Disclaimer: I don't own SGA, or its characters, and I'm grateful TPTB are looking the other way.

Rated T for language I don't use around my children and a couple of kisses (one really doesn't count).

Pairing: Sheppard/McKay

Note: This was originally written for Amireal's 3daychallenge community on LJ. It takes place immediately after "Grace Under Pressure."

When Your Superego's Sam

by Helen W.

Somewhere between shivering in the back of the jumper, with Radek Zelenka (oh, goodie) switching between rubbing his back (ineffectual and annoying) and his palms and wrists (even more ineffectual and very, very annoying), and being stripped and wrapped in warm blankets by Carson and that nurse whose named started with N - yes, Pam, that was it, or maybe Terry - which was embarrassing but effective, Rodney came to a startling conclusion.

His superego was female.

Well, wow. A lot of things made sense now.

Or they'd make sense as soon as he stopped being so damn cold and his head stopped hurting and his teeth stopped chattering so that he could think things through in a logical, systematic manner. Carson had said that shivering was a good sign, but he wasn't the one shaking apart, now was he?

Soon after Carson was done taking core temperatures and various samples and bits and putting a big-ass bandage around the left half of his cranium, Sheppard had materialized. He was now leaning against the wall smirking at his efforts to transfer mediocre soup, which felt scalding-hot but Carson's demon instruments said was only lukewarm, into his mouth. He probably should have moved from the exam table to a chair before accepting the mug; but that would mean moving, wouldn't it? And blankets were easier this way.

Want me to feed you?" asked Sheppard, in that delivery that made it clear he was insulting Rodney's manhood, unless Rodney said yes, in which case he was merely being neighborly. Rodney'd been working on perfecting deniable snark himself for as long as he could remember, and as usual admired Sheppard's technique.

"Yes, yes, laugh at the freezing man." Rodney abandoned the spoon and sipped straight from the mug; no, the soup really wasn't that hot, and this was probably more efficient than dealing with cutlery. He had things to discuss with Sheppard. Best to get started.

Between sips, he said, "One. Griffin. He seemed like a" - blink, blink - "like an alright guy. I mean, a..." - hand wave - "Did he have a family?"

Sheppard shook his head. "I don't know. Not many of us do."

"You'll be writing, uh, whomever?"

"Part of the job."

"I'd like to write something too."

Sheppard nodded. Rodney decided he probably hadn't screwed that bit up; which was good, because item three, well, that one rather involved Sheppard quite a bit. But first, he had to get there.

"So now we're at two," he continued. "And why hasn't someone taken this from me?"

"Maid's day off," said Sheppard, coming closer to grab the mug and its dregs and set it aside, then perching on the foot of Rodney's cot. "You were saying?"

"Do you know why it took me so long to open the jumper's door?" Rodney asked.

"The five feet of water and your concussion?"

"Yes, yes, those were the root cause," said Rodney, "but would you like to know why specifically?"

"Go ahead," said Sheppard.

"Well, yes, see, the problem is that I hadn't worked it out yet. I hadn't figured out what Sam was."

"Sam?"

"Samantha Carter. Try to keep up. See, she's my superego. Not just some hallucination, so that meant that you had to be you-you, but at the time - well, you know, head wound. Made me think slower."

Sheppard glanced over his shoulder. Bored?? Oh, no, that was his 'Rodney's out of his mind, maybe I should get Carson back in here' look.

"Listen, I know she's really a real person, one of you flyboys. Flygirls. Whatever. That's not what I mean."

Sheppard stopped with the looking around and resettled. "You do realize I have no friggin' clue what you're talking about."

"Oh, that's right. You didn't see her."

"When?"

Really, Sheppard was usually much brighter than this. "Today. About an hour ago, you know, when I was trapped at the bottom of the ocean? Sam came and hung out, and I really thought I was crazy, but now I get it. She's my superego. I was kind of in a bad place and she was my organizing sanity."

"Was she naked?"

"That's it exactly!" he said. "Never less than a bra. And only a small part of the time. Yes, sure, we made out a little, but that was pro forma, you understand. Do you get the importance of what I'm saying?"

Sheppard was doing something odd with his face now; Rodney'd never seen him do that particular thing, and was not at all sure it was good.

"So then there's item three," said Rodney hurriedly; but then Carson walked it.

"Still shaking a bit, are you, lad?" he asked.

Rodney didn't bother initiating a nod because, really, the shakes were moving his head enough as it was.

"Ordinarily I'd have had you in the shower by now, but with that gash and I don't fancy you'd like a bath? Immersion would be the best way to get you comfortable, but I'm not going to ask you to do it if you'd rather not."

Well, actually, aquaphobia hadn't occurred to him yet. Huh, how'd he miss that one? "A bath." The infirmary didn't have any sort of tub, he was pretty sure, and neither did his quarters. So that meant...

"I'll take him over to the east pier dip," said Sheppard. "I'm guessing you want someone with him anyway?"

"I was going to dispatch a couple of my staff," said Carson. "But I think you're up to it. Rodney, are you okay with this?"

Rodney wasn't sure how point three and a bath would mix; but, in for a penny, in for a pound. Or kilogram? No, that was pound STERLING...

So shouldn't that be pence? Did that mean if I woman was named Penny her real name was Pence? Did that make Buckaroo's girlfriend "Pence Pretty"? That was really unfortunate.

While he tried to figure this out, Carson was telling Sheppard all sorts of nonsense about making sure the water was no more than a little warm to start, and about not turning his back on Rodney for a second, and to call immediately if there was any trouble.

Getting out of the cot turned out to be a bit of an adventure, but when he finally had his feet under him the room didn't do anything odd. For a brief instant his headache flared from its background thud to near-puke-inducing, but that faded; and then Elizabeth came out of nowhere and was looking at him up and down.

He pulled his robe tighter. "What do you want?"

Elizabeth smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

"He's just off with the colonel to take a bath," said Carson.

"Well, good luck with that," Elizabeth said, and Rodney was very happy that SHE wasn't his superego, because that would just be weird, and very, very confusing.

Nobody offered a wheelchair for him to bravely refuse, but the walk wasn't a long one. The dip (or tub, or bath) had been constructed soon after their arrival in the city by people with not enough work to do, to take advantage of a local peculiarity of Lantean plumbing and a small, drainable indentation in the pier's surface. Privacy screens had been added soon after.

It was empty when they got there - it had become less popular since some of the new Marines had figured out how to jimmy together a regulation swimming pool, large capacity hot tub, and sauna out of duct tape, baling wire, and a whole lot of concrete.

"Sit," said Sheppard, grabbing a thin cushion from the storage compartment and setting it at the base of he dip. Rodney removed his robe and sat, then watched, teeth still chattering so much that his jaw was starting to ache from it, as John blocked the drain, then fiddled with the hoses that tapped into the city's water circulation system.

"You know, since the purpose of this is to warm me up, maybe you shouldn't leave me sitting outside in my shorts for too long here!"

"Just give me a sec," said Sheppard. "I'm adjusting the temp down a lot"; but still, the first bit of splash burned.

"What the hell are you trying to do to me?"

"Just take it easy a minute," said Sheppard. "Tell me number three."

"Well, yes, well, okay," said Rodney. The water was starting to be not-so-unbearable. "Number three. What was number one?"

"You expressing regret over... you know."

"Right. Oh, God, John..."

And Sheppard was kneeling in front of him in the inch of water. "Steady, Rodney. Number three?"

"Right. Number three. You're only allowed to date women, right?"

Sheppard nodded. "You know what a stickler for regs I am."

"Well, what if... what if it was only my superego that was female?"

"I'd say you were very confused."

"But do you get what I'm saying? Even if it's just my superego, you might be allowed to date me. Well, a third of me. I'm pretty sure my id and my ego are male."

"Yes, I'm pretty sure your ego is male," said Sheppard.

"So" - blink - and then Rodney remembered that there was a very good reason he'd never had any version whatsoever of this conversation with Lt. Colonel John Sheppard before. Because it would destroy everything. "Anyway, I just thought you'd like to know."

"Yes, thank you," said Sheppard. "The water okay?"

"Oh, um," and it was, so he nodded. "Well, my shorts are chafing a bit, if you must know."

Sheppard moved behind him and... was pulling him backward? "Relax," he was saying, "let's get more of you into the water."

Rodney lay back until his head was in the crook of one of Sheppard's folded knees. "You've had a terrible day," said Sheppard, and Rodney nodded and closed his eyes. He was still cold, still shaking, but it hurt less where the water was supporting him, where Sheppard was holding him. Then there was pressure on his lips, and it took way too long for Rodney to realize he'd just been kissed. He opened his eyes but Sheppard had straightened a bit. "Not now," Sheppard said. "Not when you're like this. But... if we're, uhm, together, you won't start channeling Carter, will you?"

"I honestly don't know," said Rodney.

THE END

All comments welcome! Really, people a lot meaner than you have had at me.