But when he'd sat there listening to Rodney explain what had happened with Gaul -- how Brendan had fucking shot himself, and John didn't want to think about that, but he had to, because if Brendan hadn't done it, and done it then, chances were good John wouldn't have even been alive to attend the debriefing -- he'd felt sick. Imagining it was one thing. The utter despair Gaul must have felt, the knowledge that he was as good as dead and there was nothing anyone could do about it, the unbelievable jolt of horror that had to have gone through Rodney when he'd turned and seen what Gaul had done... that was something else.

The worst had to be the guilt that Rodney was feeling, which was clear in his eyes even though he was doing his best to keep his voice flat, to relay what had happened with as little emotion as possible.

Rodney's voice was flat, but his eyes...

John was so distracted watching Rodney that the meeting ended without him realizing it, and then Rodney slipped from the room before he could even stand up. Elizabeth stopped John and said something to him, something about remembering to let Dr. Beckett look at his arm again tomorrow -- Carson had wrapped it up as soon as they'd gotten back -- and John agreed, only half-listening. Right then he was more worried about talking to McKay, and making sure he was all right, than he was about his arm.

"Good." Elizabeth was looking at him with that expression she had, the one that said she knew exactly what was going on. She tilted her head toward the door. "Go on."

John went.

His arm ached annoyingly as he headed toward Rodney's quarters. He hoped it wasn't going to get infected or anything. That'd probably take him out of commission for at least a week.

He banged on Rodney's door. "Rodney?"

The voice that called back to him sounded quavering... off, somehow. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. Thanks for stopping by!"

"I want to talk to you," John said. He would have crossed his arms, but Rodney couldn't see him through the closed door, and it would have hurt anyway.

"I was just going to get some sleep," Rodney called. "We can talk some other time."

"Or we can talk right now, with me shouting through the door," John said, raising his voice in a way that was designed to attract attention.

The door opened. "Okay, okay, fine," Rodney said, turning away. "Come in."

"Thanks." John stepped inside, waiting until the door had shut before saying anything else. "Why didn't you tell me about Gaul?"

"What do you mean, why didn't I tell you? Weren't you in the briefing room with everyone else?" Rodney was doing something fiddly with clothes, folding them, unfolding them, something. He glanced up at John, then back down again.

"You know that's not what I meant. We were in the jumper for fifteen hours, Rodney."

"Yes, I'm perfectly aware of how long the trip was, thank you," Rodney said. He was pacing, looking everywhere but at John. "Now, if you'll be so kind as to leave and let me get some sleep -- "

"Yeah, you really look like you're ready to drop off any second." There was heat in John's voice; he couldn't help it. It wasn't that he didn't expect Rodney to act like a jerk, because Rodney was a jerk. But considering what they'd just been through, he would have thought...

Oh.

Sometimes, John realized, he could be a real ass.

"What happened," he said slowly, "wasn't your fault."

"Oh good. That's just great." Rodney still wasn't looking at him. "Thank you. I feel so much better now."

"You could have fooled me." John wanted to say something helpful, but damned if he could figure out what that might be. "Look... sometimes stuff happens."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "You've been taking lessons from Lieutenant Ford, haven't you."

"What?" John frowned. 

"Just do me a favor and spare me the lectures, Major. Save them for someone who cares." Rodney turned away.

"You are someone who cares," John said, hands clenching around empty air in absence of anything else to tighten on. Rodney's shoulders straightened, but he didn't turn around. "Don't lie to me and tell me that you don't. I know better. It's eating you up inside that Brendan killed himself on your watch, isn't it. You think it's your fault."

"Of course it's my fault!" Rodney said, raising his voice and turning around. His eyes glittered with emotion. "I'm the one that put the gun in his hand! Who else's fault could it possibly be?"

"Mine, because I told you to do it?" John suggested. "Did you ever think about blaming me?" Not that he wanted Rodney to blame him, necessarily, but it'd probably be better than Rodney blaming himself when there was no way he could have known what had been going through Gaul's head.

"No, because you weren't the one that showed him his reflection!" Rodney sounded anguished. "You weren't there to hear him when he saw how he looked. And you weren't there when he... when he..." Rodney's throat worked as he swallowed, still fighting the tears that were obviously threatening to overwhelm him.

"When he shot himself," John finished for him. "Rodney... maybe I wasn't there, but I can imagine how he must have been feeling. And I can imagine what it must have been like for you."

"Really? Can you? Can you imagine what he looked like with a gigantic hole in his head and his brains splattered all over the -- " Rodney whirled around and faced the wall, cursing under his breath, hands clenched into fists. 

Anyone else would have punched the wall, but Rodney wasn't just anyone.

John waited, but Rodney didn't say anything else, and he didn't turn back around. After a minute, John stepped closer, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. "It's not your fault," he said again, wishing he could think of something better to say, something more reassuring.

"Maybe not, but it feels like it is," Rodney said hoarsely.

"That doesn't make it true." Feeling helpless, John brought his other hand up to join the first, squeezing Rodney's shoulders. Rodney was tense and trembling. Gently, John turned him around. "Come on. You have to stop beating yourself up about this."

Rodney swiped his hands over his eyes. "I'm fine, okay? I'm just... I'm overtired, that's all."

"You're full of shit," John said, as nicely as he could. He guided Rodney over to the bed and sat down with him. "There's nothing wrong with admitting you're upset. It's natural to be upset. In fact, I'd think there was something wrong with you if you weren't."

"I don't want to be!" Rodney snapped. "I just want to stop thinking about it. Which was why I was planning to go to sleep, so that I wouldn't have to."

"You're too wound up," John said. Rodney turned his head and looked at him, and John realized just then how close they were sitting; their thighs were touching, and one of his hands was still on Rodney's shoulder. Rodney's eyes were startlingly blue this close up.

"Well, people that I'm supposed to be taking care of don't shoot themselves all that often," Rodney said. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Look, we've been up for, what, thirty-six hours or something? I just need to get some sleep." He offered John a strained smile. "Go on, get out of here before I say something really rude."

"Come on, Rodney," John said, sliding his hand from Rodney's shoulder down to his arm. "You don't really want to be alone right now, do you?" He was thinking that they could go and get a cup of... okay, maybe not coffee because then neither of them would be getting sleep any time soon, but something.

Rodney leaned forward and kissed him.

It was so unexpected that John didn't pull away or protest. He just let it happen, with his eyes still open and Rodney's mouth tasting faintly like chalky chocolate power bar against his. When Rodney opened his eyes and looked at him, John was startled all over again at the sharp blue surrounding Rodney's wide black pupils. There were little lines around Rodney's eyes that made him look just as tired as he probably was. 

"Sorry," Rodney said. "I'm sorry. I didn't -- um, do you think we could just blame that on the being tired?"

"Sure," John said, because it seemed to him like that was what Rodney wanted to do, and right then he was all about doing what Rodney wanted to do. Even, he had to admit, if it was kiss him. "I mean, if that's what you want."

"I just assumed it was what you'd want," Rodney said. "Isn't it?"

"I don't know," John said. "It's not that simple." It wasn't, but he wasn't sure that was the point.

"No, of course not. Nothing ever is," Rodney said. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. "Look, I should probably go to sleep while I can still be thankful that your first reaction wasn't to punch me in the face."

"Yeah," John said, deeply disturbed by the image because he'd never have hit Rodney. "I'll go." But Rodney's hand, he realized, was resting on his knee, and Rodney didn't move it. "I should go."

"Yes, yes. You should." Rodney's eyes, which had been studying John's face, looked away, his hand pulling back suddenly like he'd come to some conclusion. "I'm sure I'll see you tomorrow." His voice was flat again, his shoulders slumped in what John was pretty sure was defeat, and John didn't think he could stand that.

He took Rodney's face, Rodney's familiar, annoying, brilliantly expressive face between his hands and kissed him, filled with the desire to make things better for Rodney, to drive that flat quality out of his voice and the tormented look from his eyes, to save him.

Rodney clung to him, one hand on John's waist and the other on his back, pulling him closer. Rodney kissed just like he did everything else -- with an intensity that was somehow focused and distracted at the same time. It was weird, John thought, to be the object of Rodney's attention like that, but he certainly wouldn't have been able to deny that he liked it, any more than he'd have denied that he liked kissing Rodney.

He'd never kissed another man before today, and yet somehow it felt like something John had been doing all his life. He wanted to keep doing it, and if the way Rodney was kissing him back was any indication, so did Rodney. 

John slid his hand around to the back of Rodney's neck and used his lips to open Rodney's mouth wider. He liked the little sounds Rodney was making -- little happy sounds.

After a few minutes, John pulled away far enough so that he could look at Rodney's slightly flushed face. They were both breathing heavily, and John was hard inside his slacks. "What?" Rodney said. "Is this... are you not... I hope this isn't one of those things."

John frowned. "One of what things?" He was transfixed by the sight of Rodney's lips.

"I don't know, one of those -- " Rodney got up and paced away from the bed -- Holy shit, John thought. I've just been making out with Rodney on his bed -- then turned and looked at him. "One of those things where you feel sorry for me."

The thing was, John did feel kind of sorry for Rodney, and from the expression on Rodney's face it seemed pretty clear that that was obvious by the silence in which John tried to think of something to say that wouldn't make things worse.

"This isn't what I want," Rodney said quietly. And without another word, he turned and walked out of his quarters, leaving John sitting there alone.

It took John an hour to find Rodney, and that was only because he was stupid. He should have known that Rodney would be in his lab, hunched over his computer and typing furiously. By the time John walked in there, Rodney's eyes were bloodshot and his lips pressed thin, and he didn't even look up at John.

"I'm busy," Rodney said. "Go away."

"We need to talk," John said.

"Yes, well, that would be where being busy takes precedence," Rodney said, still not lifting his eyes from the computer screen. It amazed John that he could hold a conversation and continue typing at the same time. "Some other time."

"No," John said. "Now."

Rodney looked up at him.

"Please," John added. 

Rodney blinked and sighed and hit a couple of keys on the laptop before closing it. "Okay, fine." He leaned back on his stool and crossed his arms over his chest. "What?"

John took a deep breath and let it out. "I don't know what you want from me."

"Oh, come on, Major, I know you're not that stupid," Rodney said. "I'm pretty sure you know exactly what I want from you; unfortunately, you're only interested in giving it to me as some sort of consolation prize for having had the misfortune of witnessing a colleague's suicide."

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

"No? Really?" Rodney tilted his head to one side, eyes narrowed. "Then what is it?"

"It's... I..." John frowned. "This isn't easy for me, you know."

"What, having a conversation?" There was no hint of understanding in Rodney's voice. "Do I need to remind you that it was your idea?"

"No," John said, drawing the word out slowly because that gave him more time to think. "But you could try cutting me some slack." He sounded, he realized belatedly, like an asshole, and he quickly backpedaled, putting as much sincerity into his voice as he could. "I wasn't trying to hurt you. I wouldn't do that."

"I know," Rodney said, looking at everything in the room but John.

John swallowed. The urge to touch Rodney again was strong and confusing. "I thought you were going to get some sleep."

"I know," Rodney said again. "I should. So should you, actually."

"I'll make a deal with you," John suggested. "I'll walk you back to your quarters, okay?" Out loud like that it didn't sound like much of an offer, not the way it felt inside.

"Will there be more talking?" Rodney asked. He looked exhausted. "Because I don't think I can take any more talking. I'm just... I'm tired."

John took a deep breath and said what he had to say because Rodney deserved to know. "Look, I've been thinking, and... I think there's a possibility I like you. In the like-like kind of way. You know?"

"Oh please; save it for someone who cares," Rodney said, like he hadn't heard what John had just said. "You're -- " He paled suddenly. "I -- um. You. What?"

"I don't think I can say it again," John said. His hands were shaking; he put them into his pockets and clenched them into fists, trying to get the trembling to stop.

"I don't --" Rodney swallowed and licked his lips. "I don't know how I'm supposed to respond to something like that."

"Well, not laughing at me's a start," John said. Then, all in a rush, it came out. "I watch you. A lot. When you're busy doing stuff and can't catch me doing it. I watch how your hands move when you're working. I watch how they move when you talk. And I watch your mouth... your lips... your eyes." He shrugged, lifting his shoulders without taking his hands out of his pockets. It felt safer that way. "I like looking at you."

Rodney's eyes searched his, but Rodney didn't say anything.

"I liked kissing you," John admitted.

"Yes, well... I liked kissing you, too," Rodney said. "Maybe... maybe we could do it again some time, when we're both less... tired." 

"I'm not tired," John said. It wasn't exactly true, but it was the closest he could come to acknowledging that it was sheer terror that was keeping him standing where he was instead of going over to Rodney.

"Don't be ridiculous," Rodney said, so gently that he hardly sounded like himself. "I'm trying to give you an easy out here. I'm not always this nice, you know; you should take me up on it."

"Rodney..." John didn't think he'd ever felt this helpless in his life, and his heart was pounding in his chest. When Rodney came toward him his relief was so intense that he felt weak in the knees.

None of this fit into anything John knew about himself. It was like lifting up a mirror and seeing someone else's face in it.

"Major," Rodney said, and just... hugged him.

For the first three seconds, John was surprised, but then he put his arms around Rodney and hugged him back. Rodney was solid and warm against him. "I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be comforting you," John told Rodney's neck.

"This is good," Rodney murmured. "I feel very comforted."

"So," John said, about a minute later. "You think I could walk you back to your quarters?" He was trembling with the need to do more than just hug Rodney; he wanted to touch him, to kiss him, to take off all his clothes, and -- 

"No," Rodney said, pulling back. "Not if you aren't sure. Okay? Because... I like you, a lot, and that doesn't happen very often for me. I know you have friends all over Atlantis; you're probably friends with people I don't even know exist. I'm lucky if I know the names of the people I work with every day. And this -- us. I don't want to lose that. It's too important to me."

John hadn't let go of Rodney, but he nodded. "I wouldn't do that."

"What? Go all awkward and decide you couldn't be in the same room with me if we did something you ended up regretting?" Rodney's grin was crooked and maybe a little bit unhappy. "Let's just say I don't want to take any chances, okay? Think about it some more."

As John left the lab and headed back to his quarters, alone, he was pretty sure that thinking about it was all he'd be doing.

John Sheppard had never had feelings for another man before. He'd never even been attracted to another man before. There were two dramatic and somewhat unsettling firsts here, twisted up into one brilliant and sometimes-annoying scientist, and John wasn't sure what to do with either of them, or with Rodney.

The last thing he wanted to do, after Rodney's confession in the lab, was to treat him any differently, so for the most part he concentrated on acting the same way he always had. He still snarked at Rodney when the physicist was being irritating, and he still rolled his eyes when one of Rodney's attacks of hypochondria made him the center of attention.

But at night, in bed... that's when things were different. That was when John couldn't sleep, when he worried about Rodney -- about whether the other man's blood pressure was too high because of how tense he was all the time, about whether Rodney would eat the wrong thing and drop dead in front of him. He worried that Rodney had too much responsibility on his shoulders, and that by being on the team Rodney was being put into situations where he was too far out of his element.

And in his dreams, John kissed Rodney, and undressed him, and John woke up gasping with his throbbing cock in his fist and a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He wished he'd known he was gay -- or bisexual, probably better to stick with that term since it was a little less final -- sooner, before Rodney. Because John was pretty sure Rodney deserved a hell of a lot better than a man who didn't know what to do with him in bed, and that just added another layer of guilt to the whole equation.

Two weeks after they'd come back from the mission where Gaul died, John got up in the middle of the night and went to Rodney's quarters. It was almost three in the morning. He didn't knock; just told the door to open up, and it obeyed, acquiescent in the presence of the gene. 

John wished everything were that easy.

He knelt on the floor beside Rodney's bed and just looked at him for a long time. Asleep, Rodney was peaceful in a way he never was awake; his eyelashes were dark against his pale skin and his lips looked lush and full.

"Rodney," John whispered, feeling spellbound.

Rodney jolted awake, jerking away from John. "What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing. Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," John said soothingly, reaching out to touch Rodney's upper arm. It was surprisingly firm under the tight fit of Rodney's T-shirt.

"Jesus," Rodney said, rubbing his face. "What do you mean, you didn't mean to scare me? You come sneaking into my room in the middle of the night and I'm supposed to think that -- are you sure nothing's wrong?" Rodney sounded suspicious. 

It made John want to kiss him.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I just... I needed to talk to you."

"And you couldn't have waited until morning like a sensible person?" Rodney complained. "You're lucky I don't sleep with a gun under my pillow; I could have shot you."

That made John smile, because he could have stopped Rodney from going for a weapon easily enough. "Well, then, I guess it's my lucky day."

Rodney was watching him now, eyes serious, and John couldn't stand it anymore. He leaned forward, slowly, giving Rodney every chance to move away, to pull back, but if anything Rodney moved toward him, meeting his mouth in a gentle kiss that was way too short as far as John was concerned. 

"Could we try that again?" he asked, and Rodney nodded.

This time the kiss went on and on, their lips pressed together, parting, the taste of Rodney faint but better than anything else John had ever tasted. His hand found its way into Rodney's hair, his dick got hard almost immediately, and John knew there was no turning back. He liked Rodney, and he wanted Rodney, and as far as he could tell Rodney wanted him. There wasn't any point in denying it or running from it, no matter how much it scared John.

"It's okay," Rodney said gently, when they'd stopped again. 

"Is it?" John could hear the tremor in his voice; he licked his lower lip. "Because I think I might be kind of freaking out, here."

"Huh. Really." Rodney sounded perplexed; he reached out and patted John's shoulder, awkwardly, as if he didn't know how to do it. "I always thought heroes didn't freak out."

"Who told you that?" John asked, momentarily distracted. "Wait -- who says I'm a hero?"

"Everyone," Rodney said. He sounded almost smug. "Well, everyone knows that you're a hero. I'm not sure anyone comes right out and says it, but it's a generally accepted fact."

John wasn't sure he liked the idea of 'everyone' knowing stuff about him. Actually, he was pretty sure he didn't. "I'm allowed to freak out," he said.

"It's not a question of being allowed," Rodney said. "Do you think I could kiss you again?"

Weak with relief, John nodded and leaned closer. They kissed some more, slowly, and after a while he realized that he was feeling less freaked out. Less freaked out, and more turned on, and somehow his hand had found its way to Rodney's hip, and the blanket had slid down and Rodney's T-shirt and cotton boxers were soft, like they'd been washed too many times.

"I'm getting a crick in my neck," Rodney said a little while later. "Come up here."

John hesitated.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want," Rodney promised, shifting back and making room. "But this is killing me -- I won't be able to move tomorrow if we keep this up." As John moved to sit on the edge of the bed, Rodney's hand settled on his waist. It felt big and warm and solid there. John liked it.

Rodney pulled John down on top of him; John liked that, too. He liked being able to rub his dick against Rodney's thigh, and he liked the way Rodney's mouth tasted, and the way Rodney's hands were impatient without being threatening, pushing his shirt up and rubbing his back. 

"Is this okay?" Rodney asked, and John nodded and shoved harder against Rodney's hip bone; it kind of hurt, but it was a good hurt. 

"Yeah, it's okay." He groaned into Rodney's mouth. "Better than okay. It's good. It's... do you think we could take off our clothes?"

Lying on top of Rodney when they were both naked was a whole different ball game. The crease between Rodney's thigh and groin was damp with sweat, and Rodney's pubic hair was soft when John's shaft slid against it. Rodney's hands were on John's ass, kneading determinedly, as they kissed again and again. 

"You can fuck me if you want to," Rodney gasped, wet lips pressed to the side of John's mouth, and John's cock liked that idea so much that he almost came right then. He had to reach down and grip himself, hard, at the base, shuddering, until the worst of it passed.

"I think that's pretty much a given," John said. "Wanting to, I mean. Are you sure?"

"I'm not a virgin," Rodney said irritably. "Just because I don't, in general, like people, and they don't like me, doesn't mean I haven't had sex."

John stifled the sudden urge to laugh. "I never said you hadn't."

"Or I could fuck you," Rodney said, with a hopefulness that was flattering and alarming at the same time. "Or we could -- here, let me -- " He slid down the bed and started to suck on John's cock, one finger rubbing teasingly against John's asshole, and that was around the time John's eyes rolled back into his head and he completely lost control of what was happening, and what was more, he didn't care, because Rodney was there, Rodney knew what to do, Rodney would take care of everything.

When Rodney slid inside him, thick and so wet with lube that John didn't feel more than the slightest twinge of pain, though, that was when Rodney's confidence faltered. "Is this -- are you -- I don't want to hurt you." Rodney's voice was tight with the strain of not moving.

"It's fine," John said. "It doesn't. You aren't." He wasn't even sure what he'd just said, but some of it had to make sense. 

"I don't want to hurt you," Rodney said again, and John looked at Rodney, really looked at him, and understood.

He couldn't move because Rodney's weight had him effectively pinned to the bed, but he flexed his lower body and watched Rodney's face, saw as pure bliss softened the lines around Rodney's eyes and parted his lips. "You're not hurting me," John said. "Honest."

And Rodney licked his lips and started to move. It was slow and careful at first; John's cock, which had softened when Rodney entered him, filled up again until it was hard against his belly, twitching with each of Rodney's thrusts. Then Rodney shifted his grip on John and went at it from a slightly different angle and John just... went to pieces. Rodney was gasping out words above him, and John was groaning more loudly than he probably should have been, and he came harder than he ever had in his life, all in a hot rush that he didn't realize until later had been Rodney coming, too.

He couldn't bring himself to let go of Rodney, after. He just wrapped his arms and legs around him and refused to let go, and for a while that seemed to be okay with Rodney because Rodney didn't try to move away. Rodney's breath was hot against John's neck, some of his weight propped up on an elbow that was digging into John's ribs, but all John could think was how relieved he was, that it was okay, that they were okay, that Rodney was okay, and in the end, really, wasn't that all that mattered?

But in a little while, Rodney cleared his throat and lifted himself off of -- and out of, which was accompanied by an unpleasant sensation that made John wince -- John. For a few seconds John felt something close to panic, but Rodney just settled himself down beside John, one leg thrown over him casually, like he belonged there in Rodney's bed.

"If you don't say something soon I'm going to develop a complex," Rodney said, his mouth close to John's ear. "And really, you know how I am. The last thing this city needs is for me to be functioning at less than top capacity."

John grinned and turned to face Rodney. "Sounds to me like you've already given yourself a complex."

"Okay, fine. In that case, I think it's your responsibility to relieve me of some of the pressure," Rodney said.

"I thought that's what I just did." John was still grinning; he ran a hand down over Rodney's belly to his soft, damp cock and gave it a very gentle squeeze. "Uh-huh. Feel like the pressure's been relieved."

"Oh, yes, very funny," Rodney said dryly. "Look, if you don't want to talk about it, that's okay. Just reassure me that you don't hate me."

John rolled his eyes and leaned in closer. "Does this look like the face of someone who hates you?"

"It looks like the face of someone who gets into a lot of trouble," Rodney said, searching his eyes. It sounded more serious than joking.

"Yeah, I do," John said cautiously. "Sometimes. We all do. It's kind of par for the course here."

"You don't play golf," Rodney said.

"How do you know?"

Rodney frowned and gestured. "You don't look like a golf player." He frowned more deeply. "Don't try to distract me from the point here. You're constantly getting hurt or attacked by vampiric bugs. You're the last person I should be getting involved with." 

Now John got it. "Hey," he said gently. "Nothing bad's going to happen to me. I promise."

"Oh, yes, thank you, very reassuring," Rodney said, sighing.

"I mean it. It takes more than a little bug to kill me." John propped his chin on his hand and petted Rodney's chest tentatively with the other. "You don't have to worry about me."

Rodney sat up. "Are you nuts? I have to worry about everything. If I don't, who will?"

"Elizabeth?" John suggested, reasonably enough, he thought.

Waving that away with a hand, Rodney said, "The point isn't who worries more, it's who's going to suffer more in the event of your untimely death."

Now John was sitting up, too, and he didn't even know how it had happened. "Who says I'm going to die?"

"Oh, excuse me, Phaeton," Rodney said sarcastically.

That took all the wind out of John's sails; he frowned in confusion. "What?"

"Greek mythology," Rodney said, and when all John gave him was a blank look, he sighed and explained. "Phaeton was the son of Helios." He waved his hand again. "I thought it was a valid comparison, what with the flying and self-destructive behaviors, but never mind, it's not important. What is important is that I'm not getting involved with you."

"You're not." John looked at him in disbelief. "So the nakedness and the sex mean...?"

"They mean that I like you, and that I've rarely been able to say no to sex," Rodney said. He sighed. "Don't get me wrong, this was great. But I'm not in the market for a relationship, not --"

John got up and started to get dressed. He wasn't sure how he felt -- kind of sick, maybe, and kind of empty. "You're such an asshole."

"Uh-huh. You're just figuring this out now?" Rodney yanked the sheets over his lap but didn't get out of bed.

"You started this," John said, pants still unfastened and his shirt balled up in his hands. "You kissed me." He was suddenly furious, glaring at Rodney, with his stupid smirking mouth and his stupid careless hands.

"Don't you dare blame this on me!" Rodney was glaring right back at him, eyes narrowed. "You're just as responsible for this as I am!"

"I thought you were responsible for everything!" John shouted. "Isn't that the way you like it?"

"No!" Rodney pushed his hands through his hair, messing it up. "No, if you want the truth, I don't like it." He stared at John, then slumped back against the wall, head bowed. The back and side of his neck, where John could see it, looked strangely vulnerable. "And I don't mumblemumble."

John stood very still. "You what?"

Rodney looked up at him, eyes wet and reddened. "I don't want to be responsible for anyone else dying," he said softly.

John sighed and let his shirt drop to the floor again, then went and sat down next to Rodney, putting his arms around him. Rodney resisted for a few seconds, then gave a shuddering sigh of his own and relaxed into the embrace. "For a genius, you can be really dumb sometimes," John told him.

"You think?" Rodney sounded almost hopeful.

"We can take this slow, okay?" John rubbed the back of Rodney's neck; his hand fit around it almost perfectly. "But let's not stop it before it even starts."

After a minute, Rodney nodded against John's shoulder. "Okay. Okay, yes, you're right."

They sat there like that for a long time, until John actually started to doze off. Then Rodney muttered in frustration and manhandled him down onto the pillow, pulling the covers over both of them and wrapping an arm around John's waist.

John fell asleep to the sound of Rodney snoring, and he woke up, hours later and hopelessly groggy, to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. It took him a good five minutes to get his legs untangled from the blankets and stand up. His pants still weren't fastened and they hung loosely from his hips, leaving enough of his hip bone exposed that he was able to rub it with his fingertips once he'd managed to stagger to the bathroom doorway. "Rodney?"

"No, the abominable snowman," Rodney's voice said from the shower stall. "I thought you were going to sleep all day."

"I feel like I did." John's mouth was dry. He saw Rodney's toothbrush and toothpaste sitting next to the sink.

"Don't even think about it," Rodney said.

John did his best to sound innocent. "What?"

"Using my toothbrush. Yes, yes, I know -- I've had your dick in my mouth." Rodney slid the shower door open and looked at him. "It's not the same thing. Touch the toothbrush and die."

Holding his hands up to demonstrate his innocence, John said, "Okay, okay. I promise."

"Good." Rodney gave him a look that was pretty appreciative. "Now get in here."

"Excuse me?" John grinned and leaned against the door frame.

"You heard me. Come on. I don't have all day."

It wasn't much of an argument. But then, John realized as he shoved his pants down and kicked them off, it wasn't like they needed more excuses to argue. It was just the way things were.

And that was okay with him.