It didn't happen overnight.

At least that's what Rodney realized at two in the morning the day after the recent trade mission with the Ewoks (Reason John Sheppard Shouldn't Be Allowed to Name Things, Number 602) where twelve cases of turtle dove feathers had been the biggest haul. He was sitting at the lunch table with Elizabeth on his left and John on his right with Ronon shoveling food into his mouth as fast as possible opposite him and Carson bitching about tea from the mess line – completely normal for what was known on the mission as the Tuesday Insomnia Breakfast, a tradition started after the sixteenth time SGA-1 returned from a ridiculously late mission.

"Oh, God," he declared between the last forkful of eggs and the dregs of his coffee knockoff. "Shit."

"The bathroom is twenty-five steps away. You use the chair and you're cleaning it," John deadpanned, but stopped when he saw how the color had drained from his best friend's face. "You all right, buddy?"

"Fine. I'm fine." His hand flew to his ear as though someone had just called him and he stuttered through the worst excuse to leave ever told, before running full tilt out of the room. It was only after his lab doors closed behind him that he winced at his behavior.

Carson was definitely going to follow him and of course, he'd gone to the most logical place for Rodney to run to. Kicking himself, McKay wondered if he had enough time to go to Kavanagh's lab to hide, but the doors opened again to admit the doctor and Rodney knew he wasn't going to be getting off so easily when Carson slid onto a stool in front of the workbench, looking as though he was settling in for a long haul.

"So, Rodney," he started after ten minutes of Rodney fruitlessly banging equipment together in a desperate bid to get the man out of the lab.

"I'm fine." Rodney didn't look up from his bench, the Ancient's version of a pull toy suddenly more interesting than anything else in the room.

Carson lifted an eyebrow. He didn't need to speak for Rodney to get the message that he wasn't buying it and it wasn't an option to discuss.

"It's nothing," he tried.

"Forgive me if I don't believe you," Carson said, going on promptly, "When my best friend suddenly acts like a bloody idiot to get away from the breakfast table, I tend to assume it wasn't the food."

Rodney tried to think of something that would explain that, but after spending the last thirty-six hours off-world and getting home in time to hear the kitchen staff drowsily cursing their names, he couldn't think of anything. Instead, he gave the other his best flustered face and answered, "I'm just overtired, Carson. That's all."

The assessing look that was cast over him seemed to be filled with doubt.

Rodney sighed, admitting, "There's this... person, all right?" He poked at the toy again, unable to look at his friend, a pitiful sight.

"Oh." Carson smiled. "Nursing a wee bit of a crush then, are you?"

The glare Rodney delivered in response was on par with the one he gave people he didn't think had two braincells to scrape together. It did little to scare off Carson who had leaned in closer and continued to grin as though completely amused by the development.

"Men don't have crushes," Rodney retorted, but it only caused his friend to laugh. "I hate you."

"I'm sorry, Rodney," Carson said between chuckles, calming himself. "It was just that I was starting to despair for you – it's is certainly not healthy to spend all of your time by yourself."

"Oh, come on. I'm never by myself. Atlantis would be blown up by the morons Elizabeth keeps allowing to touch things. I've told her more than once that the city will go back to the ocean floor if she lets anymore idiots ignore my orders, but no, she thinks that the natives will have more insight than me..."

"Rodney!" The shout broke off the tirade, Beckett sighing and admitting, "I didn't mean to tease. I simply meant that others are settling down and you still act like you've got something to prove to the SGC."

"Not the SGC," he muttered, thinking of the last two discoveries he'd hand-delivered to the infirmary.

Carson pulled back a bit, straightening up and said, "Trying to impress some young lass then," as though he were turning it over in his head. It was a few minutes before he said anything else, his mind racing as he tried to figure out who exactly was the object of Rodney's affections.

"Look, I should be going to bed," McKay declared, uncomfortable. "We have a mission in the morning so we can finish this pointless conversation later. Now, if you don't mind..."

"It's not a woman, is it?"

"Where the hell did you get that idea?" Rodney asked with eyes wide, trying to figure out where the sudden question had come from. And how Carson had guessed (correctly!) that Rodney was higher on the Kinsey Scale than anyone might guess.

"It is!" Beckett's grin returned.

"I never said that!" Rodney shot back, but it was weak, the tone of his voice less than convincing, and as Carson opened his mouth to say something else, McKay's finger went to his ear as it had earlier. Stuttering through a one-sided conversation, he dashed from the room without a goodbye.

Carson just continued to grin, the analytical part of his brain piecing together evidence into a hypothesis. "Yup, it's a lad," he murmured into the lab before turning and disappearing into the corridor, whistling a gentle tune.