A Visit Home

Sheppard wasn't the only one who could control his environment, as Rodney found out.

He watched TV and ate some chips, then decided to go to bed, despite the fact that it was barely 8:00. His fantastic mattress was calling.

He stopped in the doorway, because there, on his pillow, was a messy swirl of dark hair. One lean, tanned arm hung off the side of the mattress, one beautifully curved shoulder was exposed by the askew white sheet.

Rodney walked slowly to the bed, until he could look down at the occupant.

"Pete?"

Green eyes opened, and lips that were too curvy by half for a man stretched into a smirky smile. Pete lifted the sheet and held up an arm, beckoning. Rodney sat down and gathered Pete's sleep-warmed body to him in a ferocious hug.

Pete grumbled into his shoulder. "Took you long enough."

A Campfire Story

It was one of those conversations you got into late at night around a campfire on a planet that had two suns and three moons. And that didn't even seem weird anymore. Ford had dragged up some pretty comfortable logs, and the fire threw shadows on everyone, sharpening their faces in profile. Rodney looked into the fire and thought about energy signatures and power differentials and how he was going to fix the particle accelerator in the lab - the one that made funny noises.

"What did you do?" Ford asked. "Before you came here. How did you spend your last week on Earth? Or, um, Athos." He shot an apologetic look at Teyla.

"Nothing unusual," Teyla said, poking the fire with a stick. "I hunted with Halling and Jinto. It was Jinto's first hunt, so we made certain that he got a kill." She smiled gently at the memory. "I mediated a dispute; I talked to my friends and family. One morning I slept late and woke to the sounds of the camp. It was good. And you, Aiden?"

"My grandma tried to feed me to death." Rodney could see the huge grin on Ford's face from across the fire. "She cooked dinner and supper every day, and she got up every morning and made me a big breakfast. It was cool." He looked down at the ground. "We didn't talk about me leaving, but I knew she'd miss me because of the food. That's how Grandma tell you she loves you - lots and lots of food. Grandpa didn't say much either, but we watched baseball and it was nice." Ford swallowed hard and looked toward Sheppard. "What about you, sir?"

Sheppard smiled the half-smile that didn't reach his eyes, and he never looked up from the fire. "I got briefed on the program, and I went to San Francisco on the SGC's dime and flipped a coin."

Rodney snorted and shook his head, still amazed at Sheppard's decision-making craziness.

"What did you do, McKay?" Sheppard finally looked up from the fire, his brow wrinkling as he looked at Rodney.

Rodney could feel a smile curving his lips, and he loosely clasped his hands in his lap. "I...um, I met someone. It was good, really good. If I hadn't come here, I think we'd still be together."

Ford and Sheppard were staring at him, different levels of surprise on their faces, but Teyla's look was sympathetic.

"That is a sad story, Dr. McKay," she said. "I am sorry."

Rodney looked across the fire at her and smiled. "I'm not."

A Letter

Ford? Make sure this part doesn't get cut either, okay?

Look, whoever's going through these for distribution, this part needs to go to New York . To Pete Sherman. He works for an advertising agency in Manhattan. It's called CBB. If he's not there, you can find him; that's what you people do, right?

Pete? I know this is weird. You probably didn't expect to hear from me again. I know, I know - I never call, I never write. Well, the job thing worked out...and it's, well, it's beyond anything we could dream or imagine. Sometimes I can't believe it's real.

I think you would like it here, even though there aren't a lot of opportunities for advertising executives. But...I'd like having you here.

I know it sounds stupid - we only really had a couple of weeks together. Good weeks - especially that last one. You were the one regret I had when I left. I still miss you.

This place is good, though. Good people, and we're doing important work. There's this guy here; he reminds me of you. Older, not as cute. You have much better hair. But sometimes he smiles and it's like looking at you again. That's usually when he opens his mouth and ruins it, but it's kind of like I get to see you once in a while.

We've run into some trouble here, and this message might be the last one. Ever. I'm sorry to lay all that on you. You've probably forgotten about me. Every once in a while it gets quiet here, and I wonder about you. I wonder if you went back to your girlfriend, or if Rick is still trying to get you into trouble. I even think about the car now and again, and I hope that you get to drive it too fast sometimes.

I just wanted to say that being with you was great. I'd give just about anything to be watching hockey or a sunset right about now, and I'd give everything to be doing it with you.

Take care of yourself, Pete. I just wanted you to know that I did find what I was looking for.

That's all, Ford - just make sure you keep this part. It's important.

A Week

Rodney felt tired. Not regular Pegasus Galaxy-tired, and not eight-day-debrief-at-SCG tired. He was tired down to his bones, tired in a way that couldn't be touched by sleep. He was weary. Living through a siege could do that to you.

And now, standing in front of a strange door, in a strange building, with an accommodating (and easily-bribed) doorman, Rodney felt his weariness multiply itself by the value of nervous. He knocked anyway.

He could hear movement from inside the apartment, then the unmistakable sound of the standard New York three or four locks disengaging. The door opened slowly.

"Rodney?" Pete's eyebrows nearly reached his hairline as he stared.

Rodney nodded. "Can I come in?"

"Of course." Pete took his arm carefully, like he'd break.

Rodney felt like maybe he would.

Pete pulled him forward for a kiss, one of those soft, open-mouthed kisses that he was so good at, the ones Rodney had dreamed about for months.

"How long can you stay?" Pete asked.

Rodney set his bag down, then cupped Pete's face in both hands. "About a week."

Pete leaned in and kissed him again. "I can do that," he said. "We're good at a week."

A Failure

Pete moved aside, and Rodney stepped into the apartment. It looked huge and comfortable and opulent, in direct opposition to the cavernous concrete bunker of the SGC, where Rodney'd lived for the last month.

"I'm glad you called," Pete said.

Rodney ran a hand over his face. "It didn't work. We didn't find it. Well, we found it, but we couldn't get there."

Pete licked his lips nervously. "So, did you come back for your car?"

Rodney smiled - his first real smile in a month. "No, idiot," he said. "I came back for you."