Sometimes Pete wondered what the hell he was doing. He worked, he sat through client lunches and dinners, he made a lot of money, he slept alone. Sometimes, on Sundays, he got up early and took the Mustang out. He fought the traffic and headed upstate, looking for an open road, a highway where he could roll down the window and feel the wind in his hair and feel it battering against his sunglasses; thrumming all the way through him.

It was silly that the car meant so much to him. It was a completely impractical thing to have in the city, and he didn't drive it often. He took taxis and used a car service and sometimes even braved the subway. Those trips were about getting somewhere. The Mustang was about getting nowhere. And getting there as fast as possible.

Rick worried about him. He dropped by Pete's office in the mornings and looked at him with big, concerned eyes. He brought coffee and banana nut muffins and dragged Pete to all their old lunch haunts. He went out of his way to make sure that the rest of the team gave Pete their best work. He stopped by Pete's office again in the evenings and told him to go home. On several occasions he took away Pete's baseball, tired of the repetitive thumping on their shared wall.

Shockingly, Laney worried about him. When she heard he was back in the city, she called. She asked him out for drinks, and he said, "No, thanks." Not mean or angry, just polite and uninterested. She called back a few times, but he always let it go to voicemail.

He'd lost touch with most of his friends while he was in Durham. It didn't bother him much. A month after he got home, his phone rang, and he didn't recognize the number. He answered anyway.

"Pete Sherman." There was a long pause, but he could hear breathing on the other end.

"Pete, it's Rodney."

Pete's heart leapt up into his throat and he could barely speak. "Where..."

"I'm in the city. Can I see you?"

"Of course," Pete croaked, then cleared his throat. "Do you need directions?"

"No." Rodney sounded resigned, and Pete remembered: government. "What time can I come?"

"Any time you want to." And it appeared that Rodney could still make him lose his cool.

"I'll be there at 7:00."

Pete swallowed hard. "Okay," he said faintly.

And Rodney was gone.

Pete moved aside, and Rodney peered into the apartment. He looked around, as if seeing something wonderful for the first time. He stepped over the threshold when Pete gestured.

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

Rodney ran a hand over his face, and Pete could see dark circles and frown lines and stubble. "It didn't work. We didn't find it."

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

Rodney smiled, and his whole face lit up. "No, idiot," he said. "I came back for you."

Pete moved forward at that; it was his cue that this was still the same Rodney that he saw off at the airport, still the same guy who kissed him and laughed with him and showed him a beautiful sunset. He heard Rodney's suitcase hit the floor just before he got his hands on wide shoulders and his mouth on endearingly crooked lips.

Their kisses were just as good as he remembered - soft and focused. Rodney's mouth moved the same way, and his hands came up to cup Pete's face like they always did, even if always had been just six days.

When the kiss ended, Pete wrapped Rodney in his arms and just held on; he buried his face in Rodney's shoulder and felt Rodney do the same. They stayed there a long time. Rodney still felt good - solid shoulders and strong arms and big hands running over Pete's back and up into his hair, and he held on like he hadn't touched anyone since they broke apart in the airport parking lot. Pete knew how that felt; he was holding on just as tightly.

"How long?" He murmured against Rodney's temple.

Rodney shook his head. "No idea. They're going over the project data again; I couldn't look at it for one more minute."

Pete kissed the side of his head. "I'm glad you're here."

They pulled apart slowly, and Pete took Rodney's coat and pointed to the bedroom. Rodney came back without the suitcase and dressed in jeans and a ratty sweatshirt. He wandered into the kitchen and Pete handed him a beer. Rodney's hair was a little damp and there was a drop of water sliding down his neck that he brushed off with the back of his hand.

"Dinner?" Pete flipped through the sheaf of takeout menus magneted to the refrigerator. "You can have anything you want, and they all deliver."

"Oh, god - Thai?" Rodney's eyes lit up, and he stood at Pete's shoulder, scanning the menu from Blue Ginger. "Pad Thai if they make it without lime and Chili Pepper Cashew Chicken and basil rolls." He groaned, and the sound went straight to Pete's cock. He talked it down and grabbed the phone, ordering everything Rodney wanted and hot curry for himself, specifically asking about the lime. Twice.

Rodney looked a little glassy-eyed, so Pete led him into the living room, taking his beer and setting with his on the coffee table. He then eased Rodney onto the couch, pushing him down flat before climbing on next to him and burying his face in Rodney's neck.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice muffled. "Need this." Rodney wrapped his arms around him and kissed his hair, holding on tightly and not saying a word. They stayed like that for a while until they both relaxed, the frantic clutch turning into something completely different.

Pete propped himself on one elbow so he could look down at Rodney's face. "I can't believe you're here."

Rodney smiled. "Me either."

They grinned at each other stupidly until the doorbell sounded. Pete got up to buzz the delivery guy in, then waited by the door for the food. He came back with a big bag, and Rodney's head came up like a dog on the scent. He made Pete taste the Pad Thai first, looking for any hint of lime, then went to the bedroom and came back with a slim object that he put next to his paper plate.

"Epi-pen," he explained. "If I have a reaction, uncap it, jab me in the thigh and call 911."

"God," Pete looked up from his curry. "Is it that bad?" Rodney nodded, then took a bite of his noodles under Pete's watchful eyes.

"It's okay," Rodney said after a minute or so. "It would have happened already."

Pete turned back to his curry uneasily, picking at it until Rodney patted his knee. "It's okay," he repeated. "I've been taking care of it my whole life."

"How many reactions have you had?" Pete couldn't imagine a world where dinner could kill you, and he suddenly understood Rodney's paranoia.

"Fourteen," Rodney said. "So far."

Rodney ate every bit of his food and what Pete left on his plate, and it made Pete feel better. A Rodney who stole his food was a normal Rodney. He cleared away the mess and came back out to the living room to find Rodney dozing lightly on the couch. It was barely 9:00, but Pete suddenly felt the need to turn in early. He woke Rodney up enough to walk him into the bedroom and strip him before tucking him into the wide, soft bed. He took off his own clothes and climbed in.

Rodney opened his arms, and Pete went to him, his head finding the crook between neck and shoulder. Rodney let out a contented sigh and rubbed his cheek against Pete's hair. "This is my favorite place," he said, his voice a low rumble.

Pete closed his eyes. "New York?"

"No, idiot," Rodney said, and Pete drifted off to sleep, warm and happy for the first time in a month.

Pete woke slowly, wrapped in warmth that was not just coming from his down comforter. It was pouring off Rodney, who was propped against the headboard with Pete draped half over him. Rodney was almost cradling him to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around Pete's back.

"There you are," Rodney said. "Lazy."

Pete snuggled further down against Rodney. "Five more minutes."

Rodney kissed the top of his head about five seconds before the alarm went off. Pete reached out and turned it off, then picked up the phone by the bed. He relaxed back against Rodney while he pressed the speed-dial button.

"Rick," he said into the phone. "I'm taking today off."

Pete was pretty sure Rodney could hear Rick making concerned noises on the other end of the line, but Pete just laughed. "Thank you for the commentary on my mental health, Rick, but I have a good reason." He passed the phone to Rodney.

"Hey, Rick," Rodney said, smiling.

"Oh, my god - Rodney?"

"In the flesh," Rodney said, glancing down. "Probably more of it than you want to contemplate."

"Hell, man, you could do a naked hula in Times Square for all I care if you can drag Pete out of his funk." Pete could hear every word; Rodney had the phone tilted down. "You tell him I'll cover for him at the office, then you wear his bony ass out."

"I think that can be arranged." Rodney rubbed his chin against Pete's hair. "He's in good hands."

Rodney flipped the phone shut and put it back on the nightstand. "Rick seems to think that you've developed a bony ass in my absence. I think I'm going to need to check that out."

Pete grinned, and Rodney did some sliding and pulling maneuver that resulted in Pete sprawled on top, both of Rodney's hands palming his ass and squeezing. Pete threw his head back and moaned. He moaned again when Rodney took the invitation and kissed and bit his neck.

"Oh, god I missed you," Pete said, his hands coming up to clutch at Rodney's broad shoulders and curl around to pull him even closer. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this until he had it again.

Rodney pulled Pete's face against his throat, and Pete could feel him swallowing hard. "I thought about you all the time - think about you all the time." One hand moved up to cup the back of his head, scratching through Pete's hair. "I was in the frozen tundra or that goddamned bunker in Colorado, and all I wanted was to be back in that big bed in that stupid big house in Durham."

"Shhh," Pete said, lifting his head. "This bed is pretty big, and it's got me in it. Will that do?"

Rodney nodded, and Pete shifted to straddle his hips, kicking the covers out of the way. "I thought of something," he said, pressing down so that Rodney's hardening cock bumped against him.

"Hate to tell you this, Pete, but you're not the first one to think of this."

Pete pushed down harder, making Rodney groan. "No, ass. I meant that I thought about this for us."

"How hard did you think about it?" Rodney's smirk was so dirty that Pete had to lean down and kiss him.

"Pretty fucking hard," he said. "I thought about being here, on top of you, with your cock in me."

Rodney's hands came up to cup his heated cheeks. "There's that blush," he teased. "What else did you do while you were thinking hard?"

Pete moved one hand to encircle his cock, giving it slow, easy strokes. "This," he said.

"And?" Rodney trailed one hand down Pete's chest and belly, stopping to flick his fingertips against a nipple on the way.

"Oh, god," Pete said, and he couldn't believe he was going to tell Rodney all his sordid little secrets. "I...I used my fingers. But the angle was wrong and they're not long enough - not yours," he gasped.

Rodney pushed his hips up, then reached for the bedside table. He got the drawer open and unerringly found the tube of lube. "Lift up," he said, slicking his fingers.

Pete rose up on his knees and sighed when Rodney reached behind his balls with slick fingers, easing the tip of one inside. "God, you're so tight," Rodney said, pushing further inside. "I missed touching you like this. I thought pretty hard about us myself."

Pete shoved himself down on Rodney's finger, feeling wild and shameless. "More," he begged, and Rodney grinned at him and worked a second finger in.

"How's that angle?" Rodney was just being a smartass, because Pete knew that the way he arched and moaned when Rodney stroked his hot spot had to be answer enough. He could feel Rodney's erection behind him, sliding against the cleft of his ass. He reached back to touch it, feeling the heat and weight in his palm.

"Condom," Rodney said, still opening Pete with his fingers. One precarious lean later, Pete had the condom in his hand, ripping open the package and smoothing it down Rodney's cock. He held out his hand, and Rodney squeezed lube into it.

Pete reached back again and slicked Rodney, then angled himself so that the tip of Rodney's cock brushed against the back of the fingers still moving inside him. "I take it you're ready?" Smiling broadly, Rodney eased his fingers out, placing his slick hand on Pete's hip.

"Yes," Pete said. "So ready." He shifted his weight, then hissed as the head of Rodney's cock slid inside. It was big, and it hurt, but Pete didn't care. For a solid month, he'd gone to bed every night wishing for this, thinking about this. He tightened his hand around his cock, not wanting it to flag even a little with the unfamiliar pain.

Rodney's hands on his hips were light, letting Pete take it at his own pace, the fingers clenching tighter as Pete started a measured downward slide, moving inch by inch until he was sitting in the cradle of Rodney's hips, stretched and full and happier than he'd been in a month.

He leaned down for a kiss and the angle changed, leaving him panting into Rodney's mouth. Strong hands gripped Pete's shoulders, pinning him into position while Rodney thrust his hips sharply upward. Pete felt the roughness of the hair on Rodney's thighs when he bent his knees to get his feet flat on the bed and to give Pete something to lean against, assuming he ever let him lean back.

Pete struggled for balance, curling his shoulders back, and Rodney relented, twining their hands together and dropping his elbows to the bed to let Pete get as much leverage as he wanted. And he wanted a lot. He pushed up with his knees and slid back down experimentally, and the stretch and glide felt so good - better even than he had imagined. Rodney was red-faced below him, his mouth open and his eyes closed, and he started making short groans when Pete found a rhythm that he liked.

"Oh, god," Rodney moaned. "Do you have any idea what you look like? You're killing me."

Pete's only answer was to dig his knees into the bed and raise and lower himself faster and harder, chasing the orgasm that was just out of reach. He fumbled one of his hands loose from its clench with Rodney's and grabbed his cock. Rodney slapped it away, his own hand taking over, giving Pete a place to thrust even though it was a little clumsy because it was Rodney's left hand.

It only took a few strokes before Pete was arched back over Rodney's knees and coming hard. Rodney's hands grabbed his hips, slamming into him. The rough thrusts prolonging his orgasm, and Pete was wrung out and panting when Rodney's whole body went tight and he came. Rodney pulled him forward, and Pete melted down onto his chest. Rodney's hands carded through his hair, lube and come and all, and Pete couldn't have cared less. He mouthed the side of Rodney's throat with soft lips.

"I'm glad you thought of that," Rodney said, and Pete bit him.

They fell back asleep, because Rodney was exhausted and there was no way Pete was going to leave his side. There was a used condom on the floor, and the corner of the sheet was a total loss, but the bed was wide. They slid over to one side and Pete watched as Rodney drifted off. He looked his fill then, cataloguing everything that had changed. Rodney had dark circles under his eyes, and his face looked pinched even in sleep. He was curled up tightly, like he was hiding, and the line of his shoulders was rigid.

Pete couldn't imagine what Rodney'd been through - he really couldn't imagine, but from the little Rodney had said, it sounded bad. He reached out and smoothed the hair back from Rodney's forehead, and Rodney moaned a little in his sleep. Pete let the caress move down to the back of Rodney's neck, and it was like something opened up in Rodney's posture. There was just enough room for Pete to insinuate himself into Rodney's arms, and as he laid a gentle kiss on Rodney's cheek, he could feel the tension dissolve. As he drifted off to sleep, he thought he heard Rodney whisper, "Pete."

In the shower, they lathered, rinsed and repeated before getting out to dry off and mock each others' hair. Playing turned to playful kisses, then serious ones, and Pete bent Rodney over the sink and did his best to fuck away whatever it was that made Rodney look pensive. It worked.

Later, Pete staggered to the door in low-slung pajama pants and what Rodney had termed "crazy hair" to get the pizza. The delivery guy didn't even blink. Pizza in bed wasn't great for the sheets, but tomato sauce was the least of the well-earned stains.

For the second morning in a row, Pete woke up warm. Sadly, he woke up warm to the annoying bleating of his alarm clock. He turned it off and tried to extract himself from Rodney's arms. Rodney clutched tightly for a moment, then relented with a small frown.

By the time Pete was showered and shaved and had his hair as normal as it got, he came back to the bedroom. Rodney was mostly awake, lying on his side in the warm depression left by Pete's body. He watched with slitted eyes as Pete put on an impeccably tailored suit and a bright tie, then came to sit on the edge of the bed to put on his socks and mirror-shined shoes.

Pete leaned in to kiss Rodney softly. "I have to go to work. I'll be back around 6:00 and we can actually go out to dinner if you want."

Rodney slid around until he could rest his head on Pete's thigh. "Okay," he mumbled.

"I'll leave the spare key on the table, if you want to wander. And a note with the address, in case you get lost. You can just grab a cab back." He stroked Rodney's hair, amazed at the softness. One more kiss, awkward angle and all, and Rodney burrowed back under the covers.

Rick met him outside CBB as soon as he got out of his cab, and handed him a jumbo coffee. "So," he said with a sly grin. "How'd it go?"

Pete cut his eyes toward Rick and half-smiled. "Good," he said, sipping his coffee. Rick followed him through the lobby and into the elevator, which was mercifully empty.

"I need more than that," Rick said. "And, by the way, I told everyone that you had an unexpected guest from out of town."

"That's true," Pete said, watching the numbers light up. Rick looked like he was about to burst. "Seriously," Pete said. "It was good - great even - but I am so not giving you details." Rick turned his best puppy-dog eyes on Pete, but the Killer smile deflected them. "No details. I don't kiss and tell."

Rick gave him a dirty look. "You used to."

The doors opened and Pete stepped into the CBB lobby. He took a sip of his coffee and raised the cup toward his temple in a half-assed salute. "Times change," he said, then stopped at the reception desk for his messages.

Rick headed down the hall toward his own office. "I really hate you," he said over his shoulder.

In the early afternoon, Pete called his apartment and got the answering machine. "Rodney, pick up if you're there."

After a moment, Rodney did. "Hey," he said indistinctly.

Pete laughed. "Are you eating?"

"Yeah," Rodney said, more clearly. "That Chinese place that delivers is fantastic, but when I called, they wanted to know if I wanted your usual order. Tofu and broccoli? What the hell is wrong with you? Your new usual is much better."

"You know," Pete said with a huge grin on his face, "my life was a lot simpler before you showed up."

Rodney snorted. "Yeah, but it was boring."

Pete couldn't help but agree. Mainly because it was true.

"Did you want something?" Rodney said. "My General Tso's is getting cold."

"No, I just wanted to hear your cheery voice and see if you missed me yet."

"Don't be stupid." Pete swore he could hear Rodney eating again. "Of course I did. Now go work so you can come home. I've been thinking."

"Thinking hard?" Pete dropped his voice to a low, growly register.

"Come home and see."

Pete made it home by 5:45, thanks to a highly motivated cabbie.

When he came in, Rodney was sitting at his dining room table with papers spread out all around him. Pete waited in the doorway. "Honey, I'm home."

Rodney's head came up quickly, and he slid his chair back. He walked over to Pete and pulled him close for a kiss.

"I'm going to get out of this suit. Don't you think you should put away all your highly classified documents?"

"Hm?" Rodney mumbled from behind Pete's ear, where he was kissing in exactly the right place to get the shiver he was after.

"Classified documents? The stuff I'm not supposed to see?" Pete prompted.

Rodney pulled back so fast that Pete almost got whiplash. "Shit! Yeah, I need to do that."

Pete pushed him toward the dining room and turned to go toward the bedroom. "Did you decide on dinner?" he asked, loosening his tie.

"Steak," Rodney said. He shuffled the papers into a haphazard pile before shoving them into a briefcase.

"I'll go change." In the bedroom, Pete hung his suit up and stuffed his shirt into the laundry hamper. He was pulling on a pair of jeans when Rodney joined him.

"God, you're hot." Rodney stepped up and hooked his fingers in Pete's belt loops, pulling him forward by the unbuttoned jeans.

"Missed you, too." Pete reached up to hold Rodney's face in his hands. "Did you sleep late?"

"Noon," Rodney admitted. "Felt good."

Pete rubbed his hands over Rodney's stubbled cheeks. "You feel good."

In answer, Rodney ran one hand up Pete's chest, tangling his fingers into lush chest hair and pulling slightly. Pete's gasp was almost loud enough to mask the rumbling of his stomach.

"Okay, food first." Rodney stepped back, and Pete buttoned his jeans, then walked to the dresser for a tee shirt and a sweater. Rodney was already wearing jeans and a long-sleeved tee shirt.

"It's chilly out," Pete said. "You want a sweater?"

Rodney laughed while he put on his shoes. "Remember, Colorado by way of Antarctica?" He pulled a fleece jacket out of his suitcase, where it sat between the wall and the bed. The orange color brightened his face, and Pete wanted to kiss his crooked smile. His stomach told him to quit it. He put his hiking boots on and headed for the door.

"It's a few blocks," Pete said. "Walk or taxi?"

Rodney thought about it for a second. "Let's walk," he said. "I...uh... haven't spent a lot of time outside recently."

They headed out, Pete locking several of the locks on the door before they hit the elevator. They waved at the doorman, and Pete started down the street with Rodney trailing a step or two behind.

Pete dropped back to stay close. "I haven't been here in years," Rodney said. "I'd forgotten how imposing the city is."

"Fewer penguins than Antarctica, I'm guessing?" He smiled when Rodney elbowed him in the side. Pete reached out to capture one of Rodney's hands, threading their fingers together. Rodney looked down in confusion. "You're in New York, Rodney, not on some military base. This is okay."

"Right, right." Rodney looked down at their hands and Pete could just see the edges of a boyish smile.

"Are you blushing?" Pete ducked his head, trying to see Rodney's cheeks.

"Of course not," Rodney blustered. "It's just cold out here."

Pete let it go, steering them toward a large wooden door. It was warm inside, and the host greeted Pete by name, leading them to a booth in the back automatically. They ordered, then talked about Rick and work and other safe topics when Pete really wanted to ask questions about where Rodney'd been and what he'd been doing and why there was a current of stress and defeat running through everything. But he didn't.

When he came back from a trip to the restroom, Rodney was doodling on a napkin, but he shoved it into his pocket when he saw Pete. He suggested dessert, and Rodney's eyes lit up. He chose a chocolate torte and flat-out refused to let Pete order key lime pie. Pete went for crème brulee instead, knowing Rodney would eat at least half of it, which was okay by him. They lingered over coffee, each keeping one hand free to lie on the table close together so that their fingers could touch and play.

When Pete scratched his nails across the inside of Rodney's wrist, he got a sharp look across the table. He felt pinned by Rodney's eyes, and didn't look away as he signaled for the check. His chest was suddenly tight, his breathing speeding up.

The walk to the apartment seemed interminable, and they kept their hands to themselves in some sort of silent agreement. They didn't look at each other in the elevator, both facing forward and ignoring the other passengers, completely aware of one another. When they got to the door, Pete fumbled a little with his keys, almost dropping them when Rodney moved close and pressed his hips against Pete's ass.

As soon as they got inside, Pete pushed Rodney against the closed door and attacked his mouth. Rodney gave back as good as he got, and Pete backed down a little, letting Rodney take what he wanted, what he so obviously needed. He unzipped Rodney's fleece, then broke the kiss long enough to wrestle his sweater and both their tee shirts off. He moaned when Rodney dropped to his knees, then moaned again when he realized that he was only down there to untie Pete's boots.

Coming back to his feet, Rodney buried his head in Pete's shoulder and gave the skin there a series of sharp, stinging kisses - tongue and teeth. Pete made sounds he'd never heard himself make.

"Over the couch or in the bed?" Rodney asked, and Pete didn't get it at first. When he did, he couldn't help the shiver that ran through him.

"Oh, god, couch," he moaned. "Now."

He stood still as Rodney stripped the jeans and boxers and boots and socks away, standing back up to give him a single hard kiss on the lips before turning Pete to face the couch and pushing his shoulders down, kicking his feet apart.

"Supplies?" Rodney growled, and Pete dug his fingers into the couch cushions.

"Now," Pete said again, his voice cracking. "Please, Rodney."

Rodney kissed him between the shoulder blades. "Bareback?" His voice was hushed. "I mean, government job - full physical. I'm clean."

"God," Pete moaned. "You know there hasn't been anyone since you. Please, Rodney. Please fuck me."

Rodney pulled away for a second, and Pete was about to protest when he felt Rodney's tongue running wetly across the small of his back. Rodney kicked his feet even further apart, and his hands came up to Pete's ass, holding him open. Then Rodney leaned further in and licked.

It was hot and wet and dirty, and Pete knew he was blushing, possibly harder than he'd ever blushed in his life. But it felt so fucking good, especially when Rodney pushed his tongue inside. Suddenly, Pete got it - Rodney was making him wet and loose and then he was going to fuck the hell out of him over the back of his $9500 micro-suede sofa. And he was perfectly okay with that.

Rodney pulled back, and Pete could hear him undoing his pants, and wet noises like he was licking his palm. A couple of spit-slick fingers shoved in, and it hurt like hell, but it was so good. The fingers pulled out, and there were more wet noises, and Pete felt the hot, blunt head of Rodney's cock right at the crucial spot. He took a deep breath, then pushed back, and Rodney started to slide inside.

The spit was inadequate lube at best, but they were both so far gone that it didn't matter. Rodney shoved in harder, and Pete took it, feet braced on the floor and hands pulling at the front of the sofa. It was eerily silent, with the slap of Rodney's hips against Pete's ass the only sound, punctuated by groans and the occasional muffled incoherent sex noise.

Neither of them could last, and neither of them could get a hand free to touch Pete's cock. Turns out, they didn't need to, because Rodney found the perfect angle and Pete came hard against the back of the couch. A few more rough strokes and Rodney was there, too. When he folded over Pete's body, warm and heavy, Pete felt the rough rub of denim, and he realized that Rodney only got his jeans shoved down around the tops of his thighs before fucking him raw. He wiggled his shoulders and Rodney used the back of the couch for leverage to shift his weight off Pete.

"This is gonna hurt," Rodney said, and Pete braced himself. It did hurt when Rodney pulled out, and Pete was pretty sure he'd be sitting carefully for a while. It was worth it, though. Rodney handed him his discarded boxers, and Pete cleaned himself off. He stepped back and wiped ineffectually at the mess on the back of the sofa.

"Whoops," Rodney said, hitching his jeans up to his hips. They picked up the discarded clothes and dumped them on the foot of the bed. Pete found a pair of soft sweat pants and gingerly pulled them on. Rodney wrapped his arms around from behind, kissing the back of his neck. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

Pete leaned his head back against Rodney's shoulder. "Don't be sorry, I couldn't wait either. It felt good - nothing between us."

"You're sore, though, right?"

"Oh, hell yeah," Pete twisted his neck so he could land a kiss somewhere in the vicinity of Rodney's cheek. "I think you're going to have to be on the bottom for a while."

Rodney returned the kiss. "It'll be a sacrifice," he said, his lips quirking. "But I guess you're worth it."

Pete licked along Rodney's jaw line. "Yes," he said. "I'm totally worth it."

Pete let Rodney sleep late on Saturday morning. He got up to start the coffee, then paused for a moment to look at the stained couch. Back in the kitchen, he added "have sofa cleaned" to "buy Coke" and "haircut" on the list on the refrigerator. He was, as expected, moving a little more slowly than usual, but it was a good ache, reminding him of the way it had felt - Rodney inside him and both of them caught up in the moment.

He slipped back into the bedroom. Rodney was sprawled across the bed diagonally, only his head and feet outside the covers. Pete resisted the urge to tickle the exposed toes - Rodney needed the sleep. Instead, he gathered the dirty clothes on the floor and headed down the hall.

His wallet was still in the back pocket of his jeans from the night before, and he checked the pockets of the rest of the clothes. Rodney's wallet was in his jeans, along with a wad of money, loose change, seven paperclips and a slip of paper from a fortune cookie that said You will soon travel far. The orange fleece jacket yielded several more paperclips, a pen and the napkin Rodney had doodled on at dinner.

Pete started the washer and carried everything to the dining room table, pushing his own wallet to one side. He got himself a mug of coffee, then drifted back to the table, sitting down carefully. He wound up idly sorting through the little pile of stuff. The paperclips diverted him for a second, and he bent a few of them into a tiny abstract sculpture. He stacked the coins by denomination, then tapped the pen quietly on the table.

He poked the folded napkin with the pen, then batted it toward the stacks of change, which didn't topple. He slid the pen between the folds of paper, flicking at them. The napkin skidded across the table, stopping just shy of the edge. With a sigh and a guilty glance toward the bedroom door, Pete reached across the table. He unfolded the napkin and smoothed it down on the table in front of him.

After all of his angst about snooping, it turned out to be a simple doodle - triangles and squiggles, though they seem to be arranged in an orderly row. Pete was staring at it so intently that he didn't hear Rodney exit the bedroom until he reached up in a spine-cracking stretch.

"Hey," Rodney said, his voice rusty from sleep. "Whatcha doing?"

Pete stood up and walked to Rodney, wrapping his arms around strong shoulders and burying his face in Rodney's neck, pointedly not answering the question.

Rodney looked over his shoulder. "What's all the stuff?"

"Came out of the laundry," Pete said, letting Rodney back him toward the table. He turned around, feeling Rodney's hands fall down to his hips. "What is that?" he asked, pointing at the napkin.

Rodney hooked his chin over Pete's shoulder and looked down. "Nothing," he said, and Pete could hear disappointment in his voice. "Just seven useless symbols."

Pete stepped forward to touch one corner of the napkin. "Eight."

"No," Rodney said. "Seven."

Pete ran his finger along the row, tapping each one. "Eight. Rodney, I look at graphics for a living - these are eight discrete elements."

"Holy shit. Holy shit!"

And just like that, Rodney was fully awake, spinning Pete around and kissing him on the mouth. "You're a genius and I'm an idiot. You just figured out the greatest...well, I can't tell you. But the best minds in the world have been looking at that and seeing seven, and you - snooping through my laundry, even - see eight! Did I mention that you're a genius?"

Pete grinned and kissed back and was grateful that Rodney wasn't mad at him for looking at stuff he wasn't supposed to see, and being told he was a genius - by an actual genius was pretty damn cool. He almost fell when Rodney released him suddenly, catching himself on the edge of the table.

"I have to call...well, I have to call someone. I need a secure line." Rodney's fingers snapped frantically - Pete had never seen him so excited about anything. Rodney paced back and forth from the dining room to the living room, muttering under his breath.

"Cell phone, cell phone," he said snapping again. "Pete, where's my cell?"

"Bedroom," Pete said. "On the nightstand." He had no idea what was happening, but it was kind of fun to watch Rodney; he wondered if that was what he was like in the lab - animated, wild, happy.

Rodney came back from the bedroom and scrolled through the numbers in his phone, making a little sound of triumph when he found the one he needed. When he passed Pete on one of his circuits, he stopped to grab him around the waist, and Pete caught him in a hug. Rodney grinned at him and stayed there for a minute, before continuing his pacing.

"I need to speak to Daniel Jackson," he snapped into the phone. "Daniel Jackson, works for Jack O'Neill. Get him on the phone. Yes, yes, bureaucratic bullshit. This is Rodney McKay, get me Daniel Jackson. Yes, I'll hold."

Suddenly, Pete was pretty sure he knew what Rodney was like in his lab.

"Finally," Rodney said. "Daniel! I..." He stopped talking, one hand going to his forehead. "Okay, wait. Do you remember that puzzle we were talking about? The one with the seven pieces?" He listened for a moment, rolling his eyes. "Yes, now you remember. That puzzle. Try eight instead of seven."

Pete watched Rodney flinch, and he heard some sort of high-speed babble coming from the phone. "Eight, Daniel. Eight. Get on it and call me back when you know. Yes, goodbye." He snapped the phone shut and let his hands hang at his sides. "This could be it," he said. "This could be the breakthrough we need on the project."

"Okay," Pete said, and he thought that he understood the implications of that.

"We can go to...well, we can go. If you're right, we can go."

Rodney sounded so hushed, so reverent, that Pete didn't have the heart to make the connection for him - if he could go, it meant that he had to leave. He looked straight at Rodney, and he saw the moment when the penny dropped.

"Oh," Rodney said. "Oh, god. Pete." He set the phone on the table and pulled Pete toward him.

Pete let himself be pulled, Rodney's arms threading around his waist. His own arms wrapped Rodney's shoulders, but he refused to put his head down, and his eyes must have been stinging a little from New York pollution.

"How soon will he call you back?" Pete asked, as soon as he was sure his voice didn't sound funny.

"It'll be a while. Maybe tomorrow."

Pete stepped back slightly and kissed Rodney's temple. "Can we go back to bed?"

Rodney nodded and let himself be turned and pushed back into the bedroom. He went easily to the bed, and Pete figured out what was happening. Rodney was letting him do whatever he wanted, and he couldn't decide if it was a thank you or a consolation prize. The truth was, it didn't matter. Pete would take what he could get for as long as he could get it. They'd probably never get to be together, not for the long haul, but they could have right now.

It was Sunday afternoon, and Pete was on the road to nowhere again, but he was making excellent time. Rodney had left at 9:00. The call came late, when they were drowsing in bed, contemplating the merits of calling out for dinner or scrounging in the kitchen for PB&J. Rodney's cell phone had rung. He would be picked up by a government car, and he was to fly to Antarctica that same day.

And he did.

Pete was on the road, the Mustang all around him, sleek and fast, engine growling, tires hugging the curves. The wind buffeted his sunglasses and thrummed through his body.

He knew a few things about tomorrow. He knew that he would wake up alone and that Rick would come into his office and know. And it would be all sympathetic glances and coffee and muffins, and Pete just couldn't deal with it right now.

So he drove on.

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 weeks 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 tells 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."

That's about when they ran out of words, each sinking into thoughts about their last days before Atlantis, before the wonders of the world had unfolded and welcomed them with open arms and lights that came on at a touch. Ford and Teyla got ready to sleep, and as she passed him on the way to the tent, she squeezed Rodney's shoulder and gave him a gentle smile before leaning down to briefly touch their foreheads.

"I'll take first watch," Sheppard offered a few minutes later. "If you want to go to bed."

"In a minute," Rodney said. He picked up the stick that had made its way around the circle and used it to prod at the logs, making sparks fly up into the air. He followed them up until they died on the light wind.

Sheppard watched him do it. "You met someone?" he finally asked quietly.

"Yeah," Rodney said. "Did I tell you I was teaching? Duke University in North Carolina. I left the SGC after Siberia."

"Actual Siberia?"

"As opposed to metaphorical Siberia?" Rodney remembered a drunken Pete asking him the same thing the first night they'd met. "This from a man who liked Antarctica?"

"I liked the quiet," John said. "What was she like?"

Rodney gave a short laugh. "She was a he. Does that give you everything you need to know?"

"I'm not supposed to ask," Sheppard said, looking down at his hands.

Rodney looked across the few feet separating them, willing Sheppard to look up, wondering what he'd find on that usually guarded face. Rodney actually - unexpectedly - liked being a part of the team, and he didn't want his hasty revelation to jeopardize that. When Sheppard finally met his eyes, Rodney was happy to see that he looked honestly curious, even though he had that line between his eyebrows that said he was trying to figure something out.

"Do you really want to know, or are you freaked out enough by knowing I'm bisexual?" Rodney poked the fire again, acutely missing Pete and his boundless enthusiasm and his devastating kisses, so different from his amazing but lonely life in Atlantis.

Sheppard looked at him like he was some new species of alien, one that he hadn't quite figured out yet, and Rodney continued to wait. Finally, Sheppard's face smoothed out and he tilted his head slightly, his hands relaxing on his thighs. "What was he like?" he asked carefully.

Rodney had to laugh. "Just so I can be a total cliché - he was tall, dark and handsome. He was funny. And honest, though not on purpose - he said I made him lose his cool sometimes."

"Yeah," John said. "I know the feeling."

Rodney looked away from the fire, taking in John's sarcastic half-smirk. He thought about Pete again, tried to think of something he could say that would be meaningful without making him sound like too much of an idiot. He'd been a different person when he was with Pete - completely different from the person he was on Atlantis. "I could make him blush at the drop of a hat," he finally said. "And he made me act like less of an asshole, just because I wanted him to smile at me."

"Were you...were you in love with him?"

Rodney stood up and brushed off the back of his pants. "No," he said, tossing the stick onto the fire. "But I could have been, given some more time. We were good together." He turned toward Sheppard, noting the thoughtful frown was back on his face. "It would have been good. And I'd probably be a nicer person. He kind of made me want to be."

Rodney walked to the tent, only turning back once to see Sheppard frowning and staring into the fire, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. Rodney crawled inside and got comfortable in his sleeping bag, wondering if Pete was somewhere cool, driving really fast.

The next morning, on the way to the settlement, Rodney dropped back a little from the others. He was surprised when Sheppard did the same, falling back to walk alongside him.

"Um," Sheppard said, doing that lip-licking thing he did when he was nervous. "I just wanted...look, if you want to talk about it to someone, I just...I mean, you can talk to me. If you want to."

Rodney frowned at him. "Major, not to ruin your obviously painful and heartfelt offer, but what the hell are you talking about?"

"Pete," Sheppard said. "If you need to talk about him, I'll listen." He licked his lips again. "I know what it's like - to miss somebody and not be able to say anything about them to anyone."

"Oh," Rodney said, and then he added up what Sheppard was saying - that he, Sheppard, had once had someone in his life that he couldn't tell anyone about. "Oh. I um...thank you, Major. That's...well...I appreciate it."

The rest of the walk was quiet, and Rodney found himself looking more closely at Sheppard than he ever had before. Not that he'd never looked at him, but there were so many other things to study - the city, new planets, the unbelievable labs and the equipment that came with them. But now that he was thinking about it, he took the time to look. And it hit him.

Sheppard looked like Pete. Older, yes. Thinner - wiry where Pete was more solid. Sheppard's hair was a nightmare - tufty and weird and out of control. Pete's had been longer, thick and silky, like a waterfall running through Rodney's fingers. Pete's had flopped into his eyes, had made a dark parabola on Rodney's pillow and had brushed against his thighs when he'd had Pete on his knees in front of him. And every once in a while - like the day they had played with the personal shield - Sheppard had a smile just a little like Pete's. On Sheppard it was boyish; on Pete it had been a little smirky, but so open and free and happy. That was the main difference. Resemblance aside, Pete was so new to everything, and Sheppard was jaded - carrying too much weight for his slender shoulders. He suspected that Sheppard would have liked the Mustang, though.

They left the next day after a long and boring negotiation, and Rodney could almost feel Sheppard looking at him from time to time. It didn't feel bad or threatening, so he didn't mind. He found himself thinking about Pete, so he was sure that he was smiling. Little secretive smiles, holding the memory close to him, now that it had broken the surface.

He'd managed not to think much about Durham or Pete or New York for the six months they'd been in the Pegasus Galaxy. It wasn't that hard, not when every day was a new and frightening adventure, but it sneaked up on him sometimes.

On the mist planet, he'd found out that Sheppard wasn't the only one who could control his environment.

He'd watched TV and eaten 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."

The knowledge that it hadn't been real haunted him until the storm and Kolya wrenched his attention away.

The day he'd nearly died from the nanovirus, he thought about Pete. He remembered smiles and touches and the way Pete felt heavy and warm sleeping in his arms, because he'd wanted to die with a happy thought.

A couple of nights after the memorial services for Dumais and the others, Sheppard stopped by the lab. Rodney looked up from his laptop, confused as to why the lab was empty.

"It's three in the morning, McKay. Everyone's gone to bed." Sheppard was doing that thing he did, leaning nonchalantly in the doorway.

"Oh," Rodney said. "I should probably sleep, then. Right? Sleep?"

Sheppard laughed. "Yes, sleep. Come on - I'll make sure you don't wander off." He waited for Rodney to close his laptop, then led him from the room with a hand barely touching Rodney's elbow.

"Can we stop by the mess?" Rodney asked. "They have a stash of hot chocolate mix and I know where it is."

"Really?" Sheppard seemed excited about that, so much that Rodney smiled at him. Sheppard's return smile was one of the rare ones. The real ones; the ones that reached his eyes, and it made Rodney's chest hurt to see it. He had to look away quickly.

The hot chocolate was found and made, and Rodney hopped up to sit on one of the kitchen's stainless-steel counters. Sheppard leaned against it next to him.

"He liked baseball," Rodney said. He drank another sip of his chocolate. "And he went to a hockey game with me."

"That's cool." Sheppard kept his expression neutral, just letting Rodney talk.

"We would send goofy emails to each other, and it wasn't as lame as it sounds." Rodney cut his eyes at Sheppard, ready to defend the silly emails if Sheppard had anything to say about it. "It was just nice. I remember one of them. There was a going-away party, and I asked if he wanted me to meet him there, and he said no, that he'd come home and get me. I liked that he thought of my house as home."

"That sounds nice," Sheppard said, and there wasn't any sarcasm in his voice.

"What about you?" Rodney said, then paused. "You don't have to tell me; I know that's a big issue with you."

"Not my issue," Sheppard said. "I'm not exactly known for following the rules." He sighed and resettled his lean, crossing his arms over his chest as best he could while still holding his mug. "His name was David."

The silence stretched out, and Rodney drank the last of his hot chocolate. He hopped down from the counter and turned to the sink to rinse the mug. He felt Sheppard come up behind him and a hand with a mug in it appeared over the edge of the sink. Rodney took the mug and rinsed it.

"We knew each other in Afghanistan. Then I got sent to Antarctica." Rodney could hear the finality in Sheppard's voice.

"There was no way..."

Sheppard cut him off. "People who ever wanted to get promoted again didn't want to be associated with me."

"I'm sorry," Rodney said, unwittingly repeating Teyla's words. When he looked up, Sheppard was back in his slouch against the counter, his face closed, looking nothing like Pete at all.

"Me, too," he said, and Rodney could tell that the conversation was over.

They walked back to the residence corridor, and Sheppard watched him walk into his room. Rodney wanted to say something, but he was out of words, and the door slid shut between them.

The occasional conversations continued. They would happen at odd moments whenever Rodney and Sheppard found themselves alone, and they always started out with some sort of sudden memory.

"He had brown eyes," Sheppard said one day in the puddlejumper. "He was one of the best pilots I'd ever seen."

"I was the first guy he was ever with," Rodney said from under a console in a deserted room deep inside the city. "Give me that wrench."

"Recruiting, were you?" Sheppard handed over the wrench.

"Little bit," Rodney conceded. "He was nice to be around. We could have been good friends even if there wasn't anything else."

"He was bigger than me." Sheppard said, leaning against the corner of a barn-like structure after Teyla had thrown them out of a negotiation. "Taller, bigger shoulders, heavier. He was solid." Rodney made a non-committal sound. "He liked to hang out with the guys; he was always trying to get me to be more social." Sheppard kicked at the hay-like stuff on the ground. "I kinda liked it when it was just us."

Rodney sat across the table from Sheppard in the mostly-deserted mess long after the normal dinner hour, eating MRE's - Shepard grudgingly and Rodney with gusto. "The first time we ever went out to lunch, he threatened to kill me with lemon chicken."

On the mainland, at yet another Athosian harvest festival: "When there were movies, he'd sit next to me and just sort of let our knees touch. It was like a secret." John drank his third cup of homebrewed something.

Rodney tossed back his own third cup. "We both had the same nickname - The Killer. Us and Jerry Lee Lewis."

John laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. "I'll be sure to mention that in the lab one day soon."

Rodney scowled. "Ass."

On a deserted balcony, looking out at the water: "We got leave at the same time and spent five days in Hawaii. He taught me how to surf." John's fingers held the rail a little tighter than necessary.

Another time in the kitchen at 4:00 in the morning: "I blew off his ex-girlfriend and told her I was working on making him gay."

John choked on his hot chocolate.

"When we both left Durham, I gave him my car." The cave was cold and dark, and Rodney was trying to distract John from a badly wrenched shoulder.

After a long pause, John leaned against him. "He must have been good in bed."

Rodney moved even closer, to share some of his body heat. "It was a brand new Mustang."

"I take it back," John said. "He must have been great in bed."

After team night, in the lounge, well after Teyla and Ford's departure: "When I got transferred, he didn't bother to say goodbye." John sounded bitter. "How long were you and Pete together?"

"Nine days. You and David?"

"Eighteen months."

"So," Rodney said, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees. "It sucks to be us."

"Yeah. Yeah, it does."

One night, Rodney showed up at Sheppard's door. "Can I come in?" He could feel his heart beating wildly.

"Sure," Sheppard said. "Are you okay?"

"Probably not," Rodney said. "I need to tell you something."

Sheppard let him in and thought the door closed. "All right, tell me."

"You look like Pete. Or, he looks like you. Not exactly, but there's a definite resemblance." Rodney stopped to take a breath and to look at Sheppard's face to gauge his reaction.

"Is that why you've been talking to me?" Sheppard's face was carefully blank.

"God, no!" Rodney moved closer and lifted a hand, maybe to put it on Sheppard's shoulder. Then he remembered that this was Sheppard, who shied away from casual touches, not Pete, who would have leaned into it and moved closer instantly. He put the hand in his pocket. "I like talking to you. We're friends, right?"

Sheppard nodded. "Yeah. So why are you telling me this now?"

Rodney thought about it. "Um...I'm not actually sure. I just thought it was something you should know."

"Well, okay." Sheppard's eyebrows drew together. "So now I know."

Rodney didn't have anything to say to that, so he left awkwardly and went to bed.

An airman delivered the DVD. He made Pete show ID first, which he did. He left it on top of the TV for a couple of days, days in which he lost some of the equilibrium he'd gained over the past seven months. Rick was the only one who noticed, because everyone else at the office was used to the Killer - quick, cold, collected and ruthless. Nobody resists, nobody gets hurt. Even Nina, back from exile, left Pete alone. She admired his drive and the results it garnered, and she only ever asked about Rodney once.

Finally, he had a bourbon for old times' sake, parked himself on the couch - which was pretty much the only place he ever sat in the apartment - and finally opened the plastic case with a label bearing nothing but his name. The front of the disc was blank. He put the DVD in, sat back down, and pushed "play." It was, of course, Rodney. He looked good. Tired, but good. His hair was a little shorter than Pete remembered, and he was wearing some sort of uniform, khaki pants with a bright blue shirt that matched his eyes. He looked straight at the camera when he spoke, and his mouth was a soft, down turned curve.

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 didn't really have a lot of time together. But all of it was good. 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.

The DVD ended, and Pete watched the snow for a while. He laughed a little when he found himself wondering who the hell Ford was, and he drank half the bottle of bourbon. The next morning, Rick took one look at him and turned around, coming back a half-hour later with coffee, and pointedly didn't ask.

When the siege was all over, the city was still smoking, the ZPM was in its rightful place - and Ford was not. Everyone walked around lost in their own heads, reviewing every decision and finding themselves wanting. Rodney stood in his lab and watched new systems come on line and supervised repairs and felt hollow inside.

He saw the same hollowness in Elizabeth's face when she stood on the balcony and watched the smoke still wafting up from parts of the beautiful, damaged city. Sheppard skulked around, coming and going like he couldn't find a place to be still. He took the worst of the damage-control tasks for himself, coming back covered in soot and water, obviously exhausted. Still, Rodney would see him walking the halls at night, or sometimes leaning restlessly in the doorway to the lab. He would nod at Rodney before leaving, but they didn't talk.

Eventually, the request came down from Stargate Command; Elizabeth and Sheppard and Rodney were needed on Earth for debriefing, so they stepped through the wormhole - exhausted and battered but unbeaten.

Pete was back to what passed for normal. More or less. He'd stopped sleeping only on one side of the bed. It had taken him months, but he was back to sprawling diagonally, taking up as much of the empty space as he could. He still had the napkin. He kept in the kitchen drawer, and periodically thought he should throw it away, but he never did.

It wasn't a huge surprise when he heard a knock on his door at 10:00 at night - Rick's mother-henning had expanded to epic proportions, and he would frequently drop by to check on Pete. Despite the fact that he lived 30 blocks away.

Pete disengaged the locks and opened the door slowly, and Rodney was standing there, looking thinner and tireder and somehow smaller.

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

Rodney nodded. "Can I come in?"

"Of course." Pete took his arm carefully, leading him inside, his heart in his throat. He got Rodney inside and the only thing he could do was pull him forward for a kiss, one of those gentle kisses he was so good at, the ones Pete has dreamed about for months.

"How did you get past the doorman?" Pete asked.

Rodney laughed. "Money talks. Plus, he recognized me, I think."

A thousand questions ran through Pete's head, questions about where Rodney had been at what the message meant and why he looked so damned tired. Instead, he asked the most important question of all. "How long can you stay?"

Rodney sat 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."

Turned out, they were good at a week. It gave them time to do things that seemed so foreign to Rodney. They went to the movies, and when Rodney couldn't decide between Red Vines and Milk Duds, Pete bought him one of each and kissed him with chocolate and caramel-flavored tongue during the previews. They cooked dinner. Rodney looked at the peppers and onions like they were something precious as he chopped them up, and if there were more tears on his cheeks than the onion warranted, Pete made sure he didn't notice.

They slept late, and Pete had to tug Rodney away from the edge of the bed and into the spacious middle. They went to a bar, and Rodney drank three Canadian beers with such relish that it made Pete hard and they made out in the taxi home like a couple of horny teenagers.

They walked in Pete's neighborhood and in the park, and Rodney looked at everything with big eyes, as if seeing them for the first or last time.

Pete never mentioned the way Rodney shied away from crowds, simply positioning himself to shield him from the worst of it or hailing taxis to get them away. Pete noticed the way Rodney never wanted to go out in the rain. He watched Rodney as he stared moodily at a mild storm from the window before pushing the drapes back into place, jumping at each muffled bang of thunder.

When Rodney sometimes woke up in the middle of the night clutching his chest with a strangled scream, Pete wrapped his shaking body in his arms and gentled him back to sleep. Rodney froze at loud noises, and his hand dropped down to his thigh as though he was reaching for something that wasn't there; Rodney paid attention to his surroundings with wary eyes and wouldn't sit with his back to the door in public places.

Pete gave him everything, and Rodney took it as if he was greedy for life, for contact. They shared showers, and Pete tenderly washed the raised scar on the inside of Rodney's arm and never asked, though he kissed the scar up and down, and sometimes covered it with his palm when they were on the couch or in bed.

Pete ran his fingers through Rodney's hair, never noting that there was less of it, and Rodney leaned into it like a touch-starved cat.

They fucked in every combination they could think of and a few they were pretty sure they invented - morning, noon and night and in every room of the apartment, though Pete drew the line at the small kitchen and its limited counter space. Most of the time it was frantic and fast, both of them skin-hungry and desperate, but sometimes they lingered, lost in a sensual haze.

Rodney frequently pulled Pete down on the bed or sofa to run gentle fingers through his hair or to spoon their bodies together in a close curl, his nose buried in the hair at the back of Pete's neck, his hands mapping the contours of chest and ribs and arms and hands. He let Pete do the same, though it took him three days to relax. Pete learned to make a lot of noise if he came up behind Rodney.

They didn't talk much about anything more important than what to have for dinner or whether or not to get out of bed. Everything Rodney had to say was classified, and everything Pete had to say seemed pointless. It didn't matter - the quiet suited both of them.

Six days later, Rodney had to leave.

Rodney was beamed up to the Daedalus with the newly minted Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard on one side and Elizabeth on the other. Sheppard very nearly bounced with excitement, and Elizabeth looked as pensive as Rodney felt. They greeted Colonel Caldwell - sour as ever - and found their quarters, which were small and cramped. Rodney looked around the claustrophobic space and dropped his bag on the floor. He sat down on the narrow bunk and lowered his head into his hands, replaying one of the last things Pete had said to him. They had been on the sofa, waiting for the car that would pick Rodney up and whisk him away to the airport. Pete reached over and took his hand, leaning their shoulders together.

"I know what you're doing is dangerous. I know that you might not make it back here. So, if you find someone there who can make you happy; don't miss the chance, Rodney, not because of me, okay?"

There was a short knock on his door before the panel slid open to reveal Sheppard, doing that leaning thing he always did. He took in Rodney's dejected pose and stepped into the tiny room. He leaned forward with a soft smile. "Wanna go watch Earth get little in the window?" he asked.

Rodney rubbed his hands over his face and looked up. And then he really looked. He blinked a couple of times, then took Sheppard's proffered hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. He followed Sheppard, a half-smile on his face.