."

"Are you insane?" Rodney hissed. "All I have is a god damned first initial! What if Frank and fucking Flo Collins are standing beside each other?! Which one do I fucking take?!" Rodney's hands were clenched into fists. "This is so fucked up."

"Breathe Rodney," John squeezed the back of his neck. "This is the way things have been for a very long time--it works, trust me."

At 3:23 Fred Collins dropped his wallet in front of Rodney. Bending down Rodney glanced at the man's driver's license. "Excuse me, you dropped this."

Frank turned around, a smile on his face. "Shit, thanks--" Rodney's hand brushed Collins' wrist as the man reached for the wallet, leaving a tingle in Rodney's fingertips. Shaking his head with a confused frown Collins' looked back at Rodney nodding with a grin. "Thanks again."

Rodney took a deep breath, closing his eyes when the busker juggling lit batons slipped in the ice cream the snot nosed little girl had dropped, missing the twirling mass of fire as it plummeted back towards the ground.

John placed a hand on Rodney's shoulder and turned him away from the screaming Collins as he went up in flames. "You okay?"

Rodney turned blue eyes towards John. "No."

“Oh wow,” Fred said beside them, staring at the still smoking remains of his former body. “Is that--?”

John nodded.

“So now what?” Fred asked, turning wide eyes towards them.

Rodney gestured with a nod of his head, “I think that’s your ride.” Behind Fred was a shimmering blue vision of cliffs and water and clouds. Fred’s smile was wide as he stepped closer and Rodney said, “What’s on the other side?”

John watched beside him. “I have no idea.”

Fred waved as he stepped into the light, disappearing from their eyes. Rodney sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. “That--is very disconcerting.”

John laughed and started down the street. “Are you hungry?”

With one last look at the place Fred Collins had disappeared Rodney shrugged and fell in step beside John. “I could eat.”

With a Whimper

2006-03-13T11:17:57Z

Title: With a Whimper
Author: laytoncolt
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: PG
Summary: You can't stop loving someone just because they rip your heart out, because torn or not, they've still got it in their hands.
Sequel: Sequel to Infidelity

There are certain things he remembers; a moan, a smile, a hitch of breath. He retraces his steps methodically, because he's always been an expert at hindsight. He tries to compare, he tries to remember what John sounded like when he was with him and not someone else.

Only he can't. He can't see past their moving bodies, the dimming lights, and he can't think past the way the air was all sucked straight out of him, leaving him hollow and out of breath.

He had a plan, and it was a damn good plan, too. Stop caring, stop getting attached, stop watching him and Ronon to try and guess if they're still fucking. As usual, his scientist's mind had left out the most relevant part, the human element, and you can't stop loving someone just because they rip your heart out.

Torn or not, they've still got it in their hands.

------

At first he'd wanted to hit Ronon, just punch him as hard as he could, hit him hard enough to bruise and bloody his knuckles and knock him to the ground.

He never did. Aside from the obvious flaws and the fact that Ronon could take him one-handed, he gave John more credit than that. John Sheppard never did anything John Sheppard didn't want to do, and there was no reason to blame Ronon for something John could have as easily done with anyone else.

There was no escaping that, that cold hard fact. John had chosen to cheat on him, and then hadn't even bothered to lock the door.

Teyla is on the fence. She was John's friend first, but she visits anyway. She tells him that if it's worth anything, Ronon and John haven't spoken for days.

It's not worth much.

------

Rodney copes. He's good at recovering from this kind of thing. He didn't get his personality from a life that gave him everything he ever wanted. People that had that kind of life turned out like John.

After awhile, people stop giving him concerned glances. He's as loud as usual, dedicated as ever, and if anyone notices that his team is going off world without him, they don't mention it.

He sees John sometimes. The city may be vast, but people have a habit of clustering together, and they stay mostly in the same area. They were bound to meet.

He sees it coming, he watches it happen, little by little; the dark circles come first and he hears Carson complain to Elizabeth that John isn't sleeping. Rodney is too hurt to care and it isn't his responsibility anymore anyway.

If John wants to kill himself then that's his prerogative. It's not like his fondness for suicide missions is new.

-----

It takes four months before they have a conversation. John shows up on his doorstep. He's holding onto the wall in what Rodney is sure is meant to be casual, but he looks so gaunt that he has his suspicions he needs to hold on to keep his feet beneath him.

"Colonel Sheppard," Rodney says.

John winces, either at the title or the tone. "I...wanted to see how you were doing," he says.

"I'm fine," Rodney tells him.

John runs a hand through his hair, leaves it there a moment before bringing it back down again and turning his eyes towards the floor. "Rodney, I--"

"Was that all?" Rodney interrupts.

John looks up, blinks, looks away again. "Yeah," he says. "That's all."

-----

The next time he opens his door it's Ronon standing there on the other side. He opens his mouth, prepared to be falsely cordial and dismissing, but Ronon is covered in blood from his fingertips to his forearms, from his knees down to his feet, and the world tilts sideways, because Rodney knows what this means.

"Where is he?" he asks, and his voice is so calm it sounds like it's coming from someone else.

"On his way to Carson," Ronon says. "It doesn't look good."

Ronon acts like he expects him to start running, like he expects him to trip over himself to make it there. He steps back instead, let's the door close between them, and then slides straight to the floor.

Ronon only says his name twice before he takes off running himself.

-----

He waits until everyone is asleep before heading there. The lights are all turned off, but the blinking lights on the medical equipment light John's features ashen, then blue. At least he's started breathing on his own.

He got the story from Cadman, who had seemed surprised he didn't already know.

Teyla says she doesn't know why John wasn't able to move out of the way. They had gone to a world in the middle of a civil war, and chosen the wrong side. John killed three men before he was taken out himself: a metal bullet, apparently a discovery as common as the wheel, shot straight through his side.

Ortiz from botany claims it was just inches from the heart, but Rodney doesn't trust speculation and lifts the chart.

The movement wakes John and his eyes flicker open and shut. He says, "Rodney?"

His hands are moving restlessly and Rodney stills them with his own. "Go back to sleep," he says, and John drifts off again.

If Rodney's lucky, John won't remember he was there.

-----

It's hard to walk away without looking back. Harder than it was to leave Ronon and John tangled in that bed, harder than walking away when John came to him, looking heartbroken and like he was the one that had been wronged.

He knows he can't stay. He can't sit by his bed and not forgive him, so he leaves.

Two weeks later, Teyla tells him John is asking for him, and he has to pretend like he doesn't care.

-----

He's eating a power bar and reading reports at three a.m. when he makes it back to his room and switches on the lights. John is sitting on his bed, with his head in his hands. There's a bandage on one of them, colored slightly pink with blood, from where he's ripped out his IV.

He can't help the sharp intake of breath, and when John looks at him his eyes are glassy--probably he's still pumped full of pain meds and shouldn't be here. Rodney's been staying informed through Carson and Teyla, and he isn't supposed to be walking until tomorrow.

"Hey," John says. His voice is rough and edgy, rustic with disuse, and still gut-wrenchingly familiar. He hasn't heard it in anything but dreams for a long time.

"Hey," he says. He sets his papers on his desk just so he'll have something else to look at. "What do you want?"

"Did you come to see me?" John asks quietly. "I wasn't sure if it was real."

It would be easy to lie. Rodney glances at him. "I was there," he says.

John looks down at his hands again, picking at the edge of the bandage, lifting up the tape.

"I haven't forgiven you," Rodney tells him. "If that's what you're thinking. This hasn't made me forgive you."

"I don't deserve to be forgiven," John says.

Rodney has often suspected John was a martyr at heart. "Then I guess you're even more screwed up than I thought," he says.

John leaves then, and doesn't stumble once.

-----

It isn't fair. It isn't fair that John can still do this to him, still leave him tied in knots, gasping for breath in the corner of his quarters. He's often considered asking him why, why he did it, what he was thinking. People on TV always seemed to ask why, and then they decide whether to go forward or back, and one way or another, it's over just like that.

He thinks that's probably why he's afraid to ask. He's afraid John might just answer him, and then he won't know where to go from there.

-----

He finds him on the balcony alone, leaning against the wall in nothing but a thin black t-shirt and a pair of track pants. He's still pale, and Carson's had the alert up for an hour. Rodney could call someone else, but he walks out into the cold air himself.

John looks up. He looks so fragile that Rodney bites back everything he really wants to say. He wants to shout, "you don't get to make me feel sorry for you!" or "I don't care anymore" or even something petty like "how many were there?" or "was he better than me?"

He actually says, "It's cold out here" and then kneels in front of him, grabs his hands to pull him up. They're freezing cold, but John doesn't say a thing. He tells Carson that John is fine and then leads him to his quarters.

It's when they get there that John whispers he's sorry.

"I can't..." Rodney says. "Don't do this now."

"I didn't do this so you would forgive me," John says, "but if I thought for a second it might work, I would have."

Rodney looks away, turns to leave, and says, "What's the point of forgiving you if you're dead?"

------

Elizabeth gives John's team to Lorne for what she calls the foreseeable future. She says it's because he needs time to get well and there's plenty of paperwork to keep him busy, but Rodney suspects it's because she sees the same reckless light in John's eyes that he does.

He doesn't mean to end up there. Bad memories seem to hover in the doorway, and he's almost afraid to knock, lest he should let them out. He needn't have worried; the door opens on it's own.

The lights are out but John's not sleeping. He can see his silhouette against the stained glass windows, and Rodney wonders if he's been spending all his nights this way. He hates the part of himself that hopes he has.

John glances over at him, still looking pale and drawn, and the shadows around his eyes are so much deeper than they should be. He wants to walk away so he doesn't have to face this, wants to scream for once, because he hasn't, not about this. It's all been very quiet for the ending of his world.

"Rodney?" John says his name so uncertain these days, like he's waiting just for that, for the screaming to start, because John knows how to handle his anger, but he's never known what to say to his silence.

Rodney walks inside, takes a deep breath, and asks him why.

Infidelity

2006-03-13T11:10:58Z

Title: Infidelity
Author: forcryinoutloud
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: PG
Summary: He'd been stupid and that was unforgivable.
Warnings: Cheating!John (Bastard)

All he could see when the door slid silently open were flashes of dark skin covering familiar pale. Strong shoulders, curled around a body that had long been his to love. His breath stuttered in his chest, tightening painfully, leaving him gasping for air. When hazel eyes locked on his he was spinning on his heel, turning for the door, the hall, his room. He didn't remember how he got there but that wasn't important. Falling to his knees he emptied the contents of his stomach in the bathroom, rinsing his mouth and staring into the mirror.

He'd been stupid and that was unforgivable. Rodney McKay was not, had never been a stupid man—until John Sheppard came into his life, tore down walls that Rodney had spent years perfecting, worming his way into Rodney's heart and then ripping it out with as much care as an indifferent butcher.

Stripping off his clothes, Rodney climbed into the shower letting the water scorch his skin, trying to burn away the memory of seeing John with Ronon; trying to burn away the memory of the last six months spent wrapped in John's arms, in John's bed. When he was done, skin red and raw, the slow job of rebuilding his walls begun, he walked back into his room, got dressed and went to the lab.

Twenty minutes later the doors to his lab hissed open, revealing John, arms wrapped around his chest, eyes staring at the floor, hair wet from a hasty shower. Rodney's heart quickened; he didn't want to hear excuses, didn't want an explanation; didn't want anything from John ever again. "Colonel, was there something you needed?"

John's eyes fluttered around the empty room before landing somewhere over Rodney's left shoulder. "I wanted to…" He cleared his throat, eyes darting to Rodney's and away again. "I never meant to…"

"I really don't want to hear it, Colonel." Rodney said through gritted teeth, adding another layer of brick to his protective wall. "It's fine."

"It's not fine," John said so earnestly, eyes pleading as he took a step forward. "Rodney—it's not fine."

Standing quickly, hands clenched into fists, Rodney hissed, "What do you want me to say? You let Ronon fuck you and now you're sorry and that's supposed to make things alright?"

"No! I just…"

"I don't care if you're sorry! Jesus, I don't care!" Rodney screamed, breath coming in gasps as he tried to rebuild his walls faster.

"Rodney, please…" John held placating hands up.

Closing his eyes, Rodney took a steadying breath. "Get out," his voice cold and flat.

When he heard the quiet hiss of the doors he opened his eyes to the empty room. Slumping into his chair, he braced his hands on the countertop. It would take time to completely rebuild his walls, until he could look at John, at Ronon, without feeling nauseated, angry, hurt.

With long practiced detachment he typed up an email to Elizabeth requesting a transfer from John's team. He couldn't work with him now, maybe never again, but definitely not right now. Hitting send, he shut down his laptop and walked slowly back to his room.

It would take time but he'd rebuild—and this time no one would ever be able to tear down his walls again.

Twenty One Days (Chapter 8)

2006-02-04T16:06:10Z

Title: Twenty One Days
Rating: R
Category: Humor, Angst
Summary: A twisted and unique look at what might have happened during the 3 weeks SG-1 spent in a palace by the beach.

Day Eight: Jack (FCOL)

I'll kill him. A slow and painful death. No wait, that's too good for him. I mean, here I thought all along that he was a friend. Amazing how wrong you can be about someone. See, cause I know that a friend, that knew I was stuck on another planet, bored out of my mind with 2 scientists and 2 aliens, would never, ever send me Barbie: Pet Rescue.

I sat in the corner staring angrily at the game boy screen blinking at me. There before me stood 'Barbie' dressed as some sort of rescue ranger, and behind her was a kitten stuck in a tree. I shut off the game boy, distressed that what was supposed to be my salvation from boredom had turned into something nightmares were made of.

Scrubbing my hands roughly over my face I try desperately to scrub away the pictures of the game running through my mind. Ferretti was SO a dead man when we got back. I had 2 more weeks to spend planning every meticulous detail of the demise of Major Louis Ferretti. I grinned.

There were oh so many things to pay the Major back for. There was the most serious, the sacrilege against all gamedom with Barbie: Pet Rescue, and then there was the coffee incident. I still can't believe that Ferretti had changed the coffee in Daniel's stash, especially after everything that had happened to Daniel. I mean the man almost takes a header off his balcony and Ferretti thinks that it would be smart to put him into caffeine withdrawal on top of the withdrawal we were all already experiencing? I shook my head. Oh I will definitely show Ferretti the errors of his ways.

Daniel had avoided me all morning, contenting himself with sitting by the coffee pot, making one cup after another. He apparently was trying to make up for the caffeine he had not consumed when drinking the decaf coffee. It wasn't my fault, I hadn't even thought to tell Ferretti not to do it. I didn't think I had to tell him. I would never deprive Daniel of caffeine in a situation like this on purpose. It was just once again an example of lady luck biting me in the ass. I don't know what I did, but whatever it was, it must have been something bad to have her so pissed off at me.

I watched as Carter set about asking Daniel for a cup of coffee. Everyone, including Teal'c had been keeping their distance as he hadn't quite gotten the caffeine level in his blood back to normal. He was still a little short tempered and it didn't take much to piss him off. Everyone was being extra nice to the keeper of the coffee pot, lest he decide not to share with the lowly hoards that would be the rest of us.

"Hi Daniel."

"Hey Sam."

"How are you feeling?"

"Better...now that I have real coffee." He glares in my direction, and I'm tempted to yet again protest my innocence but know it will fall on deaf ears. I can deal with this...as long as I have my thoughts of revenge to sustain me.

"Would you like some coffee Sam?"

"Sure." She holds out her cup and Daniel's, slightly less shaking hand, pours her a cup. She grins and walks back to study the light while Daniel wraps his hands around his cup of coffee. He is glancing every now and then around him and I think the caffeine withdrawal must have been worse than we thought because I have to say the boy looks like he's waiting for some imaginary foe to jump out and steal the pot from him. The pot that he now has his hand hovering over.

"Stop looking at me!" I honestly think he's lost it at this point, until I realize that he's talking to me.

"What do you mean?"

"You're looking at me, watching me."

"I didn't know I wasn't allowed to look at you." I smirk. He's almost at the stage where he's fun to tease again. He was too pissy before and before that he was too sick. Soon...ah yes, very soon I would have more than my revenge to entertain me.

"Well you're not. And don't be looking at my coffee either because you aren't getting any of it after what you did."

"Dammit Daniel, for the last time. Ferretti switched the bags, not me."

"Who told him to do it?"

"I thought he would have clued in after everything that happened to you that causing you to go into added withdrawal would have been a no-no."

"Well obviously he didn't."

"Obviously."

He rolled his eyes, turning slightly so that he was facing more towards the pot of coffee than to me. I stifled a response and instead turned my eyes back towards the game boy. It was a sin to even have this game inside the machine but there was quite literally nothing else for me to do.

I flipped the power back on, turning the sound off, refusing to listen to the noise someone had deemed music. As I began to move the wildly disproportioned woman down the street, Loran walked over, sitting down beside me.

"Hey."

"Hello." The kid was staring, mouth slightly opened as he watched the figure on the screen reach out and pluck the kitten from the tree. I didn't know if he was gaping because of the game or because of the distorted Earth view of a perfect woman. Contrary to popular opinion I do not fall into that category of men. Sure, I suppose, in some way I understand what is so appealing about the blonde doll but honestly I've always been more the natural beauty type. I prefer my women to be real and not manufactured.

"What's that?"

"This, is a game boy. Very important piece of Earth technology."

"A game boy?"

"Wanna try?" I, under normal circumstances would be reluctant to give up my game boy but Barbie: Pet Rescue did not fall under normal circumstances.

"Sure." I showed Loran the basics on how to play and the kid caught on quickly. Soon he was entranced by the low glow of the game boy screen and I knew that we wouldn't hear from Loran until the batteries died.

I stood up and made my way over to Daniel and the pot, deciding to risk it all and pry a cup of what the military deemed coffee away from the not quite caffeinated enough archeologist.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting a cup of coffee, what does it look like?"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"And just who made you King of the coffee bean Dr. Jackson?"

"This is my coffee Jack."

"Correction, this coffee belongs to the US military...so ergo, it belongs to me." He looks at me, blinking. I think perhaps the 'ergo' has thrown him. He reluctantly lets me take the pot of coffee, pouring myself a cup. I hand it back and sit beside him.

"How're the eyes?"

"Peachy."

"That good? Look Daniel, I'm sorry alright? I didn't think Ferretti would have switched your coffee after everything that happened, and I'm sorry about the two black eyes. I didn't mean either one..."

"*Sigh* I know Jack. It's alright. Of course, you do know that I am going to have to kill Lou when we get back."

"I'll help." We both grin at this and sit, quietly contemplating our revenge, when I hear what I am assuming is the equivalent of a Jaffa curse, coming from Teal'c. "Something wrong T?"

"Erica Kane did not get to have her nuptials O'Neill."

"What?" I look over at Daniel who shakes his head in that 'you don't wanna know' manner. Turning back to Teal'c I see he is reading something. "What are you reading Teal'c?"

"Major Ferretti was kind enough to send through my issue of soap opera digest O'Neill."

"Soap Opera...ForCryinOutLoud T, please, please tell me you aren't hooked on soaps?!"

"Indeed, I am not O'Neill." A noise comes from Daniel, a noise that sounds very much like a snort. I turn back to Daniel, seeing him biting his lip.

"He is, isn't he?" Daniel just manages a nod before we hear a 'YES!' coming from the corner. We turn and see Loran, now a full fledged gamer, grinning as he obviously manages to save some poor pet in need of rescue.

"I can't believe you're letting him use your game boy...you usually won't let anyone near it."

"Yes, well, I usually have a 'real' game to play...not some...Barbie: Pet Rescue." The words are bitter in my mouth. Dead...the man was SO dead.

"We could always get the SGC to send through Monopoly."

"True...or we could get them to send through some cards. We could play gin."

"I'm not good at gin."

"I know." Winking at Daniel I stand and head over to the MALP. Ferretti must have sent through something better than that thing Loran was playing. What's this? I smile, thinking just maybe Ferretti had redeemed himself...slightly. At the bottom of my bag is a package of M&M's. There must be 2 lbs of M&M's here!! Now it was just a matter of...do I share them?

"What are you smiling about Jack?"

"What? Oh...nothing Danny."

"Right, what's in the bag?"

"Nothing...I'm uh...thinking of a joke Teal'c told me."

"Ok, now I KNOW something is in there. What else did Ferretti send you?"

"He only sent what you've seen." I try to close the bag, but a caffinated Daniel is a quick Daniel and he's grabbing for the bag before I can move it from his reach.

"M&M's! He sent you M&M's!!!" Daniel is grinning from ear to ear, then...he isn't. "You weren't going to share?!?!" Uh oh.

"Of course not...I mean...Of course I was going to share. Would I keep all of these for myself?"

"Yes." Damn Skippy.

"Hey! I would not."

"Yes you would."

"Wouldn't!"

"Would!"

"What's going on?"

"Jack wasn't going to share the M&M's Lou sent him with us."

"Sir?!" Double uh oh.

"I was too Carter!"

"Then why were you trying to hide them?" Hmmm...good question.

"I wasn't...I was...It was going to be a surprise." Surprise...yeah that sounds good.

"What was going to be a surprise O'Neill?"

"He has M&M's Teal'c and wasn't going to share."

"OhFor...I told you already Daniel that I WAS going to share."

"You would keep all the M&M's for yourself O'Neill?" OK, never, ever keep chocolate from Teal'c. He likes M&M's almost as much as he likes ice cream.

"No...I wasn't T. I was saving them."

"For what Jack?" Argh! Shut up Daniel!!!

"Well, since you already know about them, there is no point in even mentioning the surprise. Anyone want some M&M's?" I smile sweetly at the three members of my team, who all look as if they have murderous thoughts running through their minds. Daniel reaches out, grabbing the bag that has MY M&M's in it. "Hey! Those are for everyone Daniel."

He passes the bag to Carter, after having taken a huge handful. The boy has freakishly long fingers. Carter and then Teal'c take some, giving the bag, not to me, but back to Daniel. Daniel heads towards Loran, Placing a pile beside him. The kid's eyes barely leaving the screen of the gameboy. In between rescuing helpless animals he snatches the candy from beside him, stuffing it into his mouth.

When the bag is finally handed back to me, there is little more than a handful of my M&M's left. They ate 2 WHOLE POUNDS of MY candy!!! I will not kill them, I will not kill them. "You ate 2 lbs of M&M's!!!"

"We left you some."

"Some? There's barely enough here to feed a bird!"

"Birds do not eat M&M's O'Neill."

"I know that! How could you eat all my candy?!"

"I thought it was for everyone Jack?"

"Well it wasn't!! All my candy is gone...gone....what a world, what a world."

"Stop being so dramatic Jack."

"That's it!" I lunge for Daniel, and feel myself being lifted off the floor as Teal'c grabs me, stopping me from strangling my pain in the mik'ta archeologist. "Let me go Teal'c!"

"I will not. You will not harm Daniel Jackson O'Neill."

"Oh, but I will...just as soon as you let me go!!!"

"I think I'm going to go take a walk outside. Wanna come along Sam?" Run, run little man.

"Sure Daniel."

"We'll see you later Jack." Oh you can count on that Daniel.

"Bye Sir."

"Will you behave yourself O'Neill?"

"I'm not a child ForCryinOutLoud. Let me down Teal'c." He places me back on my feet and I glare at him. Taking my measly handful of M&M's I walk over to the corner and plop down on the floor. Just as I begin to place the first few candy in my mouth there is a shadow in front of me.

"Hi Jack."

"Hello Loran."

"Can I have some more of those things Daniel gave me?"

I sigh, holding the bag out to the smiling kid before me. I know when I'm beat. That damn lady luck is just pissing on my parade this week. Now...how to make amends so the next 13 days don't kill me.

Twenty One Days (Chapter 7)

2006-02-04T15:59:44Z

Title: Twenty One Days
Rating: R
Category: Humor, Angst
Summary: A twisted and unique look at what might have happened during the 3 weeks SG-1 spent in a palace by the beach.

Day Seven: Daniel (Layton)

I look at my reflection in disbelief. One eye is purple, the other a deepening black. Jack and his idea of rest. Writing in my journal is much too strenuous, but playing volley ball and having Jack fire it right at my head is apparently acceptable as a form of relaxation.

Jack had apologized almost non-stop since it had happened, even at some points during the night when he had been asleep. But I wasn't angry at Jack, because I did know that his intentions were good and really hadn't needed to hear the apologies. I really hadn't needed to hear Sam going on and on about how slight the chances of two black eyes from separate events were, either.

I had always been good at breaking the odds. This was nothing new.

I place a hand to my head as the headache returns. I don't know if it's because of the two black eyes--or something else. I think Sam is concerned about the light, but I'm the only one being affected. And even though I had been with the light longer than them, Loran has been here with it longer than any of us and he was fine.

Jack was hovering just behind me. Watching my every move. I sighed. He was terrified. A fifteen minute lecture from Janet about making sure I came to no more harm, and now I had another black eye. He hasn't let me out of his sight since the volley ball connected and sent me sprawling backwards onto the floor. Poor bastard. Too little too late, I'm afraid, Jack.

Janet was going to eat him alive. And I'd be desert.

I'd consider hiding--but Jack was in psycho mother hen mode. So my chances of slipping away were slim, at best. And the SGC would be checking in, in another five minutes. Sam, Teal'c, and Loran were on the other side of the room, tiptoeing around Jack. Well, Sam and Loran were tiptoeing. Teal'c was just keeping a fair distance.

Actually--they were probably keeping their distance from me and not Jack. I frowned as I thought this over. I know I haven't been in the best moods this morning. I woke up--had coffee like always, but I'm not feeling myself. And the raccoon eyes aren't helping.

I may have snapped at them once or twice. But I was sure I apologized. "Just take one more step, O'Neill," I growled.

Jack backed up quickly, eyeing me warily. I know, I said I don't blame him. I don't. But that doesn't mean I trust him. I'm out of eyes, and I really like my nose just the way it is.

Jack was on a major guilt trip--and hadn't even tried to blame me for it this time. Which, in all fairness, he probably could have. A little. Maybe. I wasn't exactly paying full attention to the game. But I hadn't wanted to play in the first place--and the glyphs on the wall beside the net were just so fascinating…

Probably not my smartest move. But thinking I might be good at volley ball wasn't the smartest of Jack's.

The 'gate begins to turn--and as one we turn to stare at the M.A.L.P. with dread.

"Sir?" Sam says.

"I'll talk," he tells her, before heroically moving in front of the camera. Jack was a brave man.

The General's voice comes through first. "Colonel O'Neill, how are you holding up?"

He looks fleetingly at me. "We're good, sir."

"I've asked Major Ferretti to put a care package together for each of you---"

"FERRETTI?" Jack and I demand at once.

"He seemed the best choice, Colonel. He knows all of you very well."

Yeah, sure. But we knew him too. He'd probably send back paper dolls and coloring books.

"Yes sir," Jack finally says reluctantly.

"Colonel, Dr. Fraiser is here--she would like to check on Dr. Jackson's eye."

We all tensed. Run, my brain yells at my feet. Run, you idiots.

"Colonel?" Janet's sweet little harmless munchkin voice comes flawlessly through the speakers on the M.A.L.P. "I would like to see Dr. Jackson. Immediately."

The 'run' message becomes more frantic but Jack has already snagged my arm. I just let one side of my face show, the side with the black eye she's already seen. She'll never suspect I'm trying to hide another black eye, will she?

I hear her sigh. "Daniel, what are you doing?"

"I'm fine," I say quickly, not sounding at all rehearsed. "Really, Jack's been making me rest and even hid my journal."

Jack throws me a grateful look, so I didn't finish the sentence with 'in favor of playing volley ball.'

"Daniel, I want you to look into the camera."

"I am looking into the camera, Janet."

Jack shakes his head frantically, in a 'don't play with fire' kind of way.

"All the way," Janet calls back, her voice distinctly less munchkin-like.

I sigh and turn around to face the camera. Even Loran, as far from Janet's voice as he could get on the other side of the room heard her gasp.

"Colonel O'Neill!" she shouts.

"It wasn't Jack's fault," I blurt. Damn. Why did I do that? This was absolutely Jack's fault. "I . . . I . . . walked into a door."

I can imagine her look of incredulity.

"A door, Daniel?" Beside me, Jack shivers at the sound of her voice.

"You know me," I said. Closing my eyes in regret of what I was about to say, I continued, "I'm a klutz." This was a complete and total lie, of course--but necessary.

Jack holds back a surprised laugh--which is good. Because had he laughed I might have just left him to Janet's mercies.

"Daniel, I can't believe . . ." she trails off. Probably realizing she can believe it. She sighs. "Just be more careful, alright?" she asks softly. "I can't come out there if something happens to one of you. You're on your own."

"I'll be careful," I agree.

"And please don't over work yourself. Colonel, I expect you to watch him better this time."

"Yes, ma'am," Jack says instantly.

"Alright SG-1," the General says. "We'll check in again tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," Jack nods.

F.R.E.D. comes slowly through the wormhole, and the moment it's through the event horizon dissipates. We look at in dismay for a moment, wondering what horrors Ferretti might have sent through for us, before Jack turns to me.

"Way to take one for the team, Daniel," Jack grins.

He means take one for him.

I glare at him. "If you think I did that out of some bizarre selfless need, Jack--you've got another thing coming. You owe me now. Go get me my journal from out from your pack--which was an ingenious hiding place, really--and just try to ask me to join you in another sports game 'for my own good.'"

He looks slightly startled. Behind us the other three have all gone silent.

"Alright," he says. "I'll get your journal but you still have to res--" he cuts off as I give him a look. The one I learned from Sam.

And she learned from Teal'c.

Jack goes off to get my journal and I walk over to F.R.E.D. There's five packs. Ferretti's care packages. Each is neatly labeled, Jackson, O'Neill, Carter, Teal'c and Loran. Sam wanders cautiously over.

"Are you alright?" she asks.

I toss her the pack labeled Carter. "I'm fine. Great. Excellent. Dancing in the rain FANTASTIC."

She snaps up Teal'c and Loran's packs and races off without comment.

I close my eyes and sigh. I think I'm losing it.

Jack comes up behind me, and holds out my journal. I take it from him, and sling my pack over my shoulder before heading back down the dais steps. He picks up his and follows me. My bag is actually pretty heavy, not too heavy to hold, but heavy enough to have me worrying about what Ferretti might have put in there.

I drop to the ground and start to unzip the pack. Jack is still standing, Just a few feet away. Just watching me. It's unnerving. I try to ignore him and finish opening the pack.

Jack's composure shatters as he sees the first item in the bag. He starts laughing. I was going to have to kill Ferretti, and possibly Jack.

I pulled it out. It was a blue helmet. A sticky note was attached to the side. It read 'For your protection and theirs,' in Ferretti's distinctive handwriting. I threw the helmet somewhere to the right and Jack gave me a surprised glance. I continued to ignore him and looked to see what else Ferretti had decided to torture me with.

There was a water filled pink eye mask, with instructions to freeze it and wear during the night. According to Ferretti's note this would help with my black eye, which was now actually black eyes. I threw it over with the helmet.

I found another one of my journals in the pack as well, which helped in increasing Ferretti's life expectancy once I was back on base, and a magnetic travel chess board. He'd drawn breasts on both the Queen pieces, and I was afraid to look at the Kings, but it was the thought that counts.

I took out the journal Ferretti had sent and glanced over at Jack. "What did you get?" I ask.

He looked down at his pack. I got the feeling he didn't want to know.

I hear a shout of "I'll kill him!" and look over at Sam. Teal'c is trying to calm her down, Loran looks like he's deciding whether or not he should run. There's a ball of pink yarn and knitting needles beside her feet. I wince. Ferretti had better be off-world on the day we come back, and if he knows what's good for him, he'd better stay there. I was guessing Sam had plans for those needles that had nothing to do with knitting.

Jack finally opens up his bag, I try to look inside, but he tilts it away from me. I had caught site of a note and a game boy. I sat back irritated. I got a helmet and he got a game boy? He takes the note out and reads it, becoming alarmingly pale.

"Oh SHIT!" he shouts.

"O'Neill?" Teal'c asks concernedly.

"Jack?" I demand.

He rips the note up quickly, looking stricken. "COFFEE!" he shouts suddenly. "Daniel, I need to make you some coffee."

I look down at the mug sitting beside me. "Jack, I have coffee."

"Humor me," he tells me.

For the last four years, Jack.

He pulls the military standard issue coffee out and rips the package open. I frown. "Jack, I still have a couple bags of my coffee left . . ."

"This is better," he insists, looking panicked.

"Jack--military coffee is horrible."

"You need some. It will be good for you."

Sam and Teal'c have wandered over, Sam forgetting about her homicidal thoughts as she watches Jack confusedly. Loran was hovering beside the door--probably thinking how insane we all were and wondering if he should just take his chances and run far, far, away.

"Jack," I say, getting to my feet. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Fine. I'm fine. But you need coffee. Lots and lots of coffee, as much as you can drink."

I frowned again. Jack was always telling me that I needed to drink less. What was this about?

"Are you sure, sir?" Sam asks. "What if I'm turning the light down too quickly, both you and Daniel are acting strangely," she says gently.

I was acting strange. I wasn't. I was perfectly fine. Jack, however. He looks relieved as the coffee starts brewing, and then he begins to gather up the remain bags of my favorite coffee.

"Jack, what are you doing with those?"

"Have to get rid of them," he says, and then he starts to mumble. Something about 'leaving no evidence.'

"That's my coffee," I snap. "You aren't doing anything with my coffee. If you want to drink that slush the military calls coffee, that's fine by me--but I want my French _Mocha Hazelnut Columbian Ground Roasted Special Blend."

He doesn't listen, he takes off through the doors, Loran watching with large eyes as Jack runs for the door. I take off after him. "Hey! Get back here with my coffee! What the hell are you doing? JACK!"

My god, he's lost his mind. He runs out onto the beach, heading for the sea. I can hear Teal'c and Sam's footsteps behind me as we try to catch up to Jack. When I skid to a stop beside him, he's throwing my precious bags of coffee into the water like skipping stones. I grab his arm, but I'm too late to stop the last bag from sailing through the air, and disappearing in the waves.

Sam and Teal'c run up beside us, looking at us like we're nuts. Well, Sam was. Teal'c was just looking at us with that raised eyebrow of his and a kind of 'they're at it again' resignation.

"Jack?" my tone is pure disbelief.

He turns and glares at me. "What are you doing outside? You'll get a chill and Doc will probably stick a huge honkin' needle in my as--"

"A chill?" I interrupt. "A CHILL? Why the hell did you just throw away all of my coffee, Jack?"

"It's not good for you. Too much . . . sugar. You need military coffee." He grabs my arm and starts pulling me back to the palace.

I look at Teal'c and Sam in disbelief. Sugar?

"Have you lost it?" I snap.

"No," he growls. "It was a bad batch. Just let me get some coffee into you and you'll feel all better."

I decided that Jack's idea of humoring him was probably best. I think the light has driven him mad. Sam and Teal'c are following right behind us, whispering to each other in tones to quiet for me to hear.

When we finally made it back to the 'gate room, Loran was on the floor beside my pack, examining the Queen piece with wide eyes. Jack ignored him and headed straight to the coffee machine, quickly pouring a glass and shoving it into my hands.

I look at him strangely for a moment, wondering if perhaps he's drugged it, then take a cautious sip. I can feel the caffeine spreading through me on the first sip, and quickly take another, relishing the sensation. It's something I suddenly realize has been lacking the last few days.

Maybe Jack was right--maybe my coffee had been a bad batch.

"Ohhh . . ." I say, drinking down the rest of the coffee quickly. When did military coffee start tasting this good. Jack looks relieved. "Thank you, Jack," I tell him with a grin. "I don't know why, but this tastes really great."

He grins back.

"What is decaffeinated?" Loran asks.

I freeze. Decaffeinated was the work of the devil.

Wait, why would he . . .

"What?" I ask.

Jack's eyes go wide.

Loran points to the pieces of Jack's note from Ferretti. "Decaffeinated . . .?" he said with a frown. "What is that?"

Jack and I move at the same time, but I'm closer. I grab up the pieces of the note and try to place them back together.

"Daniel, Daniel, don't do that--" Jack was saying. "Just drink your coffee, please, just--"

It wasn't that many pieces, so it was easy to put back together. I looked at the note.

I switched all of the Doc's coffee to decaffeinated like you asked, but since you've given him a black eye don’t you think you should cut him some slack?

"You switched my coffee to decaf?" I demanded.

Sam gasps and looks at Jack in disbelief. "DECAF?" I shout.

"Now, just calm down," Jack said. "I did that before any of this happened--it was to get back at you for winning that bet about Carter. Ferretti, he should have known better than to go through with it after everything that happened . . ."

"Decaf?" I demanded again. I must have been really out of it not to notice.

"No wonder he's been so--" Sam begins to say. I turn to glare at her.

"Indeed," Teal'c says, looking un-approvingly at Jack.

"You're a dead man, O'Neill," I growl. Teal'c neatly steps in my way as I make a lunge for him.

"That is not wise, Daniel Jackson," he tells me. "You must not overexert yourself."

"It was just a misunderstanding, Daniel," Jack says. "Here, have some more coffee." He pours another mug, and staying safely behind Teal'c carefully holds it out to me.

I grab it from him and start to drink it. My headache starts to fade. I gave a happy sigh and dropped to the ground beside the helmet to finish it off.

Jack steps cautiously closer. "Just take one more step, O'Neill," I said, repeating my comment from earlier. He freezes in place.

"Maybe I'll just go--play my game boy," he tells me.

"You do that," I nod, savoring another taste of pure caffinated coffee.

Jack wonders over to his pack and takes out his game boy. Sam catches sight of the chess pieces and snatches them away from Loran. Teal'c takes out an 'Enquirer' from his pack and sits down Kel-no-reem style to read.

They're all quiet so I just enjoy my coffee--and decide I'll let Jack live a little longer if he just keeps giving me refills.

"Oh Christ," Jack sighs.

"What's wrong?" Sam asks.

He shakes the game boy irritably. "There's only one game for this."

I'm not sympathetic. The caffeine doesn't work that fast. "So just play it," I tell him.

"It's Barbie: Pet Rescue . . ." he says.

Twenty One Days (Chapter 6)

2006-02-04T15:58:07Z

Title: Twenty One Days
Rating: R
Category: Humor, Angst
Summary: A twisted and unique look at what might have happened during the 3 weeks SG-1 spent in a palace by the beach.

Day Six: Sam (FCOL)

Loran is looking like a caged animal again. We've spent most of the morning working on the light. Loran has been telling me everything he knows about how it works. I know he honestly doesn't know that much about how it works, but what he does know has helped me in my understanding of it.

I am just about to suggest that we go check on the others when i hear an angry voice in the next room. A voice I am very familiar with, but the anger is something that has me on my feet and moving towards the outter room in a flash.

"God Jack, NO for the last time I do NOT want to play catch. Why the hell didn't you have something sent through for you? Maybe then I could actually get some work done!" Daniel is breathing heavy, his rant tiring him. I see the look of shock, anger and hurt in the Colonel's face. "Oh God Jack, I'm sorry I didn't mean that, I'm just tired and..."

"It's fine Daniel." The Colonel turns on his heel and heads outside, not waiting or wanting to hear anything else from Daniel.

"Dammit."

"Daniel? Are you alright? What was that all about?"

"I'm fine Sam. I don't know...I'm just...frustrated. I took it out on Jack. I should go and try to talk to him."

"No Daniel, I think maybe you should let the Colonel cool down a bit first." He looks dejected, but nods, turning back to his translations. I exchange a look of concern with Teal'c. It's not like Daniel to snap at the Colonel. He usually has the patience of Job where the Colonel is concerned.

"Are Jack and Daniel alright Sam?"

"Yes Loran...they'll be fine. Just a little tired, that's all." I smile at the young man before me. His wide eyes looking back and forth between Daniel and the door the Colonel had disappeared through. He walked over to the MALP, picking up the ball and glove and turned back to me.

"I think I'll ask Jack if he wants to play catch."

"Alright Loran, have fun." He grins and heads outside in search of our missing CO. I look towards Daniel and find him sitting on the floor with his journal in his lap. He's rubbing at his neck, his brow furrowed. "Are you sure you're alright Daniel?"

"I've just got a headache. Maybe I just need another cup of coffee."

"I think you should eat something too Daniel. You can't survive on caffeine."

"I can try," he grins at me, getting to his feet. He can try, but not today. He reaches for an MRE and pours himself a cup of coffee. Returning to his spot by the wall he quickly devours both food and drink and is once again lost in his translations.

I walk over to where Teal'c has been watching Daniel. "Hey Teal'c, how you doing?"

"I am well Major Carter, though I am worried about Daniel Jackson. He is usually not so easily frustrated, nor does he usually take his frustrations out on O'Neill."

"I'm sure it was just cause he hadn't eaten in a while. You know how cranky Daniel gets when he doesn't eat. I'm sure everything will be fine once Daniel and the Colonel have had a little time away from one another."

He inclines his head, but I know he's still worried. Truthfully so am I. From what we were told Daniel had blown up at the General in much the same way when he was going through withdrawal from the light. I hoped that we were lowering the light at the correct interval. The Colonel, Loran and myself had not shown any signs that we were going through withdrawal...so it couldn't be the light. Could it? What if some people, like Daniel needed to be taken off more gradual? I decided I would keep an eye on Daniel for the time being, as I knew Teal'c would. I made a mental note to remember to ask Janet about it the next time we were supposed to check in.

I saw Loran come back in looking rather unhappy. He was carrying the ball and glove back in and placed it on the MALP.

"Is everything alright Loran?"

"Jack didn't want to play catch."

"I'm sure he'll play later."

Nodding his head, he made his way back towards where his room was. He looked very disappointed and I hoped that the Colonel hadn't been short with him. I know that he's usually great with kids but it seems whenever Daniel is involved his usual paternal-ness for other children disappears, all of it being placed on Daniel. Daniel didn't want to play catch, so Jack won't play catch...with anyone. I sometimes wonder just how old Daniel and the Colonel really are. They can be such children at times and at other times they are they most level headed, brilliant men I know. Yes, even the Colonel. He's a lot smarter than he lets on. You don't become a Colonel in the USAF by being stupid.

Daniel curses quietly and I turn back to look at my friend sitting on the floor. He has his glasses off, and is gently feeling his black eye. It's not as swollen as it was yesterday but is a brighter purple. Placing the glasses back on his face, he picks up his journal, mumbling to himself.

I reach into the med kit on the MALP, pulling some Tylenol from the bag. Walking towards Daniel, I crouch down, handing him the pills. He looks at the Tylenol in my hand and is about to protest, saying he's fine when he reconsiders and takes the pills swallowing them with the rest of his coffee. "Thanks Sam."

"No problem Daniel. Don't work too hard, you're supposed to be taking it easy."

"I know. I'm fine, really."

Shaking my head, I stand, glancing at my watch. It's almost time to check in with the SGC and I am about to go looking for the Colonel when he walks back into the room. He still looks a little upset, but tries to mask it. "Hey kids, check in time." I see Daniel look up at Jack's voice and he looks as if he wants to apologize again. Instead, he ducks his head, turning his eyes towards his journal once again.

"Colonel O'Neill, what's your report?"

"We're all still alive Sir."

"Colonel?"

"Sorry Sir. We're doing as well as can be expected. Getting a little frustrated, perhaps you could send through a few more supplies Sir?"

"Whatever you need Colonel."

"Thank you Sir."

"Colonel?"

"Hey Doc."

"How is Daniel doing Sir?"

"Oh you know, the usual. Nose buried in a book, baring his teeth if he's disturbed. Nothing new."

"I'd like to talk to him Sir."

"Uh, he's actually a little busy at the moment Doc." The Colonel begins to shift foot to foot. Daniel looks up, a look of worry on his face. Though it was the Colonel that had thrown the ball, Daniel knew Janet wouldn't place all the blame on him. She'd be more than happy to give Daniel a lecture as well. He looked around the room, with every appearance of a man desperately looking for a hiding place.

"I don't care Colonel, I need to speak to him."

"Colonel, please get Doctor Jackson, that's an order."

"Yes Sir." He looks dejected as he turns to face Daniel, still looking for a way to escape. "Daniel! Doc wants to talk to you."

"Jack...I...tell her I'm occupied." Daniel whispers nervously. The Colonel glances at the MALP camera, and quickly walks towards Daniel.

"Daniel, I already told her that. She doesn't care. Come on!"

"Do you know what she's going to do when she sees this?" Daniel gestures towards his eye.

"Yes Daniel, she's going to kill me."

"You? What about me?"

"Please, she's still worried about you Daniel. You're off the hook on this one." Jack grabs Daniel's arm and drags him towards the MALP, Daniel protesting all the way.

Daniel stood in front of the MALP camera, slightly turned so that his black eye was not visible. Clearing his throat he ducked his head, "Hi Janet."

"Hello Daniel. How are you feeling?"

"I'm feeling much better."

"Daniel?"

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

"What?...I'm not doing anything."

"Why aren't you facing the camera?"

"I am."

"Not you're not."

"Yes I am."

"Daniel! Turn around please."

Daniel's shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes as he slowly turned his body around so that he was facing the MALP head on. A small gasp could be heard over the mic as Janet got a look at Daniel.

"Daniel! What happened to your eye?!"

"Nothing."

"Doctor Jackson!"

"Um...I missed the ball."

"What?"

"We were playing catch and I missed the ball, hit me in the eye." He mumbled.

"COLONEL O'NEILL!" Jack cringed as he heard Janet's voice. He stepped in front of the MALP, looking thoroughly chastised, even before Janet had chastised him.
"Did I, or did I not tell you that Daniel was to take it easy and recover from the withdrawal among other things?"

"We were, I mean, he was. He was just helping me show Loran how to play catch." Loran, who had come out when he heard everyone's voices, now hid behind a pillar at the mention of his name. The woman's voice coming through sounded angry and he didn't want any of that anger directed at him.

"Colonel O'Neill, you are the CO of SG-1 and as such it is your responsibility to make sure none of your team get hurt if it can at all be avoided. Having Daniel receive a baseball to the eye was, I believe, avoidable."

"It's not my fault he closed his eyes. He could have ducked."

"And you could have allowed him to rest, as you were told to."

"You're right, I'm sorry Doc. It won't happen again. I'll take better care of Daniel."

"See that you do." I couldn't help but smile. It sounded like a conversation between a mother and her child. 'If you don't take care of the puppy Billy, you won't get to keep him.' I turned away so that neither Daniel or the Colonel saw my smile. When I turned I noticed Loran's head peeking out from behind a pillar. I walked towards the boy, smiling as I caught his eye.

"Hey, what are you doing hiding back here?"

"Why is Jack being yelled at? Was he bad?"

"No Loran, he wasn't bad," I grinned. "He's talking to Daniel's Doctor, she's a little upset about Daniel's black eye, but no one is in trouble. You can come out." He looked warily into my eyes and then nodded slightly, coming slowly out from behind the pillar and walking back towards the others with me.

"Yes Doc. I promise. No...no more baseball." The Colonel sounded frustrated, Janet was still listing instructions on how to take care of Daniel. Daniel had retreated to the stairs and was shaking his head as he listened to Janet's list of instructions.

Finally Janet stopped, and asked to speak to me. The Colonel slunk away to sit by the wall, Daniel getting up and crossing the room, sliding down to sit beside him.

"Hi Janet."

"Hi Sam, how are you holding up?"

"I'm surviving."

"How are the rest really doing?"

"Teal'c is fine, Loran seems pleased to have people here again. The Colonel is doing alright, aside from being extremely bored. Daniel..."

"Sam?"

"Well, this morning he kind of blew up at the Colonel. Not at all like Daniel. I think it might have been that he hadn't eaten yet at that point and he said that he had a headache."

"That sounds like the same symptoms Daniel and the Colonel experienced when they were going through withdrawal here on Earth."

"It's just Daniel at this point though. The Colonel, Loran and I aren't experiencing anything like it."

"Alright, I want you to keep an eye on Daniel and if it gets worse I want you to contact me right away."

"Ok Janet."

The gate shut down and I looked over to see Daniel and Jack talking to one another again. Well at least it appeared things were getting back to normal. Maybe Daniel was just having a bad morning.

I'm about to ask Loran if he can help me with one more thing today before calling it quits when I hear it. "Dammit Daniel." They're at it again.

"No Jack, I don't want to! I want to finish this translation. I thought yesterday when you lost the bet you were going to let me work in peace?"

"Janet just lectured me for 15 minutes on taking care of you Daniel. If you think for one minute I'm going through that again you're crazy. Now she wants you to take it easy and that doesn't include working. Now put the journal away or I'm opening the gate and throwing it through without putting the IDC through first."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Don't tempt me Daniel."

"Fine! but only for 1/2 hr and then I'm coming back and getting some more of this done."

"Peachy! Loran! Teal'c! Carter! Let's go." I know that tone. I know that look. This SO is not good. The Colonel has something planned and I have a feeling it's going to result in yet another lecture from Janet. Maybe I should say something, I mean, being 2IC, that's my job right?

"Where are we going Sir?"

"We, Carter, are going to have some fun."

"Jaaack...please, is this really necessary?"

"Don't make me call Fraiser, Daniel." Daniel crosses his arms, pouting. I know I'm not going to enjoy what the Colonel has planned.

He makes his wave towards the FRED that holds the last shipment of supplies, digging into one of the case. He pulls out a net, ball, poles...No, they wouldn't have...I can't believe it! They did!....

"Time for beach volleyball!" I stare at him with disbelief clearly written across my face, while Daniel stands beside me, his arms still crossed. Handing the net to Loran, throwing the ball to me and giving Teal'c a pole, he carries the other outside and we're left with no choice but to follow him.

"I can't believe they sent this stuff through. How did he get the General to agree to this?"

"I don't think the General did Sam, I'm sure Lou had something to do with this."

"Ferretti?"

"You know how he and Jack are. Always up to something. I can hardly wait to see what else we'll be forced to endure for the next...15 days!" Daniel groans and I can sympathize with him. A bored Colonel was always something to be afraid of.

"Come on kids!"

I shuddered as I can hear in my head ...Be afraid, Be very afraid.

Twenty One Days (Chapter 5)

2006-02-04T15:53:07Z

Title: Twenty One Days
Rating: R
Category: Humor, Angst
Summary: A twisted and unique look at what might have happened during the 3 weeks SG-1 spent in a palace by the beach.

Day Five: Teal'c (Layton)

I have spent the majority of the morning talking with Loran, though, unfortunately, he asked to hear of some of my adventures with SG-1 instead of the Tauri's television soap operas. Soon Major Carter appeared however, and grabbed Loran's arm, before pulling him out of the room, saying something about Loran needing to explain more about the light.

Left alone in the gate room, with no ice cream, I decided to search out Daniel Jackson and O'Neill, to see if they required my assistance. I do not believe they will be doing anything that may require my help, because there does not appear to be anything to do in this place at all. However, I fear I have nothing else to do.

Were I on base, I would be watching One Life to Live at this time, following the story of the noble Vicky and her clan. I looked at the Tauri watch around my wrist, the scenes from tomorrow's episode would be coming on at about any moment. However I could not watch them from this place. I had requested that Doctor Fraiser tape them for me during my absence--and she had promised to try.

I would have been happier had she simply agreed, but was forced to settle with her 'try.' She did inform me, however, that if she was unable to do so, I would be able to discuss with Cassandra Fraiser whatever events I miss.
I walk into one of the large empty rooms, and look curiously down. Daniel Jackson and O'Neill are both lying on their backs in the center of the floor, staring at the ceiling.

"I'm right," Daniel Jackson says. "There's sixty eight of them, I win. I was closest."

"There is not!" O'Neill shouts. "Can't you count? There's only fifty of them. I win."

"Jack--"

"No, I already told you. The purple ones don't count."

"We never said the purple ones wouldn't count. There's sixty eight. Don't be a sore loser."

I look slowly up. There is an array of small shapes painted on the ceiling, the majority of which were gold, with a few, far spread purple ones.

"O'Neill, Daniel Jackson," I say, coming to stand over them.

They look up at me. "Hi, Teal'c," Daniel Jackson smiles. I give him a slight smile in return.

"Teal'c! Buddy!" O'Neill shouts.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"We made a bet," O'Neill tells me. "I won but Daniel won't admit it."

"You didn't win. I won," Daniel Jackson says as he rolls his eyes.

"What was it that you bet?" I ask.

"We wanted to see who would guess closest to the number of squiggles on the ceiling," O'Neill informs me.

I raise an eyebrow.

"Daniel thinks he won--but I keep telling him, the purple ones don't count."

"Are the purple ones not also 'squiggles,' O'Neill?"

Daniel Jackson smiles widely. O'Neill glares at me.

"Fine," O'Neill snaps, before turning to Daniel with a false smile. "You can work in your stupid journal, as long as you eat AND sleep."

Daniel Jackson gives a bright smile. "Sure, Jack."

"These were the terms of this bet?" I ask curiously.

Daniel Jackson nods. "Yes--if Jack won, I would have had to give up working for the rest of the week."

I turn back to O'Neill who was again glaring at me. "But you just had to point out purple squiggles were squiggles too."

"Don't blame Teal'c, Jack," Daniel Jackson says. "I'm not stupid. I was never going to buy into the fact that your number was correct because you were just guessing the number of the gold ones."

O'Neill is now glaring at Daniel Jackson, who seems oblivious of the look as he rises to his feet. "I'm going to go get my journal," he says, before smiling his goodbye and leaving the room.

"Great," O'Neill says. "Now we'll never see him again."

"O'Neill, he is only in the next room."

"That's not the point, the point is--- oh, just forget it. Just remember that next time, if I say the purple ones don't count, then they don't count. I'm the team leader, you're supposed to agree with me."

"Even if you are wrong, O'Neill? And Daniel Jackson is right?"

"Especially then."

I watched him as he too got to his feet, not quite as quick or easily as Daniel Jackson had. "O'Neill--I can not agree with you if I believe you are wrong. It is not the way of the Jaffa."

"Well, if the Jaffa wants any ice cream," O'Neill mumbles. "He'd better damn well change his ways."

This threat is empty. O'Neill has tried to withhold ice cream from me before. He was too wise a warrior to try again.

"Where's Carter and Loran?" he asks.

"They are in the light room," I tell him.

"They aren't touching anything, are they?" O'Neill asks.

"You have informed Major Carter of your orders on many occasions, O'Neill, probably far more times than necessary. She will not disobey them."

O'Neill nodded. "You're right, of course. If it was Daniel I would have to supervise, but Carter ought to be able to keep the scientist in her in check."

"What are you doing now, O'Neill?" I ask.

O'Neill turns to me slowly, a large grin forming on his features. "Why, Teal'c--you aren't bored, are you?"

"No," I say simply.

He grins. "Yes, you are."

"I am not," I say deeply, my tone causing O'Neill to drop the matter.

"Well, why aren't you then?" he asks. "What are you doing that's keeping you so entertained?"

"I am observing you, O'Neill," I tell him.

"For crying out loud, Teal'c. We aren't characters in one of your soaps."

Indeed. My friends were far more interesting. And had far worse luck.

"You want to play catch or something?" he asks.

I think of Daniel Jackson's dark black eye. "I do not."

I did want to return to the SGC, if for only an hour or two. I could watch All My Children and then return. I did not believe the General would approve such a request, however, as it cost the Tauri much to activate the 'gate. As it was, General Hammond had been reluctant to allow me to stay here when I asked. But once I had reminded him of the complex relationship of O'Neill and Daniel Jackson, we both agreed it in everyone's best interests that I return.

I am still unsure what the General meant by 'baby-sitting,' however, as despite their sometimes infantile attitudes neither are babies. And were they, I do not see what good would come from sitting on them.

Loran comes running through the doors.

"What's wrong?" O'Neill asks instantly.

Loran shakes his head. "Nothing--well, yes, nothing. I'm just trying--"

"Loran?" Major Carter's voice reaches us just before she also enters the room. "Oh, here you are. Why did you run off, I still need you to explain that dial on the back--you said it was a release valve? What does it release and why? And what about the buttons on the top? Do you know what they do?"

Loran looks stricken as he stares back at her. "I don't know that much about it, really. Perhaps Daniel could--"
Major Carter shook her head. "Daniel could help me if there was something to translate, instructions or some such, but we can't find any. So I need you to--"

O'Neill is watching the exchange, looking quite amused. "So, Loran," he says. "Baseball sounding like a bit more fun now?"
Major Carter looks at O'Neill in irritation and Loran looks at him gratefully. "Yes, Jack. Please--let's play baseball."

"Sir," Major Carter snaps.

"You're welcome to join us, Carter," he tells her with a smile. "You too, Teal'c."

"I am afraid I will have to again say no, O'Neill."

"Have it your way," he says with a shrug.

I follow the others into the 'gate room anyway. Major Carter goes to sit despondently on the 'gate steps, and O'Neill tosses Loran a glove. In the corner, Daniel Jackson barely notices our arrival. He is sitting cross legged on the ground, writing furiously in his journal.

"Okay," O'Neill says, tossing the ball up and catching it himself. "Just do what Daniel and I were doing yesterday, okay?"
Loran nods, looking slightly apprehensive. O'Neill smiles reassuringly and throws the ball. Loran closes his eyes and makes no move to catch it. The ball impacts with his chest and he falls backwards.

"Oh, crap, kid. Jeez, when I said do what we were doing--I was talking about before Daniel got the black eye." O'Neill walks over to Loran, who is now sitting on the floor and kneels down. "Are you alright?"

Loran nods dazedly. "Sam…? I think I will show you what that valve does now…"

Major Carter brightens immediately and rushes to help Loran to his feet, before ushering him back to the light room.
I turn to look at O'Neill.

"Don't say it, Teal'c."

I raised an eyebrow. "I was not going to say anything, O'Neill."

With a sigh, O'Neill throws the glove and baseball back onto F.R.E.D., where I believe they will remain for the rest of our time here. He then wanders back to Daniel Jackson, and slides down the wall to sit beside him.

"So, Daniel. Double or nothing, what do you say…?"

Twenty One Days (Chapter 4)

2006-02-04T15:51:13Z

Title: Twenty One Days
Rating: R
Category: Humor, Angst
Summary: A twisted and unique look at what might have happened during the 3 weeks SG-1 spent in a palace by the beach.

Day Four: Jack (FCOL)

Bored, bored, bored. I look over and see Loran asking Teal'c more about the wondrous lives of Erica Kane and the merry band of soap opera characters, Daniel is once again staring at squiggles on the wall, and Carter has gone back to drooling over the technology in the light room. Me? Well, I'm sitting here on the stairs waiting patiently for the SGC to check in and for them to send through our latest supply requests.

We spent most of yesterday evening being regaled by Teal'c. He spent almost 4 hours explaining who was married to who and who was sleeping with who etc. Of course he glossed over on the who was sleeping with who part, the kids were a little too young to be hearing about that.

We turned in early and I had lovely nightmares about Erica Kane trying to add O'Neill to her long list of last names. I woke up early in a cold sweat, just as she was about to walk down the aisle. Very bad....very scary nightmares. Looking around the kids were still asleep, well, Teal'c was Kel'No'Reeming and Carter and Loran were asleep. Daniel was...surprise, wide awake and mumbling translations to himself. I actually think he has probably translated all of the walls but is retranslating just so he doesn't have to worry about Teal'c trapping him for another lecture on the folks of Pine Valley.

Stretching I got up and made my way towards Daniel, smiling as his glasses began to slide down his nose. "Hey, shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"Oh...uh Hi Jack. I was, just got up a few minutes ago."

"Riiight. So...finding anything interesting?"

"What?"

"The translations."

"Oh...well, actually…wait...are you asking me to tell you about what the walls say? Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine. What, I can't ask?"

"No…no...it's just...usually you're running away from me or your eyes glaze over when I start to tell you something."

"Well, I can't honestly promise that my eyes won't glaze over this time." Grinning, I slide down the wall to sit beside Daniel. "So, how are you doing?"

"I'm fine, you?"

"Oh, you know, same ol' same ol' knees hurt, back hurts, bored out of my mind, overall...peachy."

He's grinning now. At least he's smiling a little more.

"So, what time is the General sending through the supplies?"

"In about 2 hours...can't wait." I rub my hands together gleefully.

Daniel raises an eyebrow, looking a little worried. "Why? What have you done?"

"Me?"

"Yes you, Mr. 'I didn't do it' O'Neill."

"Danny, I'm hurt. You actually think I have something evil planned?"

"Well...not evil per se, but I wouldn't put it past you to have the General sending through hockey nets or something."

"Hey...that's actually not a bad idea Danny boy. We could teach Loran the finer points of the best game on earth."

Daniel groans, shaking his head, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck.

"Got a headache?"

"Yeah...I think it's just cause I haven't had breakfast yet."

"Well, by all means, let's go." I grin, reaching out a hand to help Daniel to his feet. There was nothing like breakfast MREs. Especially the chicken flavored bacon and eggs.

"Rise and shine kiddies, the day is a wasting."

Groans from Carter tell me she's, as usual, not a morning person. Teal'c's eyes pop open and he's fresh as a daisy, granted a very large, somewhat frightening daisy, but a daisy nonetheless. Loran is also wide awake and smiling. The kid smiles a lot. I'm not sure if it's a natural thing or if he's just really happy to have people around him.

Quickly setting about making breakfast, I check my watch again. Only an hour and a half and boredom will be a thing of the past.

"So what did you ask the General to send through Jack?"

"Oh you know, supplies, some more food, couple extra blankets, Carter needed a few more doohickeys, figured you could use a couple candles Teal'c, and a couple other odds and ends."

"Did you ask him to send through the reference book I asked for?"

"Nope."

"What?"

"Nope."

"Jack...I need that book!"

"Sorry Daniel. It's not my fault this time. Fraiser wants you taking it easy and apparently translating every ounce of text found on every wall in this joint does not fall under her top ten things to help Daniel take it easy."

He's pouting. I expected as much, but it really isn't my fault this time. Of course, the fact that I mentioned to Fraiser that he hadn't really been eating or sleeping that great, what with concentrating on the translations since we got here, might have had a little something to do with her sending the order up that no more work was to be sent through for Daniel, at least for a couple days. Besides, what I was having sent through would be more than enough to take Daniel's mind off of his missing books.

The gate began to spin, finally, and we all stood at the bottom of the dais waiting for the FRED to come through with our supplies. Having a quick conversation with the General, assuring him we were all fine, no more withdrawal, I said my goodbyes and headed straight for the FRED where Daniel was beginning to peek through the sealed bags and cases.

"Ah ah! No peeking. Go sit down and you'll find out along with everyone else what Santa sent through."

Rolling his eyes, Daniel complies. Carter, Loran, and Daniel all sat, waiting somewhat patiently to see what I had asked to have sent through. Teal'c stood behind the trio impassive as always.

I rummaged through the supplies sent, taking my time, dragging my fun out as long as possible. Occasionally Daniel would give an impatient sigh, or groan. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing and pretend to be concentrating on looking through what we were sent.

"Dammit Jack! Just show us what we got."

"Hold your horses Danny boy."

"Daniel Jackson does not have horses O'Neill."

"What are horses?"

"OhFor...Fine! Here Carter, your doohickeys, Teal'c some candles. Daniel, another journal, not that your allowed to use it, Loran, here we are. This I had sent especially for you."

"Wow!...Thank you Jack...What is it?"

"It's a baseball glove."

"What's it do."

"It catches baseballs."

"What are baseballs?"

"*Sigh* THIS is a baseball. You throw it, and catch it with this." The kid looked so unbelievably lost. "OK, I'll show you....Daniel!"

"What?"

"C'mere."

"Jack, I'm busy, I've got to finish this wall..."

"I said c'mere Daniel." I give him my 'I'm the Colonel Dammit' voice. It usually works on newbies but Daniel is far from new...so it's usually a 50/50 chance whether or not THE voice will work. Luckily it did...today.

"What can I do for you Jack?" He asks in a completely insincerely sweet voice.

"You, my friend are going to demonstrate with me, how to play catch."

"No."

"Daniel, Loran doesn't know how. He needs to see it done a couple times and then he'll catch on. I promise, a few throws and you can go back to your squiggly walls." He sighs and I know I've got him.

"Fine." Grabbing the glove, he walks half way across the room, turning to face me. He was never an expert at playing catch but I had taught him...ok bullied him, into learning the basics.

"Alright...you ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Now you pay attention Loran. This is how you play, after Daniel and I show you a couple throws then you can take Daniel's glove and you and I can play catch alright?"

"Alright." He stood back, watching intently as Daniel and I begin to throw the ball back and forth. Daniel is doing alright for someone who doesn't like the game. I start to enjoy myself, getting into the game. As I pull my arm back, getting ready to throw Daniel my fastball I hear Teal'c yell.

"There is more ice cream O'Neill!!!" Daniel turns his head to look at Teal'c, just as I release the ball.

"Look out!" Quickly whipping his head back towards me, Daniel's eyes widen as he sees the projectile heading straight for his face. Instead of moving, he closes his eyes. Way to show that self preservation Danny boy. And with a sickening thud, Daniel is on the floor, cursing, holding his eye. I run towards him and am on my knees trying to pry his hands away so I can see how bad it is, when Loran comes up behind me.

"I don't think I want to try that Jack." I really do try not to laugh, but am afraid a chuckle escapes and I'm rewarded with a glare from Daniel. A Daniel that, at the moment, looks like he just went a round with Teal'c. His eye is already beginning to swell and has a purplish tinge to it.

"That uh....does it hurt?"

"Does it hurt?! Does it hurt?! What the hell do you think Jack?? You almost sent my eye straight through the back of my head!"

"I didn't mean to hit you Daniel, you turned your head, I had already released the ball. Here, let me check your eye."

"Argh! Don't touch me!!"

"Would you rather I let Carter look at it?"

Carter's first aid skills left a little to be desired, and that little fact was well known. I could see Daniel's look of panic at the thought of her probing his eye none too gently. "Fine...but be gentle!"

"I know...baseball virgin...I'll be gentle." He had set me up too perfectly not to tease him. Sometimes I wonder if Daniel actually enjoys my teasing since he so often sets himself up for it. He glared at me again, but with the swollen shut, purple eye it lost all it's effect.

"Daniel! Are you alright?"

"Daniel Jackson, are you injured?"

"I'm fine guys. Jack just pelted me in the eye with a baseball."

"Sir!"

"O'Neill!"

"Hey!!! It is NOT my fault! Daniel took his eye off the ball."

"Can I see Daniel?"

"No Sam, I'm fine, really. Jack already looked. It's fine, isn't it Jack?"

"Oh you bet! Just a black eye, nothing to dial home about."

"Janet isn't going to be pleased."

"Well, we just won't tell Fraiser will we?"

"I think she might notice the black eye Sir."

"Well...Daniel, you just stay away from the MALP."

"Are you scared of Janet, Jack?" He was getting that gleam in his eye. That 'get Jack in trouble' gleam that so often spelled large needles and intrusive exams from Fraiser.

"Of course not! I out rank her."

"Yes...but she has needles...big ones...and cold tables...probing exams."

"Alright already! I get the idea. Look Daniel...you aren't that hurt. Come on be a man. It's just a black eye."

"Just a black eye that I didn't have 15 minutes ago when I was happily translating the walls Jack."

"Fine. What's it gonna take to buy your silence?"

"I'm not sure you can afford it Jack." Ok this was SO not good.

"OK...I'm sorry Daniel alright? Look, I even got Ferretti to grab the stash of good coffee from your office."

"You mean my French Mocha Hazelnut Columbian Ground Roasted Special Blend?"

"The one and the same." Daniel's eyes lit up, and I could almost see a small trail of drool at the corner of his mouth. The boy really did love his coffee. And hopefully if he was concentrating on coffee...he'd forget about the black eye.

"Well, I'm not forgetting that you gave me a black eye Jack, but for now I'll let you off the hook. Where's the coffee??"

Knowing it was as good as I was going to get, I reached into one of the bags on the MALP, pulling out a large bag of Daniel's special coffee. He snatched it from my hands, caressing the bag lovingly. The boy had some real coffee issues.

I quickly put a pot of water on to boil. I have to admit that Daniel has some great coffee. "So Danny boy, pass me the coffee and I'll make a pot."

"No Jack."

"No?"

"No...I'll make it...for Sam, Teal'c and I. Loran really shouldn't get hooked on coffee."

"And what about me?"

"Well, I don't think that you really deserve the special coffee after giving me a black eye. Besides...we're going to be here for another 2 and 1/2 weeks, I don't wanna run out."

"Ferretti sent 4 bags ForCryinOutLoud and four 5lbs bags at that!"

"Well, I can't risk it Jack...sorry." I glare at him. Oh he is SO gonna pay for that. Sitting there looking all innocent, waiting for the water to boil while molesting the bag of coffee that I had Ferretti send through! I should have just kept it all for myself.

He makes the coffee and I'm ashamed to admit that I feel myself salivating at the smell. I can't help it! It's damn good coffee. Daniel walks back to his squiggles with a smile on his face as he sips his special coffee. Carter takes a cup back to the light to study more of the technology. Teal'c ops for the last tub of ice cream he found hidden instead of coffee and Loran is eyeing the baseball and glove as if he thinks it's going to jump up and give him a black eye too. Me? I'm sneaking a steaming cup of Daniel's special coffee. I slip outside to enjoy my cup in peace. If Daniel isn't going to share then I'm going to be forced to take. 3 weeks is a long time and I'll be damned if I'm drinking what the military calls coffee for that long.

"Jack?"

I gulp the burning hot liquid down before Daniel comes outside, flinging the cup on the ground and trying not to let the tears of pain show after having just burnt 5 layers of skin off of my esophagus.

"What do you want Daniel?" I manage to whisper through the pain.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine. What did you want?"

"Nothing really. I just wanted to bring you a cup of coffee. Seeing as how neither Loran or Teal'c will be drinking it I figured there was no reason I couldn't share it with you." I stare at him, mouth open, trying not to swallow, avoiding more pain. He hands me the cup of coffee smiling. I manage a weak smile, accepting the cup. He's looking at me waiting for me to take a drink. I eye the steaming liquid with trepidation. I've already lost 5 layers I don't know how many more I can afford to lose. Taking a sip I let the hot liquid sit in my mouth to cool off, finally swallowing. Daniel grins and says something about going back to his translations. I nod barely getting out a thanks before he turns and heads inside.

I sit outside whimpering as I pour the remaining special coffee out. It's a sin to waste it I know, but I think my body would shut down on me if I drank anything other than water....at least for the next couple days. Finally, after the pain subsides, I walk back inside intent on getting something nice and cold to ease my damaged throat.

"ForCryinOutLoud Teal'c! AGAIN?!?!" I yell hoarsely.

"Perhaps you should contact General Hammond and ask for more ice cream O'Neill."

"*Sigh* I don't think there's enough ice cream on Earth Teal'c." I slump on the stairs wishing I had remembered to have my game boy sent through. This was turning into the longest 3 weeks of my life...and we were only on day four...God help me.

Twenty One Days (Chapter 3)

2006-02-04T15:50:10Z

Title: Twenty One Days
Rating: R
Category: Humor, Angst
Summary: A twisted and unique look at what might have happened during the 3 weeks SG-1 spent in a palace by the beach.

Day Three: Sam (Layton)

This is so amazing.

I lie back down on the floor, pulling out the case one of the technicians back on base sent through to me. This technology was so far ahead of us.

I touch the base of the pedestal and it slides back, revealing all of the dials and buttons I was just dying to play with. I had my orders, though. No tampering with the technology. Or, as put by Colonel O'Neill, 'NO touching.' Not until we were in the clear, anyway. I was allowed to slowly lower to dosage of the drug being released, but that was it. The only time I could touch.

But that didn't mean I couldn't look.

I really wanted to get Loran back in here and have him explain in more depth what all of these parts do, but for some reason, he seems to be avoiding me. He spends most of his time following the Colonel around, asking him to explain hockey and baseball. I would have thought he'd be excited to have the chance to tell someone about it--but the Colonel hasn't been himself.

"Sam?"

I look up and smile at Daniel's voice. He gives me a weak grin in return, and lowers himself down beside me. We both turn back to the pedestal, and study it without speaking. I still wasn't sure what had happened that day with him--I'd been too out of then it to check, and now it was too late to ask. All I knew, was like Barber, Daniel had tried to take his own life, but unlike Barber, thank god, the Colonel had reached Daniel in time.

I turn to glance at him. He's staring at the pedestal with the same intense gaze I had been staring at the light only days ago. I want to know what happened to him--I hate this not knowing, and I hate all the different scenarios running through my head, all the possible ways the Colonel may have found him. But I won't ask. I can't. I'm not even sure I want to know.

He feels my gaze and turns to me, giving me another smile. "What are you doing?" he asks.

I sigh and rest my chin on my hand. "Just looking," I tell him.

He grins then, and his blue eyes sparkle. "Jack won't let you touch, huh?"

We share a look. We've both been in this position before, and we both can understand the Colonel's caution, even if we don't always agree.

"Well," he says. "I'm sure there's some more technology lying around, just waiting for you to find it."

"I've been exploring," I tell him. "But I haven't seen anything. There's a shower room, but it's all of simplistic structure, nothing we don't have on Earth. There was a voice activated fireplace in one of the lobby rooms that was kind of neat, but again--"

"Nothing you haven't seen before," Daniel guesses.

I smile at him. He always understands. "Right. This though," I say nodding to the pedestal. "This is new."

"Yes, but how much could you learn from it?" he asks. "Why would we ever want to recreate a technology that is more addictive than anything we have now?"

"Well--it isn't so much what it does, as it is how it does it," I say.

He smiles at me again. Wow, four smiles? I've got to talk shop with Daniel more often. "I get it," he says. "It's the puzzle of it. It's the same way for me. Figuring out a translation or the purpose of some relic."

"Exactly," I say brightly.

"What ARE you two doing?"

Both Daniel and I glance up as the Colonel enters the room. He gives us both a suspicious look. "Didn't I tell you no touching?"

"We aren't," I say quickly, just before Daniel adds innocently, "I can't touch Sam?"

The Colonel rolls his eyes upwards, asking the powers that be for patience, no doubt. I grin. If Daniel was getting his sense of humor back, he couldn't be too bad off.

"We're just looking at the design, Colonel," I say.

"How thrilling," he smirks.

Daniel throws him a withering glance. "Did you need something?"

The Colonel grins broadly. "Nope."

Daniel sighs. "Shouldn't you be watching Loran . . .?"

"Teal'c's teaching him the finer points of daytime soaps," Jack said with a grin. "Quite scintillating, really, but I felt I had to leave as he started describing Hope's third wedding to Bo."

I laughed and shook my head. Teal'c first discovered soap operas when the Colonel made the mistake of turning on General Hospital during a team dinner. Things went downhill from there.

When he started tuning into Passions, we considered holding an intervention--but we were all a little afraid what he might do to us if we tried to cut him off.

"Well," Daniel says. "You're certainly welcome to join us."

The Colonel's eyes narrow. "But you aren't doing anything."

"Actually, sir," I put in. "We are. We're examining the device."

"But you can't touch," he reminds me loudly.

"I know that, sir, but--"

"So let's go do something fun, instead."

Daniel tenses beside me. Over the years--we've become increasingly anxious about the Colonel's idea of 'fun,' and the fact that he often drags us into it.

"There's nothing to do here," Daniel says. "Why don't you just take Doc and go for a romantic stroll along the beach? Two moons are out, the water lapping at your feet---I think Doc would like that."

Daniel grins mischievously at the Colonel, who glares back.

Doc? What was Doc doing here? "You brought Doc?" I ask him.

I never get to take GI-Jane.

Daniel nods, then leans over and whispers conspiratorially, "Jack thinks Doc has a thing for him."

"I do not," the Colonel roars. "The damn thing felt me up once--nothing more."

I can't stop my eyes from going wide. But the look the Colonel throws my way has me swallowing the laughter. Outwardly, anyway.

He points a finger at me. "And don't give me that look." He gives a tight lipped grin. "I know ALL about your little GI-Jane."

I turn to glare at Daniel. "You TOLD him?"

He gives me an innocent look. "I wasn't supposed to?"

I place my head in my hands. So now my commanding officer knows I have a small little green toy that I keep with me on base. Great, just great. God--I hope Daniel didn't tell him about the marbles.

"Don't worry, Carter. Nothing to be ashamed of," he tells me pompously.

"Well, yes, you had better say that," Daniel tells him. "Considering you've been--"

The Colonel is moving before Daniel can finish, and a hand is clamped over his mouth. He then turns and smiles at me, holding his hand in place as Daniel tugs at his arm indignantly. "Don't listen to him--he doesn't know what he's talking about," he tells me.

I didn't know what either of them were talking about.

"Jack!" Daniel's muffled shout has the Colonel reluctantly removing his hand, but I'm guessing the warning glare he throws his way will keep him quiet just as effectively.

I glanced at Daniel speculatively. At least, that is, until I could get him alone. Three pixie sticks and I could get Daniel to tell me anything.

Daniel glares at the Colonel, but as I suspected, he doesn't complete his sentence.

"You guys can't look at this all day. Without the light on--it's not exactly entrancing," the Colonel says, smoothly moving the subject away from whatever he doesn’t want me to know.

"What would you suggest, Jack?" Daniel asks tiredly. "We all go listen to Teal'c talk about Days of Our Lives?"

I smiled at the thought. I was pretty sure we'd all rather stare at the pedestal.

"We could talk," the Colonel answers promptly. "We never just talk."

We always talked. Didn't we?

Daniel looks as wary as me. "Talk, Jack? Is this what boredom has brought you to? You want to TALK?"

"Well--since Hammond turned down my request for the T.V. and VCR," he pauses, and I guessed he was mentally cutting 'Simpson's tapes' from the list. "Yes. I want to talk."

Daniel grins then, broadly and not a little condescending. Uh, oh. I sigh. Daniel was dangerous with that grin. And the last thing we needed on this trip was for the Colonel and Daniel to . . . well, be their usual selves.

"Okay, Jack," he says, motioning to the Colonel with a hand. "So talk."

The Colonel seems at a loss. He opens his mouth, and it remains that way--no words forthcoming.

Daniel raises an eyebrow. "What was that?" he asks.

"I meant you two should talk," the Colonel says finally. "I'll listen," he adds with a grin.

Daniel rolls his eyes. "Sorry, Jack," he says. "But I'm not in the mood to entertain you."

I glance at Daniel. Daniel was always up for verbally battling the Colonel. I notice that this seems to concern the Colonel as well, instead of making him angry and causing him to snap back with a retort--as it usually might.

I meet the Colonel's eyes, and didn't like what I saw looking back at me. The two of them had been all but back to their usual selves today, and though I joke, I'd been relieved. But I was thinking there were still some things that had been left unresolved.

The Colonel sighs, and glances back over to Daniel. "Okay--no talking," he says. "I should probably get back in there and save Loran before Teal'c gets started on the marriages of Erica Kane, anyway."

He turns around and leaves then, and beside me Daniel turns on his back, and stares at the ceiling and not looking at me.

"Daniel?" I query.

"You know he won't be able to rescue him," Daniel tells me finally. "Teal'c will give him a look and Jack will sit down to listen too. I suppose we should go provide back-up."

I grimace. I really didn't care to hear about this Erica Kane. "Don't you think that's a bit risky? What if we get stuck there too--"

"Don't talk like that," he tells me. His eyes coming back to life as we kid. Well, we were mostly kidding. "We can do this. For Loran, for Jack--we have to try to help them."

Daniel and I get to our feet slowly, and cautiously enter the gate room. Teal'c is on the steps, a rapt Loran across from him, watching him with wide eyes. Whether it was real interest or morbid fascination, I couldn't be sure. I had learned the hard way it was hard to distinguish the two with Loran. The Colonel was beside Loran, sitting cross legged on the floor, holding his chin in his hand. Looking completely and utterly bored.

"This will be tricky," I say. "How are we going to get them out?"

Daniel sighed. "We could try to change the subject to Star Wars--you know how strongly Teal'c feels about Star Wars."

"Yes, but is that any better?" I asked. Not that I didn't like Star Wars, but I didn't want to listen to one of Teal'c's three hour analysis's on C3PO.

"It's all we've got," he reminds me.

I nod and we enter the room. Teal'c looks up at us as we enter, and beams over at us. I smile cautiously back. Teal'c didn't smile much--and when he did, it was usually because we've just kicked some Goa'uld's ass--or because he's just told another completely incomprehensible 'Jaffa Joke'. It was always a bit disconcerting to see him smiling.

"Daniel Jackson, Major Carter," he says. "Please, come sit, we are discussing All My Children."

"Actually we thought--" Daniel begins, but Teal'c's eyes darken and Daniel trails off.

"Do you not wish to learn of Erica Kane, Daniel Jackson?"

"I--" he starts, then he turns to me for help.

"Then sit," Teal'c says deeply.

Daniel drops to the floor beside Loran instantly--the turncoat. Teal'c turns to look at me. "Major Carter?"

The Colonel grins over at Daniel and I, and the grin's message is unmistakable. Welcome to hell, the grin said. And also, I notice, watching as the Colonel turns to look at Daniel, there was probably a 'thanks for coming' in there somewhere.

I give a tight lipped grin. There was nothing better to do, right? I sat down next to Daniel. "Okay, Teal'c," I say. "Who is Erica Kane?"

Twenty One Days (Chapter 2)

2006-02-04T15:49:02Z

Title: Twenty One Days
Rating: R
Category: Humor, Angst
Summary: A twisted and unique look at what might have happened during the 3 weeks SG-1 spent in a palace by the beach.

Day Two: Daniel (FCOL)

Jack is looking at me again. He's scared...honestly I'm a little scared too. Scared that it wasn't just the withdrawal that had me standing on the wrong side of my balcony. Thank god Jack came. I still feel light headed when I think about it. I don't remember much about it. I remember hearing Jack, telling me to come inside. I remember turning my head, calling for him. He was there in a flash, his hands gripping my arms. I don't think I've seen Jack that scared in a long time...

Sam and Teal'c don't know much about what happened. I don't think Jack's been able to bring himself to say anything to them. I don't know if I can either. It's not exactly a great conversation starter...'Oh hey guys, just thought you should know I tried to take a nose dive off my balcony yesterday.'

Loren has been hovering around us. He's been here alone for a long time. I'm still surprised that after all the time we spent here, before everything hit the fan, that we didn't see him once. I guess in some ways it's good that we came here. At least the kid can get off this planet of bad memories.

I've been keeping my distance from Jack. I don't know what to say. 'Thanks for stopping me from doing a header off the eighth floor'? I can see when he looks at me that he wants to continue the conversation I cut off yesterday. I don't know if I want to get into it though. We've been doing a pretty good job of avoiding things lately. I've been getting used to not running to Jack, and to not having him hovering over me like a mother hen.

Sam has been studying the light since we got here. She's fascinated by it, of course. New technology. Well, at least she has something to do for the three weeks we're going to be stuck here.

Teal'c headed back to the SGC yesterday, reporting to Hammond and Janet. They sent through supplies for our 'vacation'. Teal'c came back with it, deciding he would stay with us. I'm pretty sure he's just staying for the ice cream.

Thankfully they sent through my journal I can't believe Jack wouldn't let me have some work sent through. Good ol'Teal'c. At least with my journal I'll have something to distract me from thinking about what happened...almost happened yesterday and something that I can hide behind so that Jack doesn't force me into a conversation I'm just not ready to have yet...if ever.

"Hey Daniel."

"Hi Sam."

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine Sam...really." I smile at her, hoping that she won't see through my lie. I'm not fine...far from it, but I can deal with it on my own. That's the way it's been most of my life. Things just got a little out of perspective for a bit. I let myself come to depend on Sam, Teal'c...Jack. It's better this way. I don't want them to have to deal with my insecurities...my fears.

I set about writing in my journal. Needing to get a few thoughts down on paper. My eye catches the device I used to shut the light off. Picking it up, I flip it over, running my hands along the script. Curious, I walk back towards the room where the light is. Yesterday I barely saw the walls let alone what was written on them, today though, today I want a distraction. In moments I'm lost in thought as I begin to work on translating the rest of the script on the walls.

"Chows on."

"I'll be there in a minute."

"Now Daniel."

"Hang on Jack, I think I know what this wall says here."

I feel Jack's hand on my arm and I jerk away, memories flooding through my head. I see the concern in his eyes. He knows why I pulled away but I'm still not ready to talk about it. I lower my eyes stammering, "Sorry Jack." Quickly walking past him, I move towards where Sam had set up our 'kitchen'. Sitting between her and Teal'c, I smile as she hands me an MRE. You'd think after everything we'd been through they would have sent us something better than MRE's.

Sam is trying to explain something to Loren. She had spent most of yesterday telling him about how the gate and the DHD worked. I could see Jack's eyes glaze over instantly. I think it's just an automatic response now whenever Sam or I start talking. He avoided Sam and Loren most of yesterday, and with me avoiding him, that left Teal'c. Luckily Teal'c has the patience of Job. Jack prattled on about something sports related and Teal'c sat quietly eating his ice cream. I don't think he was really listening to Jack, but when Jack reached over to get some ice cream. Let's just say if they hadn't sent something to keep the ice cream in, Teal'c could have kept it frozen with the look he gave Jack. Needless to say, Jack took that opportunity to do another check of the area, not that there was anyone or anything other than us here on this planet. I think he just likes to keep busy. God help us all if Jack starts to get bored.

I need air. I haven't been out of the 'palace' since we got here yesterday and Jack's constant worried glances are seriously starting to get on my nerves. I mean, I know he means well, I know I scared him and I know he hasn't gotten over it yet. I know that the only way he'll get over it is if we talk about it but I just can't, not right now.

I get up slowly, trying not to draw attention to myself. Making my way towards the doors, I step out into the sunlight and fresh salt air. It feels...wonderful. I just need a few moments alone, a few moments away from everyone. Besides, thanks to the light it's not like I can go very far anyway. I walk towards the sand, taking my boots and socks off, reveling in the feel of the sand on my feet. Walking towards the water, I test the temperature with my toe. Surprisingly it's rather warm. I bend down, rolling my pants legs up and begin walking along the shore line, letting the small waves lap at my legs.

Before my parents died we had spent much of my young life in Egypt, the desert, not getting near water much. Oh the Nile wasn't that far away, but with Mom and Dad so busy with their digs we didn't get much time to do anything recreational. Then they died. Most of my foster families had been too busy and too far away from anything resembling a beach, so for all intents and purposes this was something new.

Flashes of Oannes attack my mind. OK, so not exactly new, but I wasn't strolling along the beach when Nem held me captive. I never noticed before that the sound of the water, it was very calming. I could almost forget everything that happened yesterday just by getting lost in the sounds surrounding me.

The suns had reached their apex and it was getting very warm. I threw my boots on the sand, and took off my fatigue shirt, desperately wishing we had shorts with us instead of these too hot fatigue pants. I sit on the sand, my toes still touching the water, gazing out into the ocean before me. Wiping the sweat from my upper lip, I realize that I desperately want to cool off.

Standing, I remove my fatigue pants, not caring that I'm standing on an alien planet in my boxers. Throwing my t-shirt on top of my pants, I begin wading out into the warm, inviting water. I smile at the feeling of the water hitting my legs, my thighs. I've waded to my waist now and am just about to dive under when I feel an arm grab me from behind. For a moment it feels like my heart has stopped, until I hear a growl in my ear that is all too familiar.

"Daniel what the hell do you think you are you doing?!" Jack is dragging me back to shore. I take in the fact that he's fully clothed and soaking wet. Looking at his face, I immediately know what he is thinking.

"Dammit Jack...are you trying to scare the living daylights out of me?!"

"ME trying to scare YOU?! What the hell were you doing wading out into the ocean Daniel?!"

"I was hot Jack, I thought I'd cool off seeing as how we have all this water here!" I gestured to the ocean at my back. I can't believe that he actually thought I was going to try and kill myself again. Nice to know he actually trusts me.

He stands there, mouth open, looking like a gaping fish. I know he's not sure what to say. I doubt very much that he wants to come out and say 'Damn Daniel I thought you were going to try and drown yourself'. "I wasn't trying to you know."

"Wh-what?"

"Drowning...I wasn't trying to drown myself." I wrap my arms around me, turning away from him and back towards the water. Somehow I feel colder now. Cold not just because I'm standing on the beach, half naked and soaking wet, but cold because I now know my best friend truly thinks that I was on that balcony not because of some alien influence but because...he thinks I wanted to do it.

"I didn't say that..."

"You were thinking it."

"Daniel, I found you perch on the wrong side of your balcony yesterday, forgive me if I'm still a little freaked out by it."

"And you think I'm not?!"

"Are you? Cause you've been steadily avoiding me since yesterday. You can't bury this Daniel, you have to talk about it."

"God! Why?! Why do I have to talk about it Jack? What do you want me to say?"

"I...Daniel..."

"And no Jack! No, I did not want to be there, it WAS the damn light that had me on that balcony."

"What?! Daniel do you really think that I believe you wanted to be up there?"

"Don't you?"

"Of course not!" He reaches out to grab my arm, trying to turn me to face him. I pull away, not sure if I can face myself let alone face him.

"I'm not so sure."

"Daniel, I know you would never do anything like that willingly."

"I mean..." I run my hands through my hair, desperately wanting to walk back into the water. To feel the gentle caress of it washing away these feelings, these fears.

"What Danny...what did you mean?" Jack's voice drops to a whisper. He's using the 'please talk to me' voice. The one he reserves just for me. I walk back towards the water, standing ankle deep, my toes curling in the sand. The breeze is warm, drying my wet skin. I shiver. Not from the wind, not from the fact that I'm still dripping wet, I shiver because I know I have no choice.

"I'm not so sure that it was the light that had me on that balcony Jack." He's standing beside me, holding out my fatigue shirt. I slip in on, still avoiding his eyes.

"I'm sure enough for the both of us." He squeezes my neck, in the gesture of friendship I was so used to but had missed for so long. I smile weakly. He sounds so confident, but...if I'm not sure...

"That's not always enough Jack."

"Daniel, look at me." I turn slightly, looking behind him, above him, beside him, anywhere but at him. "At me Danny." He grips my face turning it so that I'm forced to look him in the eye. "Daniel...do you want to kill yourself?"

"What?! Of course not Jack! Don't be absurd..." He's smirking at me. Damn. I hate when he's right. OK, well I don't hate that he's right in this instance, but I hate how easily Jack can manipulate me.

"See? You don't believe anymore than I do that you were up there of your own free will."

"What if the light taps into some underlying subconscious thoughts? What if deep down I really could do something like that?"

"Daniel, I know you better than anyone, probably better than you know yourself. You care too much about life, there is no way you are going to convince me that now or ever you would consider doing something like that."

"I'm scared..." I whisper, eyes falling to the ground again. I want to believe Jack, I really do, but at the same time am terrified that he's wrong. That all it will take is one more alien device and poof, I throw myself off the nearest building.

I felt his arms come up, wrapping around me, drawing me into a hug. I stand stiffly, fighting to hold back my emotions. Things between Jack and I have been strained recently, our friendship, it seems odd for him to be hugging me now. He has his hand on my head and a flash of memory assaults my vision. A memory of Jack hugging me once before. There in the gate room, not caring if anyone saw, he hugged me and I knew that finally I had found a family. One that I knew would love and accept Sha're as they had me. Of course, things hadn't worked out the way I wanted. I lost Sha're, without ever really having the chance to say goodbye.

As if a dam had been opened all my emotions came to the forefront and I wrapped my arms around Jack, hanging on for dear life. He whispered comforting words, not letting me go. As always Jack managed to somehow make me believe that everything was going to be alright. That things weren't as hopeless as they seemed.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome Danny." I pull away, breaking contact first. Wiping a hand across my eyes, I turn and gaze once more at the ocean.

I threw off my fatigue shirt once more, avoiding the question in Jack's eyes. I had to prove to myself, even if Jack believed it, I needed to as well. In one fluid motion I dove under the water, gasping as I broke the surface. It was a little colder than I first thought, but oh so refreshing. I grinned at Jack, who looked a tad pale. I let my body relax, floating on the top of the water, feeling it gently rock me. For the first time in too long I felt happy. Placing my arms behind my head, closing my eyes, I yell to my best friend still staring at me as if I had lost it, "Come on in Jack! The water's fine!"

I hear him mutter something to himself, he must be hungry, I can make out something about fries and a happy meal. I crack an eye open to see what he's doing. He's picking up my discarded clothes and boots. Never thought of Jack as a maid, but hey, whatever floats his boat.

"OK, Aqua boy. Let's go. We've been gone a while, Carter and Teal'c are going to send out the search party for us. Besides, if we don't get back now, Teal'c will have eaten all the ice cream."

My stomach growls at the mention of the ice cream. I didn't eat the rocky road last night and now my stomach is showing it's discontent over such a dastardly deed. Diving under once more, I surface and swim towards a waiting Jack, holding out my clothes.

"Hmmm, I kind of like the idea of you waiting on me." I avoid the playful swing directed at my head, grabbing my clothes and beginning the walk back towards the palace.

We walk back in a comfortable silence. I've yet to redress as I'm still a little wet, and I can't help but smirk at Jack looking like the creature from the black lagoon.

"What are you grinning at?"

"Just thinking that maybe you shouldn't have run to grab me fully clothed." He raises an eyebrow at my comment. It takes me a moment before I realize what I had just said, and I curse silently as I feel myself blush. "You know what I meant."

"Well, I think I'd prefer walking back into our accommodations by the sea soaking wet and fully clothed, as opposed to walking in, soaking wet in nothing but my boxers." Jack whistled as he walked up the stairs, while I quickly took in my appearance and began pulling my clothes back on. Damn.

"So kiddies, any ice cream left?" I heard Jack call, as I quickly headed back inside. Sam tries not to burst out laughing at Jack's appearance, while Teal'c simply raises an eyebrow, as he brings a scoop of chocolate ice cream to his mouth.

"Everything alright Sir?"

"Peachy Carter, why do you ask?"

"Why are you dripping water on the floor O'Neill?"

"Uh...."

I quickly speak up, stopping Jack from having to explain, "Any ice cream left?"

"Indeed Daniel Jackson. I believe your Rocky Road is in the cooler."

"Thanks Teal'c!" I make my way over to the cooler, grinning happily as I pull out my tub of Rocky Road.

Jack is standing, staring into the second cooler with a look of disbelief on his face. "You ate ALL the ice cream?!" he yells, turning accusing eyes on Teal'c.

"Indeed I did not. As I said O'Neill, Daniel Jackson's Rocky Road was left untouched."

Jack rolls his eyes, casting one final look of despair at the empty cooler. Then I see his eyes, slowly turn towards me. A sparkle of what I have come to know as the real Jack O'Neill shining through. "Oh Danny boy."

"No!" I jump to my feet, hurrying from the room, my ice cream in tow. This was mine. All mine! I try and shovel in as much ice cream as I can as I hear him in hot pursuit.

"Come on Daniel! No fair! You have to share!!"

"No way Jack! You snooze you lose!" Grinning I shovel another mouth full of the sweet, delectable chocolate and marshmallow into my mouth. There were plenty of hiding places in here. All I needed was 5 minutes.

"You can run but you can't hide!"

"Watch me!" I duck behind a pillar, shoveling a mouth full in, followed by another. All of a sudden I gasp, dropping my spoon to the floor with a clatter, while clutching the bridge of my nose. "Argh!"

I feel my tub of ice cream quickly pulled from my hand and a very smug Jack scooping out a mouth full. "That's what you get for not sharing Danny boy."

"That's what I get for eating too fast."

"That's what I said." I roll my eyes as the ice cream headache slowly subsides. Jack is standing there, grinning, a drip of chocolate smeared on the corner of his mouth. He looked all of 10 years old.

I hear Teal'c coming around the corner and a little gulp from Jack as he's caught eating my ice cream. I try not to laugh as the scene before me reminds me of a bully getting caught picking on a smaller kid.

"That is Daniel Jackson's Rocky Road O'Neill."

"He's full."

"He is not."

"Is."

"I will not partake in such childish behavior. Return the ice cream to Daniel Jackson."

Grumbling Jack takes a final bite, shoving the tub of ice cream towards me. "I was full anyway. I'm going to go change."

"Thanks Teal'c."

"You are welcome." Inclining his head, Teal'c turns walking back to where Sam is explaining to Loren just what Jack and I were doing. Shaking my head, and taking another bite of my ice cream, I turn in search of a pouting Jack.

I find him sitting on a cot, half dressed, staring at something in his hand. I walk over, sitting beside him, "Hey."

"Hey."

"You ok?"

"Fine."

"You can have the rest of my ice cream."

"That's ok, I'm full."

"Whatcha got?" He opens his hand, and I'm shocked to see a tiny green soldier with glasses drawn on it's face with black marker. "DOC!" He's smirking again. "Why do you have Doc?"

"You gave him to me."

"I know that, I meant why do you have him here?"

"I dunno."

"Jack...?"

"Fine....I..I carry him with me ok?" He seems embarrassed and closes his fingers around Doc, pulling his hand back towards him.

"You...you do?"

"It's no big deal."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why do you carry him with you?"

He mumbles something I can't quite make out, "What?"

"*Sigh* He reminds me of you alright?" I can't help but smile. "OK, wipe the grin off your face. It's the glasses, that's all."

"Sure Jack."

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"You know what." He's growling again. I'm grinning again. This is all just too funny to me. I didn't think Jack would keep Doc, let alone carry him around.

"So...Do you always have him with you?"

"Well this is the only Doc I don't have to worry about running off touching things he's not supposed to."

"Well there was that time in the storage closet..."

"Daniel..." He's glaring at me now.

"Jack..."

"He's a good luck charm."

"A what?"

"Of course, not a very good one..."

"A good luck charm?" My eyebrow raises skeptically.

"You know, I've been thinking. All this stuff started happening after you gave him to me. Maybe you should have him back...I mean, maybe he'll bring you some good luck...he's seems a little ineffective with me."

"You don't believe in good luck charms."

"Oh, I don't know about that...I had one on Abydos that first mission, one that saved my life as well as everyone else's on that planet."

I try not to blush, and fail miserably. "You wouldn't have done it Jack. You would have realized it was wrong on your own eventually."

"I'm not so sure about that."

"I'm sure enough for the both of us." Jack looks up, grinning, handing Doc back to me. I'm about to argue, tell him that I gave him Doc for a reason, but I can see in his eyes that he needs to do this, so I accept him. "Thanks Jack."

"What say we head back to the others before Teal'c comes back." He winks, I smile. Things are finally starting to feel normal again. Maybe our three weeks in a palace at the beach won't be so bad after all.

Twenty One Days (Chapter 1)

2006-02-04T15:43:04Z

Title: Twenty One Days
Rating: R
Category: Humor, Angst
Summary: A twisted and unique look at what might have happened during the 3 weeks SG-1 spent in a palace by the beach.

NOTES: This is an unfinished WIP!! I'm posting the part we have finished but it is highly unlikely that this story will ever been completely.

Author's Notes: (Layton's Notes) We've written yet another one--this is by far the longest yet, and took the longest to do, as well. But I also think it's probably my favorite. It's still got the humor--but we went a bit deeper this time. At least, I think we did. FCOL? Were we deep at all? You know, when they weren't acting insane?

Author's Notes: (FCOL's Notes) Well this fic definitely took the longest to write, but I think it was worth it. As always our 'unique' sense of humor has twisted things into what I hope is an enjoyable and amusing fic. I of course, as usual, blame Layton entirely for not only the idea to write this but any subsequent craziness found within.

______

Day One: Jack (Layton)

I quickly steer Loran into the gate room--and I have to admit, if only to myself, it isn't because I want to see Teal'c off. Daniel's done it again. Turned a few more hairs gray. Almost took a flying leap off an eighth story balcony. Died.

Well, okay. The eighth story balcony thing is new. I'm used to him getting himself killed--but this time, this time it wasn't different. And what's worse, is I wasn't as shocked as I should have been to walk out that door, and see Daniel hanging onto that rail from the wrong side. He's been through too much these last years. Been through too much his entire life.

I should of known, though--that he wasn't there by choice. As always when something's off about Daniel--it was something else at work. I should have known the second he lost it with Hammond in that office that he wasn't himself. And he never should have been allowed to drive home alone.

Daniel catches my eye and gives a small smile--which I'm assuming is meant to be reassuring. It's not . . . helping. Because I can tell he still isn't himself. His arms are wrapped tight around his chest, just as they have been since almost the moment he came to. And he won't hold my gaze for more than a few seconds before he turns away.

Well--if he thinks I'm going to buy into that 'I'm fine' line he keeps feeding to everyone, he's got another thing coming. I know him too well to believe he would be unaffected by all of this. I know I'm sure as hell not. The image of Daniel leaning out over an eight story drop isn't something that's going to be fading any time soon.

Carter is dialing the 'gate, explaining to Loran how the DHD works. I doubt the kid has any idea what she's telling him, but he does a better job of looking interested than I would have managed. Carter seems encouraged by his attentiveness, and launches into a lecture on wormhole physics. I move discreetly out of earshot.

Daniel is saying his goodbyes to Teal'c, and Teal'c is watching him with what I've come to interpret as concern. "Teal'c," I say with a smile. "Be sure they send us ice cream. Lots of ice cream."

Teal'c raises an eyebrow. "I will bring it back myself, O'Neill."

Great. Teal'c will probably have eaten it all before he makes it to the other side of the event horizon.

"Oh, yes," Daniel says, perking up a bit. "And could you see that some of my books are sent through? Just talk to Nyan, he'll know what I need--"

"Nope," I say loudly. "Forget he even said it, Teal'c. You're to bring back ice cream." I give Daniel a meaningful look. "No books."

Teal'c raises an eyebrow. Glancing from me to Daniel and back again. "As you wish, O'Neill," he says.

I grin. Way to go, Teal'c. He never takes my side.

Daniel gives him a look of indignation. "Teal'c."

"Daniel Jackson--you should not be working," he says.

My grin gets wider. That's right, Daniel. You're going to have some downtime. Rest and ice cream, and NO books. This was going to be fun.

Daniel turns on the eyes. Predictably, he's pleading to the one more likely to give in to him. Teal'c.

"Could you at least bring back my journal?" he asks him. He's practically pouting. Teal'c's going to cave--I can see it in his eyes.

"I do not see what harm your journal would cause," Teal'c says.

Daniel beams at him.

Traitor.

Doesn't he know Daniel's journal is not an ordinary journal? I mean--this thing doesn't exactly start with the words 'dear diary.' He's got sketches of picto-thingys, and every other page is in a different language than the last. His journal IS work.
I sigh. Once Daniel had his hands on it, I doubted I'd be getting him to take the time for ice cream.

Teal'c gives us one last parting nod, and then moves back up the steps and through the gate. Loran watches him with wide eyes--probably thinking over everything Carter has just told him. Personally, I try not to think about what happens to my body every time I walk from one side of the Galaxy to the other.

I turn back to go check on Daniel--and he's no longer there. Carter's having a field day with Loran, and is trying to explain how she managed to power the gate on Earth without a DHD. Loran is looking decidedly less interested now. I recognized the signs. Eyes slightly glazed, mouth open just so. Information overload.

I almost go to rescue him, but I decide to let Carter take care of him a bit longer while I go find Daniel. I find him in the next room, running his fingers along the wall and studying their design. "Hey," I say.

He turns to look at me, giving me a quick smile, fading almost before it starts. "Hi, Jack."

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Just . . ." he trails off, and I watch him with concern.

I don't think he knows what he's doing--and that scares me, because he almost always does.

"Do you feel alright?" I ask.

"I feel great," he tells me. "Really--the light must have revived me completely."

Right. Now if only it hadn't revived your memories, as well.

"About what happened," I start.

He stops me with a look, pleading blue eyes that lower before I can see very deep. "I don't want to talk about that, Jack. It wasn't me out there. I would never--you know I would never . . ."

"I know," I tell him. Now.

But there had been a moment . . .

"You should go back to Loran and Sam--before she starts explaining quantum theory," Daniel says with a small, empty smile.

"I'm sure they're fine. He looked interested." In a car crash sort of way.

"Jack," he sighs.

"Daniel?"

"That was my way of asking to be left alone, but you never let me get away with subtleties, do you?"

"I don't think you should be left alone," I tell him bluntly. I didn't do subtleties.

"I'm not going to go walk into the sea, if that's what you're worried about."

It was now.

"Daniel," I snap.

"I'm fine," he tells me. "I just need some time to think."

"So think."

"I can't with you here, Jack. Please, just--"

"Sorry, Danny. No can do. Not too long ago, we were back in that room, and you were lying there on the floor without a pulse. I need some time to get over it--and I need to be sure you're over it too."

"I'm over it," he says. "Of my deaths, this is definitely one of the least traumatic."

Of his deaths? I winced. That is not a sentence anyone should be able to say. "You're not helping your case here," I tell him mildly. "Come on, let's go back to the gate room. Carter can regale us with stories of naquada and power conductors and crystals, and we can wait for Teal'c to show up with ice cream."

Daniel's eyes have drifted back to the wall, to the pristine red paint. He hesitantly reaches out, tracing one of the many small gold symbols. He doesn't speak.

"Daniel," I say softly.

"Not now, Jack. I'll join you in a few minutes, I promise. Just . . . not now."

I sigh. He's staring at the wall, but I know he barely sees it. His focus is turned inward--and I doubt whether or not he even notices I'm still here. It went against everything in me to walk away--but Daniel didn't ask for much. Well, okay. He asked for a lot. Help me save, Earth, Jack. Help save the universe. Help me save your soul.

But he almost never asked for anything for himself. He needed a few minutes alone? Okay. He would get five of them. I was feeling generous today.

I wandered back into the gate room, casting one last glance in Daniel's direction before passing through the wide doorway. Carter was sitting on the gate's steps, an elbow on her knee and her chin resting in her hand. I guess she finally figured out Loran wasn't quite grasping her lectures and let him off the hook.

Loran was leaning against the wall across the room, eyeing her warily. Probably afraid she might give him a pop quiz. He smiled when he saw me.

"Jack!"

"Hi, Loran," I say, forcing a grin.

"When will we get ice cream?" he asks me, all wide eyes and toothy grin.

I sighed. The kid was very up.

"As soon as Teal'c comes back," I reassure him. I looked at my watch. Then looked at the gate and willed it to start spinning.

Nothing happened.

I tapped my hands on my thighs. Looked at my watch again. Two minutes, Danny boy. You've got three more.

"You think I will like the ice cream?" he asks.

I grin at him. "Oh definitely. Everyone likes ice cream."

Carter perks up. "You'll love it, Loran," she puts in.

He looks at her cautiously, before smiling, reassured that she wasn't going to begin explaining the method of making ice cream.

"Where's Daniel, sir?" Carter asks.

"He's in the next room," I tell her.

She frowns. "Maybe I should--"

I looked at my watch. "Give him a minute," I say.

She looks reluctant but nods.

The gate powers up then, and Carter gets to her feet and moves out of range of soon to be forming wormhole. She comes to stand beside me and Loran. I look behind me, hoping Daniel will join us on his own.

He doesn't.

Teal'c walks through and comes down the steps holding two ice chests. F.R.E.D. follows him through, almost overflowing with supplies.

"The ice cream is here," I say, using a sing-song tone that has Carter throwing me an amused glance.

"Carter, Teal'c, you want to get Loran set up? I'm going to go grab Daniel."

"Yes, sir," Carter says with a grin.

Teal'c places the ice chests on the floor and nods.

When I first walk back into the room--I don't see him. I have a moment of panic--a flash of his expression as he stood literally at the edge, and then I see him in the corner. He's sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, knees pulled to his chest, and his head buried in his arms.

"Daniel?" I say cautiously.

He looks up. No sign of tears, thank god. But he definitely looks beat. "Jack," he says.

I walk over to him. "Teal'c came back. We've got ice cream," I say.

"Oh."

I hold out my hand. "Come on. There's some Rocky Road out there with your name on it."

He looked at my hand with the same expression he did the first gun I ever put in his hands. But after a moment, he reaches out and allows me to pull him to his feet.

"Rocky Road?" he queries.

"It seems the appropriate choice," I nodded.

He grins, and for the first time since this whole thing started I think it might be genuine.

Carter and Loran we're eating from one of those individual cartons. Teal'c was eating from a family size one. Loran looked like he'd just discovered gold. Even Daniel cracked another grin at the sight of him shoveling the ice cream into his mouth.

"Careful," I warn. "You'll give yourself a headache."

Just as I give the advice, his eyes widens and he drops the spoon in favor of holding his hand to his forehead. I wince.

"Ow," he says.

"Just slow down a bit," I tell him.

I grab a couple cartons for me and Daniel, handing Rocky Road to him and taking the vanilla for myself.

"When are you heading back?" I ask Teal'c.

His eyes stray to Daniel. "I have received General Hammond's permission to remain here with you, O'Neill," he tells me.

"Did you bring my journal?" Daniel asks, placing aside his untouched ice cream.

"Indeed," Teal'c says. He nods to F.R.E.D.

Daniel jumps up and starts searching, before pulling out the bound book in triumph. He takes it to the corner and sits back down on the floor, as far from us as he can get.

I put his ice cream back and sigh.

Carter grins over at Loran, who has recovered from the ice cream headache, and was eagerly eating it again. "Do you know how they make this . . . ?"

Kismet

2006-02-04T04:23:18Z

Title: Kismet
Rating: NC17
Category: Crossover, Humor, PWP, Slash
Pairing: Brendan/Emmett
Fandom: Thoughtcrimes/Boa vs. Python
Summary: "So, you come here often?"

He should have known better, should have refused the moment he saw the blonde hair and blue eyes. At least if he had refused Betty wouldn't be barely hanging on back in the lab, and he wouldn't be sitting on a stool in some run down old bar nursing his own wounds after said blonde hair and blue eyes walked out of his life and back to her own sandy beaches, crystal clear blue water and annoyingly talented dolphins.

"Give me another." Nodding his thanks as the bartender set another beer before him, he glanced around the room. Drunken cowboy wannabes on the left, slumming yuppies on the right and not a pretty face in sight. Downing half the beer in one swallow, Emmett rose and walked towards one of the booths at the back, slouching into the squeaky red faux leather seats and ignoring the way his boots stuck to the floor.

He squinted against the bright light from outside as the door opened and a pretty blonde stepped inside, adjusting the strap on her high heeled shoes and showing way too much cleavage. She was actually exactly the type he normally went for--until Monica, she'd managed to ruin all future blondes for him. He grunted in disgust when yuppie number three, black suit, white shirt, tie pulled loose, wandered over to her, whispering in her ear and placing a hand at her back. She giggled and followed him to the bar, proving just how bad her taste in men was.

Letting his eyes wander to the TV above the bar he zoned out, nursing his beer and ignoring everyone around him. A half hour later, beer warming in the bottle on the table, the evening crowd of losers wandering in, his eyes caught sight of a pretty brunette walking in with a smirk. "You can't blame me for the car running out of gas, Brendan."

"I'm not!" Emmett's eyes roved over the suit following the brunette in. He was lean, with wild hair and a cocky tilt to his head--Emmett supposed some might call him good looking.

"Brendan," the brunette drawled, amusement and a little frustration coloring her voice, "this is me you're attempting to lie to."

'Brendan' rolled his eyes, "I seem to recall a conversation about you not doing--your thing on me, Freya." She laughed and walked towards the bar, asking for the payphone and slipping towards the back room where the pool tables were. Emmett watched Brendan's assessing eyes as he looked around the bar, swallowing thickly when his gaze stopped on him.

Okay, Emmett thought as he tilted the bottle towards his lips, maybe he might fall under the category of those who found the man pleasing to the eye. That didn't mean he was at all interested--he'd had enough disappointment relationship wise for a while. Nope, the only thing that mattered now was Betty getting better and him continuing his work.
_

Sighing as he waited for Freya to return, Brendan took in the defeated faces around him. This wasn't exactly a classy bar and he figured he'd be hard pressed to find anyone that wasn't either a drunk looking for cheap booze or a yuppie slumming and looking for an easy lay before returning to their perfect little suburban lives.

His eyes landed on a rather scruffy looking man, hair in disarray, tight shirt showing a well defined body, crooked mouth turned down. Normally he wouldn't have given him a second glance, but despite his outward appearance the man just didn't seem to fit in with the people hunkering in around them for a night of bad music, bad booze and cheap dates.

Freya returned with a smile, snagging Brendan's arm and pulling him towards the bar. "Someone's going to pick up the car and then us. Come on, we have time for a drink."

"We're on duty, Freya," Brendan groaned as he looked down, grimacing when his new shoes stuck to the floor. "This place is disgusting."

"Michael gave us the rest of the day off," Freya answered, cheerfully ignoring Brendan's complaining.

"What'll you have?" Brendan looked up into the face of a very large, very tattooed man.

"Uh, give me a beer."

The bartender grunted an acknowledgement and turned to Freya. "And you?"

"White wine, please."

"This ain't some fancy bar, lady--you have your choice of beer--in a bottle or in a glass."

Giving the man an assessing look Freya shrugged. "Bottle." Turning to Brendan she narrowed her eyes. "It wasn't my fault."

"You were the one that went joy riding this morning," Brendan raised an eyebrow and nodded at the bartender as he reached for the beer placed in front of him. "All I'm saying--or not as the case may be--is that if you're going to take my car without asking, the least you could do is put gas in it before you bring it back."

"And if you had just asked June for your cell phone back we wouldn't have had to walk for forty minutes to find a phone."

Brendan scowled. "We are not talking about your sister."

"Look, I know things didn't exactly end that well between you but really, Brendan...it is your cell phone."

"I can get another one."

"It's been a week," Freya answered with a laugh.

"I just haven't had time--besides, where's yours?" Brendan took another mouthful of beer, spinning on the stool so he was leaning with his back against the bar, watching the crowd and letting his eyes wander back to the man in the back booth. "You could have saved us the walk if you hadn't lost another cell phone."

"I didn't lose it," Freya grinned, swiveling her own stool, "it's just--misplaced."

_

Emmett glanced down at his cell phone, muttering quietly to himself when Monica's number came up before shoving it back in his pocket. He really didn't need to hear, yet again, how important her work was and how he kept blaming her for Betty getting hurt. He didn't blame her--well not entirely.

Sliding from the booth he walked towards the bar, watching 'Brendan' from the corner of his eyes as he ordered another beer. The woman he was with was pretty enough, and she seemed intelligent as their conversation, from what Emmett could tell, was not based solely on Brendan whispering sweet nothings in her ear while she giggled like a half wit.

Brendan caught Emmett staring and raised an eyebrow in what Emmett supposed was the universal sign for 'she's with me'. Turning back to the beer in hand he gave himself another pep talk--he was perfectly happy spending most of his time at the lab, with Betty, working on his anti-venom. He didn't need pretty blondes or rakish brunettes.
_

Freya glanced to her left, seeing the disheveled man that Brendan was so subtly checking out. "He's hot."

"Excuse me?"

"Huh--he thinks we're dating. He also apparently thinks you're rakish." She was smirking at him, her eyes sparkling in amusement. "Maybe you should go over and set him straight," she snickered.

Brendan scowled, taking a swig of his lukewarm beer and picking at the label. "Stick to the mind reading gig--funny you are not."

"Well, Yoda, if you aren't interested--" she rolled her eyes, "which in case you've forgotten...again, you can't hide from me."

"As you seem so intent on forgetting that I don't want you inside my head," Brendan hissed. "Worry about your own love life and leave me to mine."

"Well I would--if you didn't keep fucking things up."

Brendan pinched the bridge of his nose, sliding from the stool to stand in front of Freya. "I'm serious, Freya--butt out." He stalked away towards the washrooms, needing a moment to clear his head.
_

Freya shook her head at Brendan's retreating back and slid off her own stool, taking a few steps closer to the man at the other end of the bar. "Hi."

"No thanks," he mumbled.

"Excuse me?"

"Look, Miss...I'm sure you're a very lovely person but I have recently been dumped by possibly the hottest woman I've ever dated and I'm not looking for another relationship just yet--thanks anyway."

Freya snorted as she slid onto the stool beside him. "My name is Freya--and no offense but you're not really my type."

He narrowed his eyes before sighing and sticking out his hand. "Emmett."

"Nice to meet you, Emmett," Freya grinned widely, shaking his hand and waving to the bartender for another beer. A couple minutes later Freya broke the silence. "She wasn't your type."

"What?" Emmett frowned. "Who wasn't?"

"The woman that dumped you."

"And how would you know?"

Freya shrugged. "I just do."

Emmett shook his head and rolled the bottle of beer between his hands. "She was totally my type--blonde, blue eyes, beautiful--everything I look for in a woman."

"You need to get out more," she laughed. "You're definitely more a brunette type."

"Brunette?" Emmett's gaze rose to Freya's hair, before returning to look her in the eye.

Freya rolled her eyes. "Still not my type. I didn't mean me."

"Uh huh," Emmett took another sip of his beer, popping a couple peanuts into his mouth. "So you're what--Dear Abby?"

Freya just smirked and turned to see Brendan walking from the washrooms, his eyes narrowed. Emmett turned, saw him walking towards them, and huffed a small laugh. "Your boyfriend looks pissed."

"Oh he isn't my boyfriend," Freya said, waving Brendan over. "Emmett, Brendan--Brendan, Emmett." She tried very hard not to laugh as Brendan's thoughts were all but screaming 'I am so going to kill you!'

Emmett and Brendan shook hands and Freya smiled to herself as Emmett's thoughts overpowered Brendan's constant mantra of 'dead dead dead'. "If you'll both excuse me, I think I'm going to go to the little girl's room." She winked as she stepped past Brendan and his 'dead dead dead' had become 'so so dead' as he watched her leave.

Sliding into the seat Freya had just vacated, he ordered another drink and stared at the bar, acutely aware of the heat coming from the man beside him.

"So," Emmett started, "she seems nice."

"You're not her type," Brendan responded immediately.

Emmett's mouth curved down into a frown. "You know, she said the same thing--a guy could start to get a complex around you two."

Brendan looked a little flustered. "There's nothing wrong with you--you're just--she's..."

"Not my type, yeah I got that, thanks," Emmett scowled.

Clearing his throat, Brendan started, "So, you come here often?" Oh great, Brendan, he thought--nothing like being subtle.

Emmett turned, eyebrows raised. "Are you hitting on me?"

"Uh," Brendan flushed, bringing the bottle of beer to his lips again, averting his eyes. Swallowing, he took a deep breath before turning back. "Yes?"

"Huh," Emmett reached for his beer again, looking up at the TV above the bar.

"Look if you aren't interested that's fine--" Brendan said as nonchalantly as possible given the fact that his heart was pounding. What the hell was he thinking? He never picked up strangers in a bar--and definitely not men! Sure there were the anonymous blowjobs in a club here and there over the years...

Emmett turned to him with a crooked smile. "You're kidding, right?"

"Huh?" Brendan answered in confusion.

Rolling his eyes Emmett glanced behind him. "Is Freya coming back?"
Thrown by the change in topic Brendan turned to the washrooms. "Uh--it's doubtful. She's probably hiding."

"Hiding?"

Brendan waved his hand dismissively. "She's playing matchmaker."

"Ah," Emmett nodded and finished off his beer, sliding from the stool and walking towards the front door.

Frowning Brendan watched him go muttering, "Well that was rude," before finishing off his own beer. A tap on his shoulder made him turn.

"Are you finished? Yes, good, let's go." Not waiting for an answer Emmett snagged Brendan's arm, pulling him from the stool and towards the door.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere less--here."

Nodding Brendan let himself be dragged towards a black, '65 Charger. "Nice car."

Unlocking the door and walking around to the driver's side Emmett pointed. "Get in."

"So where are we going?"

"My lab."

"Lab?"

"I'm a herpetologist," Emmett explained as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"Ah--I'm with the NSA," Brendan replied conversationally, watching the town zip by.

Emmett's brakes squealed as he jerked the car to a stop on the side of the road. "NSA?! Are you seducing me to get to Betty?" he demanded.

Brendan's knuckles were white on the seat. "Are you crazy?"

"Answer the question!"

"Whose Betty?" Brendan snapped.

"My snake!"

"Uh--"

"I knew it! You're trying to get my snake!"

Brendan stifled a laugh, grinning when Emmett scowled. "You're right."

"What?"

Leaning over into Emmett's personal space, Brendan slid a hand along Emmett's thigh, murmuring against his lips, "I am trying to get your snake."

Emmett groaned when Brendan cupped his erection, grabbing the back of Brendan's head and pulling him into a fast, messy kiss. Pulling back he panted, "Yes, yes very funny."

Brendan smirked as he sat back. "Now that you know my intentions--can we go?"

Emmett nodded, tires squealing as he pulled back onto the highway, speeding towards his lab. When they got there he jumped from the car, ushering Brendan towards the door. There were advantages to having your own lab.

"Wow," Brendan looked around the lab, bending to peer in one of the enclosures. "Cool. Which one is Betty?"

"She's in the back," Emmett replied, pulling off his shoes. "She's recovering."

"Is she going to be okay?" Emmett smiled at the look of sincere concern on Brendan's face.

"She's going to be fine."

Brendan grinned as Emmett pulled his t-shirt over his head and threw it in a corner. "In a hurry?" Emmett ignored him, instead reaching out and snagging the waist of Brendan's pants and pulling him closer. "Okay yeah, here let me help." Brendan gasped when he felt Emmett's fingers skim his exposed skin, making quick work of the rest of their clothes until they both stood naked and panting, "Where?"

Emmett grabbed Brendan's wrist and led him to a side office where there was a rumpled cot in the corner.

"Nice place you've got here."

"Shut up, shut up," Emmett muttered as he pushed a laughing Brendan onto the cot, throwing a leg over his thighs so he could straddle him.

"Okay," Brendan agreed, eyes fluttering closed when Emmett settled his weight; putting pressure in all the right places. His hands slid up Emmett's thighs to his waist, fingers digging in when Emmett leaned down, trailing his lips from Brendan's shoulder to his neck. "I don't usually do this."

"Me either," Emmett muttered into Brendan's skin, tongue slipping out to trace a circle around his hardening nipple.

Brendan arched up, hands curling around Emmett's back to pull him closer. Emmett shifted so that he was between Brendan's legs, hooking a hand under Brendan's thigh and lifting until they were aligned perfectly before he began to thrust lazily against him, tongue gliding over Brendan's, dueling for control of the kiss.

Wrapping his legs around Emmett, and grinding up against him, Brendan panted against his mouth, "Fuck me." He could feel Emmett's cock twitch against his own, grinning when Emmett buried his face in the crook of his neck.

"Okay, yes good, okay," he mumbled before sliding a hand under his pillow for the lube.
Brendan bit his bottom lip, head thrown back when Emmett slipped a finger inside. "Do you always have lube lying around in your l--."

Emmett grinned when Brendan's voice gave out as he slid a second finger in, curling them to graze Brendan's prostate. "Do you really want to talk about my solitary sexual activities now?"

Brendan's hands clenched and unclenched the thin white sheets on the cot, shaking his head from side to side. "No--no I want you--to get on with it!" Grinding down onto Emmett's fingers Brendan opened his eyes, watching as the man tore open the condom wrapper with his teeth and groaning when he pulled his fingers away to roll the condom on his leaking cock.

"Patience," Emmett teased, but Brendan could tell from the whimper when he slid the condom on that he was close.

"Fuck patience--better yet, fuck me," Brendan ground out as he wrapped his fingers around his own aching flesh.

Emmett moaned as he watched Brendan fucking his own fist before grabbing the man's hips and pulling him into position. "Lift up." Sliding a pillow under Brendan, Emmett lined his cock up, pushing slowly until the head breached the tight ring of muscle with an inaudible pop.

He took a deep breath, trying to hold still to let Brendan adjust when he felt the man's legs wrap around his waist again and pull him forward in a quick jerk that had him buried as far as he could go. "Fuck!" Brendan clenched his ass, grinning at the moan it elicited.

Panting, he pulled Emmett into a wet, sloppy kiss, and ground down. "Move!"

Emmett pulled out slowly before thrusting back in just as slowly, grinning smugly at Brendan's low growl. He quickened his thrusts until the cot was rocking with them, squeaking in time to the slap of flesh on flesh. Reaching between them Emmett curled his fingers around Brendan's cock, stroking in counterpoint to his thrusts until Brendan was throwing his head back, neck glistening with sweat, and coming over Emmett's hand and stomach. Four more quick thrusts and Emmett was stilling, following Brendan into orgasm with a gasp.

Discarding the condom Emmett collapsed beside Brendan, leg thrown over Brendan’s thighs, arm curled around his waist. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Brendan agreed, still panting, hand stroking over Emmett’s thigh, “definitely yeah.” Turning his head, Brendan grinned at Emmett, leaning in for a kiss before pulling back and twining his fingers with Emmett’s. “Freya’s going to be impossible after this.”
_

Epilogue (By laytoncolt)

Freya grinned as she approached Brendan's desk. He was collapsed over the surface, his head pillowed on his arms, and he was wearing the same clothes he had been wearing the last time she had seen him. Flashes like pieces of film snapped behind her eyes as she got closer; stubble rubbing against his neck, kisses down the length of him, a slow slide and steady rhythm.

She smirked as she looked down at him. That photographic memory thing was a kick. "Wow," she said, "that was some night you had."

Brendan shot up from his desk, eyes wide. "Wha--?"

Freya smiled at him prettily. "Am I going to get a thank you card for this or what?"

His eyes narrowed. "Get out of my head," he said.

She laughed, undaunted. "So are you seeing Emmett again?"

"That's none of your business," he said, pulling at his tie agitatedly and giving her a quick little smirk.

"He's taking you to Mario's?" Freya said, eyes wide. "I hope you make him get you the lobster."

"I could easily hate you," he said.

Freya grinned. "You love me, I know you love me; and I also know that I'm responsible for the best sex of your life."

Brendan made an irritated face. "Could you maybe keep your voice down? And Emmett's responsible for the best sex of my life, not you, thank you very much."

"Well, yeah, but you never would have made a move without me," she said. "You have it bad for him, don't you?"

"No," Brendan said resignedly. Lying to Freya was just a reflex.

Freya grinned, and then crossed her arms. "So it isn't serious then?"

Brendan watched her warily, uncertain what trap she was leading him into now. "That's right. It was a one-night stand...well, a one-night stand with dinner the next day. That's all."

"Then he just walked through the doors because...?"

Brendan's eyes widened and he spun around. Emmett waved brightly and jogged over. "Do you know what you have to do to get a guest pass for this place?" he said. "I know you said to wait in the parking lot, but it started raining--"

"It's not seven yet," Brendan said, trying to stand between Freya and Emmett and block his thoughts from her with some rather colorful language he was thinking rather loudly.

Freya winced. "Watch your language," she said, and Emmett threw her a confused, semi-recognition filled glance before looking back at Brendan.

"It's your day off, right?" Emmett said. "I thought you only came here to tie a few loose ends. I figured you'd be done and I want to get there early."

"You should go, Brendan," Freya said sweetly. "I can finish this up. You looked a little too worn out to get all that much done anyway."

"Oh, hey," Emmett said, thrusting his hand out awkwardly to shake hers in greeting. Freya could tell he was trying to remember her name and bit her lip to keep from smiling.

"You clean up nice," she said, looking him up and down. He was wearing slacks and a button up cream shirt with a blue blazer--and he'd shaved. "But I kind of miss that whole scruffy look you had going on. There was stubble."

Brendan glared at her, and grabbed Emmett by the shoulders to point him in the direction of the door. "We're leaving," he said, "goodbye, Freya."

Freya snagged Brendan's arm to pull him back to her for a moment, and leaned into his ear. "You're in for a treat," she whispered, flashing him a wicked grin. "He's got all kinds of plans for you."

A Puddle Jumper Named Desire (Chapter 8)

2006-02-04T04:18:34Z

Title: A Puddle Jumper Named Desire
Rating: R
Category: Humor
Summary: Rodney's got a thing for blondes.

FCOL---

Rodney stood outside John's quarters, nervously pacing back and forth as he rehearsed what he would say to the man. When the doors opened to reveal Sheppard standing there, arms folded over his chest and glaring, Rodney smiled and held out the jar he had in his hands. "A peace offering."

John glanced at the jar, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What is it?"

"Proof that I'm not after you for the color of your hair." When John still hadn't reached for the jar Rodney huffed impatiently and pushed passed him into John's quarters. "I had Zelenka help me, I'm not sure if we managed to get an exact match but it should be close enough that you won't notice much of a difference."

"McKay," John waved his hand in a 'get on with it' way and Rodney nodded.

"It's hair dye."

John's eyes widened. "Really?" He stepped towards Rodney, reverently taking the jar from his hands.

"We tested it on the hair Carson took from you yesterday. It came pretty close to what we thought was your natural color and it didn't—you know, hurt the hair or anything so we figure it should work."

"What do I do?"

"You should probably let me—" At John's incredulous look Rodney rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to try and get in your pants—promise."

John placed the jar on the table, "Why are you doing this?"

"I told you—"

"To prove you're not after me for the color of my hair—you said that yes, but—"

"But what?"

"You never mentioned being interested in me before—"

"Oh please, what was I supposed to say? Hey, Major, I think you're hot, wanna have sex?"

"Isn't that what you said to me last night?" John raised an eyebrow, fighting the smirk tugging at his lips.

"That's beside the point."

"Beside the point?"

"I claim temporary insanity—" Rodney replied as he began to pace.

"So you didn't mean—"

"Oh no, I meant it—all of it—I just mean I'd never have propositioned you...the blonde made me—" He waved his hand absently, trying to find the right words.

"Temporarily insane?"

"Exactly." He pointed towards John, nodding as he resumed his pacing.

"You know, you're really not winning me over here."

"Look can we just get on to the dying? Cause I'd kind of like to leave with what's left of my dignity and our friendship," Rodney pleaded.

"So what you're saying is you don't want to have sex with me now—so it really is all about the hair."

"Don't be ridiculous! I'd sleep with you in a heartbeat," Rodney snapped impatiently.

"Even if I didn't have blonde hair?"

"Have you not been listening to me at all? Didn't I say I wanted to sleep with you before your hair was blonde?"

"Just checking." John grinned as he stepped towards Rodney, snagging the collar of his shirt and dragging him into a quick kiss. Rodney stood speechless, mouth opened, eyes wide. John chuckled, shaking his head. "You mean all I had to do to shut you up was kiss you? If I'd have known that I would have done it months ago." Not waiting for Rodney's response, John leaned in and kissed him again, grinning against Rodney's mouth as his hands wrapped around John's waist.

When they broke apart for much needed air Rodney blinked, staring at John. "What are you doing?"

"I thought that was kind of obvious." John smirked.

"Uh—what about—" Rodney's eyes flicked up towards John's hair.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to be blonde for a few more hours—after all, I hear they do have more fun."

Rodney's eyes lit up and he hummed happily before pulling John into another kiss as he backed them towards the bed. "Oh believe me," he murmured against John's mouth, "you have no idea."

A Puddle Jumper Named Desire (Chapter 7)

2006-02-04T04:17:46Z

Title: A Puddle Jumper Named Desire
Rating: R
Category: Humor
Summary: Rodney's got a thing for blondes.

Layton---

"It's kind of hard to miss," Rodney deadpanned. "I mean really hard to miss. Everyone's noticed."

"Shut up," John snapped, "or you can eat with someone else."

"What are you so touchy for, anyway?" Rodney asked. "You like to put on a dumb act, you should be pleased—this will do wonders for helping bring it across. You look stupider already."

"Are you this charming with everyone you're trying to sleep with, or am I just lucky?"

"I'm only like this with the blondes," Rodney told him.

John rolled his eyes and pushed past him, marching all the way to the last table, and sitting in the farthest corner he could find. Rodney slipped into the chair next to him, and slid it over until it knocked into John's. "I'll give you a candy bar if you let me touch it," Rodney said.

John glanced at him suspiciously. "We don't have any candy bars left."

"I have a stash," Rodney said, flashing a wicked grin. "Five minutes of touching and it's yours."

"Five minutes?" John said, incredulous. "That's just creepy, Rodney, seriously. I'm not going to prostitute my hair for candy."

"It's Hershey's," Rodney said, wiggling his eyebrows.

"I don't care if it's Godiva," John snapped. "It's not happening." Rodney sat back with a pout, looking thoughtful, and John rolled his eyes again. "Stop trying to think of things to bribe me with."

"I'm not," Rodney protested. "But if I was…what would it take?"

"For the love of—" John cut himself off and turned to face him. "Why don't you go dye your own hair blonde?"

"What would—" Rodney glared at him. "Oh. I get it. Yes, very funny. You're implying I should—"

"Go screw yourself," John snapped. "Just so we understand each other."

"You're being rather rude," Rodney said. "I've been nothing but a gentleman about this."

"You tried to get me drunk so I would have sex with you," John hissed.

"Yes, well, a lapse in judgment to be sure," Rodney said. "I should have tried taking you out in the puddle-jumper first, obviously."

"Do you honestly believe I'm going to sleep with someone who only likes my hair?" John snapped.

Rodney's eyes widened. "I assumed that was how you got all your dates."

John got up, grabbing his half eaten tray. "Rodney," he said. "I think we should see other people—don't call me, I'll call you."

Rodney, as usual unable to take a hint, quickly followed him. "Are you actually upset about this?" he asked, disbelievingly. "I thought at the worst you'd simply be flattered."

"Just leave me the hell alone," John snapped as he stalked out into the hall. "I'm sure there's a little blonde scientist somewhere around here that would be flattered as hell—go find them."

"Major—" Rodney started, but John spun around, backing him up against the wall.

"I'm used to people coming after me for my looks, Rodney," John snapped. "I deal with it. I just expect better of you than wanting to put our entire friendship at risk over some stupid alien hair dye, so you'll excuse me if I don't fall all over myself trying to hop into bed with you."

John stalked away again, and Rodney stayed where he was, leaning against the wall—his eyes wide. "It's not just the hair dye," Rodney called after him, a little desperately, but he was already gone.

Rodney stayed there for a moment before shaking his head clear and starting off for his lab with renewed determination. "Zelenka," he said as he flew through the doors, and over to his desk. "I need your help. Drop everything."

Zelenka ran to his side. "What is it? What's happened?"

Rodney looked over at him. "I need you to help me make some hair dye."

A Puddle Jumper Named Desire (Chapter 6)

2006-02-04T04:17:02Z

Title: A Puddle Jumper Named Desire
Rating: R
Category: Humor
Summary: Rodney's got a thing for blondes.

FCOL---

John pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked towards Rodney. He swatted away the man's hands as they reached for his hair again, placing a hand on Rodney's chest. Walking him backwards towards the door he mentally thought them opened and with a shove propelled Rodney out into the hallway. "Goodbye, McKay."

"Major, wait I--" Whatever Rodney was going to say was abruptly cut off by John's doors sliding closed. He locked them and walked slowly back towards his bed, stripping out of his BDUs as he went. When he finally slid between the sheets he sighed, hoping for the second time that night that things would be better in the morning.

-----

John stumbled from his bed in the morning, head pounding as he walked towards the bathroom, eyes barely opened. The previous night was a confusing blur, images of Rodney kissing him, showing up in his quarters and a rather disturbing conversation about sex-a-holics. Shaking his head he reached the sink, splashing cold water on his face, glancing blearily into the mirror before reaching for his toothbrush.

Quickly setting about brushing away the taste of vodka from his mouth, John paused, toothbrush hanging limp from his opened mouth as he stared into the mirror. Raising a tentative hand he touched the blonde spikes staring back at him, toothbrush slipping from his mouth as he chanted, "Oh god, no no no..." Practically lunging for the shower John scrubbed furiously at his hair, willing the blonde out, promising whatever god was listening that he'd be good from now on, no more thoughts about mutiny against Weir, no more staring at McKay's nipples, no more thinking about shoving Kavanagh into a forming wormhole if only the blonde was gone by the time he got out of the shower.

When he stepped from the shower to find himself still very much a blonde he swore silently. As he walked back into his room he contemplated staying there until the color grew out but didn't think Weir would go for it. When he couldn't find a hat anywhere, remembering he'd left Ford's in Rodney's room the night before, he mentally braced himself as he styled his hair. Maybe no one would notice the color if he added a little more gel than normal.

He walked through the halls, never meeting anyone's eye as they all gaped at him like fish gasping for air. Slipping into Carson's office he shut the door before turning towards the doctor—"Please tell me you've found out what they used and that you have something that will counteract it."

Carson smirked, steepling his fingers as he looked at the frantic man before him, "You better sit down, Major."

"Well that doesn't sound encouraging," John grumbled as he sank into the seat in front of Carson's desk.

"I've run tests on the chemical we found in the sample of hair we took from you." Carson spoke, trying not to laugh as John's hand absently sought the place where Carson had taken his sample.

John nodded, waiting for Carson to continue. When he didn't John leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Give it to me straight, Doc."

"I'm sorry, Major, but it appears the chemical is quite similar to the chemicals used on earth—I'm afraid you're just going to have to wait for it to grow out."

"But that will take months!!" John jumped from his seat pacing the room. "I can't wait that long—"

"I'm sure the time will fly by," Carson interrupted. "Besides, you may even grow to like it."

John spun on his heel glaring at the doctor. "How the hell am I supposed to deal with Rodney?!"

"Rodney?" Carson looked confused. "What does he have to do with this?"

"Aside from being the one responsible for me being a blonde?! He's acting crazy!"

"Crazy?"

"More so than usual!" John folded his arms and began pacing again. "This is bad, really, really bad."

"I'm afraid I don't understand, Major."

"Rodney's a sex-a-holic!"

"Uh—" Carson wasn't exactly sure how he was supposed to respond, so settled for a raised eyebrow.

John just waved a hand dismissively as he headed towards the door mumbling, "Maybe I can make some dye."

So caught up in his thoughts John didn't notice Rodney until the man was practically attached to his hip. "Major, I've been looking everywhere for you."

"You found me," John answered wearily.

"I was wondering if you wanted to grab some lunch." He was bouncing on the balls of his feet again and John mentally slapped himself for thinking it was cute.

"Yeah I guess."

"Great!"

Rodney's hands reached for his hair and John grabbed his wrist. "On one condition."

"Anything."

"Stop touching the hair!"

Rodney actually pouted but lowered his hand, falling in step with John as he headed towards the mess. "I don't know why you're so upset—"

"My hair is blonde, Rodney."

"And as I told you last night—it's hot."

"Stop it!" John took a side step away from Rodney, sighing in frustration as Rodney took a step closer.

"Stop what?"

"Stop thinking that because suddenly I fit your little kink that you're going to get into my pants!"

Rodney rolled his eyes taking a step closer to John so that their arms touched. "I'm surprised you're fighting this so adamantly, Major—"

"What's that supposed to mean?" John snapped.

"It's not like I haven't seen the way you keep staring at my nipples."

"It's not my fault they're so damned perky!" Rodney hummed happily as his hand slipped under John's jacket, fingers tickling the small of his back. "No touching!" John wiggled out of Rodney's touch, glaring at the man as he reached the mess hall doors.

Rodney followed John into the mess, grabbing a tray and randomly picking out food without really taking his eyes off John's hair. John leaned over and hissed, "Stop staring at my hair!—you're making everyone notice it!"

A Puddle Jumper Named Desire (Chapter 5)

2006-02-04T04:16:16Z

Title: A Puddle Jumper Named Desire
Rating: R
Category: Humor
Summary: Rodney's got a thing for blondes.

Layton---

"Major! Major!"

John closed his eyes, telling himself he wasn't hearing that, or that maybe it was some other Major in question, never mind that he was the only for light-years—the door slid open and the semblance was shattered. Rodney's manic silhouette was in the door way—hair sticking up, arms akimbo. For one insane moment John wondered if he should look for his gun, just in case.

Rodney hit the lights on and the door slid shut behind him. In the light, he looked a little less like a maniac, but not so much that John wasn't still considering searching for his gun. "What are you doing?" Rodney snapped.

John raised an eyebrow. "When I run into your quarters screaming like the lead in A Streetcar Named Desire, then you can ask me what I'm doing."

"You can't just run out on me in the middle of our date!" Rodney snapped.

"What date?" John said, rolling his eyes. "You offered me a drink."

"Yes, yes, of course. I offered you a drink, you said yes, so why aren't we having sex yet?" Rodney crossed his arms, waiting for a response.

That almost made some kind of sense, so John shook his head, deciding he'd definitely had way too much to drink. "Rodney, are you even hearing yourself? You've been acting like a crazy person ever since—ever since…" John's eyes lit up and he jumped to his feet, pointing at Rodney in realization. "Oh my god, you've been hitting on me!"

"Well, obviously," Rodney said.

"You've been hitting on me because I'm blonde!" John snapped furiously. "Do you have no shame?"

Rodney tilted his head back. "That has nothing to do with it."

"The hell it doesn't," John snapped. "There aren't exactly that many blondes to choose from on Atlantis—and Heightmeyer won't date you because you're a patient. You're getting desperate."

Rodney huffed irritably. "That's just…wait, how do you know I'm her patient?"

"Everyone knows, Rodney," John said, crossing his arms.

Rodney frowns. "Yes, well how do you even know she's my type?"

"Of course she's your type," John snapped. "She's blonde. Apparently, that's all it takes."

"You're being a little melodramatic, don't you think?" Rodney asked, shifting uncomfortably.

"You probably planned this whole thing!" John snapped, and started pacing.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Oh, yes, Major. It's all part of my evil plan. It's the only reason I'm here, actually—everything's just because I wanted to turn you blonde. Next on my list is conquering the universe."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't be surprised," John said, rather haughtily.

"You look really hot when you're angry," Rodney tells him. "Hey, you want another drink?"

"Stop trying to get me drunk!" John snapped. "I'm very upset."

"I think we passed drunk already," Rodney said. Then he got a little a distracted by the hair. "God. You should see the way the light bounces off it."

John pointed towards the door. "Out," he said.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "You need to calm down," he said.

"I think you should leave," John snapped. "And stay the hell away from my hair."
Rodney's eyes widened. "You're not serious."

John tilted his head back. "At least until it grows out, I don't trust you near it. You have a problem, Rodney, you're sick."

"It's not a problem," Rodney said, defensive. "It's just…I just, come on, Major, it's so shiny…"

"They have support groups for things like this, you know," John told him.

"Emotional connections group," Rodney said promptly. "Yes, I know."

"You've been to a sex-a-holics meeting?" John asked, incredulous.

"Only the once," Rodney said primly. "I ended up sleeping with Marianne in the public restroom during the break, so they kicked me out."

"You need serious help," John snapped. "Heightmeyer's got her hands full with you."

"Oh, please, like you can talk—you're sex on legs, Major, puddle-jumpers turn you on."

John frowned. "Puddle-jumpers do not turn me on."

"You practically start glowing whenever you fly," Rodney said. "It's almost embarrassing, really, to watch. Hot, too, though." He paused, and then his eyes lit up. "Hey, you know what? We should go flying."

A Puddle Jumper Named Desire (Chapter 4)

2006-02-04T04:15:12Z

Title: A Puddle Jumper Named Desire
Rating: R
Category: Humor
Summary: Rodney's got a thing for blondes.

FCOL---

John quickened his pace, Rodney hot on his heels. When he reached his own quarters he stopped and spun around to face Rodney, just managing to stop the man from walking right into him. "Alright, what the hell is going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you following me around like a lost puppy?"

"I'm not lost; we're at your quarters." Rodney answered, completely ignoring the question.

John narrowed his eyes. "Go away, McKay."

"Look, I uh—I feel bad for what happened."

"No you don't."

"Okay no I don't, but at least let me make it up to you."

"How?"

"Let me buy you a drink." Rodney grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet, arms behind his back.

"Last time I checked, McKay, Atlantis didn't come with a bar." John folded his arms, the hairs on the back of his neck raising. Rodney was being—nice...and it was seriously starting to freak him out.

"No, no—I have a bottle of this great Russian vodka I took back from Siberia with me. I've been saving it for a special occasion but seeing as how there's not likely to be a special occasion anytime soon..." Rodney shrugged, giving John his best innocent smile.

John contemplated the far too pleased man in front of him, and then thought of his blonde hair—that was enough to convince him he needed a drink. "Alright," John nodded.

Rodney grinned again, snagging John's wrist and pulling him back down the corridor towards his own quarters. John tried to pretend he didn't see Rodney glancing at his hair out of the corner of his eye, tried to pretend that Rodney's thumb wasn't rubbing his wrist—the whole situation felt completely surreal and for a moment he wondered if there was something in the stuff they used to dye his hair making things seem so—hinky. Telling himself he'd check in with Beckett for the results of his tests, he didn't notice they had reached Rodney's quarters until he felt the man's hand on the small of his back pushing him into the room.

"Sit down, make yourself comfortable."

John sat on the couch in Rodney's quarters, eyes keeping a wary watch on the man's movements as he headed towards his closet. He relaxed when he saw the bottle of vodka in Rodney's hand, even managed a small smile as Rodney produced two shot glasses with large Canadian flags on the side of each. Rodney slid onto the couch beside him, his thigh pressing firmly against John's own as he handed over the brimming shot glass. "Here's to alien bleach!" Rodney grinned as he clinked his shot glass against John's.

Rolling his eyes, John downed the vodka reveling in the burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. He raised an eyebrow when Rodney filled the glass again but downed it moments after Rodney drank his own. By the fourth shot he was feeling slightly buzzed and no longer quite so upset over his hair. Truth be told when he was younger he'd contemplated dying his hair blonde to better fit in with his surfer friends. In the end his father had told him in no uncertain terms he would have John's head shaved if he so much as looked at a bottle of dye—even then the instinct to preserve his hair had been too great to risk his father's threat.

By the sixth shot John was feeling no pain, hat thrown on the table in front of them, and in fact had almost forgotten Rodney was in the room until he felt fingers slipping into his hair. Turning his head he frowned at the rapt look on Rodney's face. "What are you doing?"

Rodney pulled his eyes from John's hair, smiling a little drunkenly. "You look good as a blonde." John glowered; reminded of the fact that it was Rodney's fault he was blonde. "No, really," Rodney continued, thinking John's look one of doubt, "it suits you—I like it." He slid his fingers into John's hair, tugging gently, pulling John towards him as he leaned in to kiss him.

John felt himself responding to the kiss, his lips moving over Rodney's as if they were meant to be there. Suddenly pulling back he jumped up, swaying slightly as a wave of dizziness hit him. "I have to go." He didn't wait to give Rodney a chance to say anything as he stumbled from the room and headed straight for his own quarters, ignoring the looks of shock he met, no longer caring that his hair was even more disheveled thanks to Rodney's fingers, nor caring about the fact that it was platinum blonde.

Entering his quarters, his head still spinning, he flopped onto the bed, pulling a blanket over his head and telling himself when he woke up everything would be back to normal and this whole day would turn out to be nothing more than a horrible, horrible nightmare.

A Puddle Jumper Named Desire (Chapter 3)

2006-02-04T04:13:42Z

Title: A Puddle Jumper Named Desire
Rating: R
Category: Humor
Summary: Rodney's got a thing for blondes.

Layton---

"What's to miss?" John snapped. "It's blonde."

Ford snickered again and John turned around to glare at him. John put the cap back on. "I'm keeping this," he said. Ford knew better than to argue.

He still attracted a few glances as they all finished their standard physicals and headed towards the briefing room, but Atlantis was filled with the best and the brightest, so no one was stupid enough to stop long enough to say anything to him. "Do we have any hair dye here?" he asked, giving the hallway a paranoid once over.

Rodney snorted. "Why yes, Major, it was right up there with food and water on our list of essentials."

John glared at him. "This is your fault, you know, you could be nicer."

"So you keep saying," Rodney said haughtily, "but let's not forget who blew up the temple."

"God," John said, frustrated before marching off again. "You blow up one sacred temple, and no one let's you forget."

"Major," Weir said when they entered, reading a file and not glancing up. "Good. You're here. Were you able—" She looked up, and promptly lost her train of thought.

"Yes, my hair is blonde," Sheppard said darkly. "Now that we have that out of the way, do you think we could get this over with?"

"Major, what…how…?"

"He blew up a temple," Rodney said. "So they dyed his hair blonde."

Weir's wide eyes flicked to Rodney and then back to the hair. "You blew up a temple?" she asked disbelievingly.

"And then they dyed my hair blonde, yes," Sheppard said wearily. "It's not like I did on purpose."

"Of course not," Weir said quickly. "But why did they dye your hair blonde?"

"Ask Rodney," John said, giving a wide, obviously forced, smile.

Rodney shrugged innocently, and didn't say anything. Weir tried to collect herself, and cleared her throat. "Yes, well, dare I ask how the negotiations went?"

Teyla smiled. "They have agreed to trade with us."

"Really?" Weir asked, disbelievingly.

"They believed dying the Major's hair was suitable punishment, and have given him a clean slate," Teyla said, and Ford tried to hide a startled giggle.

"Well, good work," Weir said. "I guess."

John gave a clipped nod and started from the room. Teyla and Ford were laughing again, and remaining behind, probably to laugh with Weir and fill in the details, but Rodney came out hot on his heels. He glanced back angrily. "What do you want?" he snapped.

Rodney's eyes were a little wider than usual, and he shrugged. "Where are you going?"

"To get something to eat," John snapped, self-consciously adjusting the baseball cap.

Rodney nodded quickly. "Yeah," he said. "Me too."

John rolled his eyes but slowed down so Rodney could catch pace beside him. When he grabbed some macaroni and cheese Rodney sat down right beside him, scooting his chair a little closer than strictly necessary. He turned to look at Rodney with narrowed eyes. "What?" he snapped.

"Nothing," Rodney said quickly.

"You didn't get anything to eat," John said.

"Not hungry," Rodney said, still staring at him, fascinated.

John shifted uncomfortably. "Then you're here because…?"

"I'm keeping you company," Rodney said. "I doubt anyone else would want to be seen with you considering."

"Well, thanks a lot," John snapped. "I probably could have convinced them my walkie talkie was my prized possession if not for you, you know."

"What's the fun in that?" Rodney asked, stretching, kind of oddly, John noted, and when his arms came down one rested on the back of his chair.

"What are you doing?" John asked again, suspicious.

"What?" Rodney asked eyes still kind of lunatic-wide. "I'm not doing anything."

John signed but turned his attention back to his food. A moment later he felt a tickling on the back of his neck and shivered, shaking his head, trying to knock it off. He dropped his fork when it happened again, and turned to glare at Rodney. "Would you stop that?" he snapped. "What the hell are you trying to do?"

"There was a bug," Rodney said quickly. "In you hair."

"A bug?" John said slowly. "We don't have bugs in Atlantis, Rodney."

"It was a space bug," Rodney said, and then nodded like he was convincing himself. "I'm only trying to help."

"Well, stop," John said, pushing his food away, no longer hungry. He got to his feet and picked up the tray, dropping it off and started for the doors. Rodney was within arms reach the entire way, but he was trying to ignore him. "Don't you have things to do?" he asked finally, when he'd walked half-way around Atlantis and hadn't lost Rodney yet.

"No," Rodney said. "I have the rest of the day off."

"Really?" John asked, suspicious.

Rodney shrugged. "Yep. Gave myself the rest of the day off—just now, actually. What are you doing?"

"Going somewhere else," he snapped, and started back down a different hall.

Rodney started after him. "Can I come?"