Curled up on his side, arms wrapped tight around his body to conserve heat, John pondered his current situation. The tent felt empty with only him to warm the air. He missed the sound of Rodney's soft snores, the heat that radiated from his sleeping bag even from the other side of the tent – things that once irritated John, but now felt as normal as breathing. It just felt wrong to be alone. It wasn't as if he was in any physical danger on this off-world trip – far from it. For once, the only threat to his body at this particular moment was the cold night air. And truth be told, there were easy ways to mitigate that, so he wasn't even giving that any serious thought. Not this night, anyway.

No, what concerned him was his heart. His traitorous, pining, rapidly beating heart. The organ most responsible for his on-going life, and yet the one directly responsible for his impending doom. He couldn't understand why it chose now to founder on the rocks of romance. He'd thought, in his long distant past, that he'd already navigated these dangerous waters, and barely escaped with his sanity, let alone his life – and bank account – intact.

His friendship with one Dr Rodney McKay meant everything to him. He'd not thought to ever find a friend such as Rodney again, not after Afghanistan. He'd deliberately kept himself distant from people since his time in the battle zone, knowing his career was in the crapper. If anybody got too close, they'd be committing career suicide, and John refused to be responsible for that. But this thing with Rodney sort of crept up on him, taking him completely by surprise.

At first, it was expedient to have Rodney on his team. The man was, after all, the foremost expert on Ancient technology on the Pegasus expedition. And it certainly didn't hurt to have somebody intelligent enough to get them out of some of the weird-ass situations Pegasus seemed to enjoy throwing their way, even if he did piss and moan while doing it. In fact, it was the pissing and the moaning that kept drawing John to Rodney, although not even torture would induce him to admit that. He'd enjoyed – still enjoyed, even to this day – antagonizing Rodney, goading and pushing the man to greater heights, ostensibly to force him to work harder, but really just to watch him fluster and flutter, flail and rant. What started as expedience on his part, soon turned to friendship, surprising them both.

There was something endearing to Rodney's meltdowns; the way his arms waved erratically through the air, threatening concussion to any within reach, the way the tone of his voice would reach ever higher, until John wondered if the Pegasus equivalent of dogs would soon be conjured from the air around them, the way his eyes flashed a vivid blue, brighter and sharper than any other eyes of John's acquaintance. Most dangerously, the way his mouth – that mobile, eloquent… shit, eminently kissable mouth – dipped to one side, lips firming in displeasure, or tilted at the corner, smirk firmly in place.

To most of the rest of the expedition, Rodney McKay was difficult, obnoxious, obstructive, rude, imperious, dismissive – if there was a negative descriptive word, then most likely somebody, somewhere, had at one time used it to describe Rodney. But to John, who knew him better than anyone else, he was also insecure, lonely, loyal, fiercely protective of his friends and his city – and a truer friend than any John had ever had in the past, including those few he'd maintained in the Air Force. And therein lay his problem.

He loved Rodney. He'd loved Rodney for a long time, as one does a brother. At least, that's what he thought, what he kept telling himself. Just a friend, nothing more than a friend. John didn't do guys; he'd been married, for fuck's sake! He wasn't gay – hell, he wasn't even bi. Even if he never saw it coming, he was perfectly fine with all the alien babes making a play for him. Didn't mean he was going to act on it – he had a job to do protecting his team and expedition back on Atlantis, he couldn't afford to let his guard down by dipping his wick every time the opportunity presented itself. He'd never looked at another man in his life, not in a romantic fashion. Sure, he could appreciate that a man might be good looking, but that just made him enlightened, not gay. But Rodney… well, Rodney was different.

It took him a while to realise that he might just be falling for his best friend. Denial was, after all, an emotion just as strong as love. Jealousy was his first big clue, however. Jealousy of what, exactly, took a little longer to figure out. When he realised it was Rodney, or rather, any contact Rodney had with anybody not him – well, at that point, he knew he might just be seriously fucked. He didn't want Rodney proposing to Katie Brown, or spending 'quality time' with Jennifer Keller, and while outwardly supportive of his best friend in his romantic endeavours, on the inside he rejoiced every time Rodney's romances imploded. He wasn't proud of his feelings, especially once he understood why he was so happy that Rodney was suddenly single once more, but he was too happy to have his best friend to himself to really care. And maybe a small part of him – a teeny, tiny, miniscule little gay part – hoped that maybe Rodney would one day return his feelings.

That maybe one day, Rodney would love him, as he loved Rodney. Not as one man might love his brother, but as one might love a partner. A lover. Somebody who might just be willing to spend the rest of his life with John, as John was thinking he might be willing to do with Rodney.

Because John was pretty sure he couldn't live without Rodney, not anymore. And it was altogether possible he'd fucked things beyond all belief by letting everything slip to Rodney, just by holding his eyes a little too long, or sitting a little too close, or God forbid, calling out his name while sleeping together in such cramped quarters.