I'm done. Finally. Gasp.


The outing ended somehow, they went back to Atlantis at some point, and there was a debriefing during which Rodney made some kind of recommendation, probably along the lines of "deserves further investigation." More than that, John simply couldn't absorb. He went through the rest of the day in a fog, trying to figure out exactly how badly he'd screwed up and whether he could fix it.

He'd had to follow Rodney around closely for the rest of the afternoon to avoid triggering any more booby traps, and it had been intensely uncomfortable. Neither man would speak to, or even look at, the other unless it was absolutely necessary. Even in the debriefing, Rodney had refused to look at John for even a second. John wondered whether Elizabeth had noticed anything.

John couldn't figure out why Rodney was so angry. He would've expected him to be upset, certainly. Shocked. Maybe offended. But Rodney was absolutely furious—John could tell. But he couldn't understand why. It was just another thing bothering him on top of the whole mess.

He didn't want to think about any of it any more.

So he went and told Carson he'd been having nightmares, politely declined to set up an appointment with Heightmeyer ("I'm fine, doc, really, just sick of dreaming about Wraith all the time"), and finally managed to get a couple of sleeping pills.

Back in his quarters, John gulped down the pills, tumbled into bed, and dreamt.


He was sitting on an uncomfortably small stool, in front of a painfully inadequate fire. Its flickering light was only just sufficient for him to make out the enormous, heavy trunk against the opposite wall of the hut.

John looked straight through the flames. To his utter lack of surprise, the Knower was sitting directly opposite him, as unperturbed as ever.

It pissed John off no end, seeing that expression on someone who'd just screwed over his love life.

"You lied to me," he snapped. "You said that if I told Rodney that I—how I felt—everything would be all right . . ." He trailed off in confusion, realizing how childish he sounded.

"I told you it would save his life," the Knower said placidly. "I never assured you that he would reciprocate."

John glared at him. "Why'd you bother, anyway?" he demanded. "Where the hell do you get off, messing around with my love life? If you'd just left me alone—"

There was an edge to the Knower's voice now. "If I had left you alone, the man you love would be dead now, and you would be dreaming far worse dreams than this. Believe me. I dreamt them myself for years."

Nothing could be said to this, so John said nothing, waiting for the old man to continue.

"I began having strange dreams when I was seventeen," the Knower said at last, his voice distant. "Little flickers, at first. I would look at someone and catch a brief glimpse of them other than what they were doing at the time. But there was a girl in the village, about my age—I had vivid nightmares about her. The same dream every night: I was watching her in the woods, gathering firewood, and then a huge beast leapt from between the trees and snatched her. I woke each time with her dying screams echoing in my head. I could tell no one of these visions; if I had, they would surely have thought me mad—I myself doubted my sanity. The last thing I wanted was to be so embarrassed. Especially not in front of the girl."

John nodded in understanding, beginning to see where the story was going. "So . . ." he asked reluctantly, "what happened?"

"I had nightmares every night for a week," the Knower said wearily. "The day after the last one, she went to look for firewood and never came back. After two days, I went to the Elders and told them what I knew and how I knew it. Some believed me, some did not, but no one ever looked at me the same way again. A search party was sent out, of course, and they found the beast and killed it, but her body was never recovered."

John stared uncomfortably at the ground between his feet, once again with no idea what to say.

"Do you see now?" the Knower asked gently. "Do you see why I could not let you make the same mistake that I had? I thought, at the very least, I needed to explain that to you."

"Yeah, I get it." John bit his lip, looking back up. "And it's not like I'm not incredibly glad that Rodney's alive." He snorted softly. "But at this rate, I'm not sure he's ever going to speak to me again."

The Knower met his eyes through the fire. "I am sorry."

"Wait a second . . ." John stared at him. "You know! You can see my future, can't you? So just tell me how this is going to work out!"

But the hut was already growing hazy around him, fading as he sank more deeply into sleep.

The last thing he saw was the Knower watching through the fire, incongruously wearing a small smile.


Stackhouse got sent out to negotiate again the next day, and called back a couple of hours later that he'd included repairs in the deal and could Rodney please come and fix the broken computers (a fairly significant item) with which his new friends had been suffering for some time. This took the better part of a week. While John missed Rodney terribly—hell, he missed the guy every time he left the room, let alone the planet—he was glad not to have to deal with him for a few days. He needed to think things through.

A lot of people noticed that John was keeping to himself more than usual. These people generally made concerned inquiries which were always put down politely but firmly. He knew his friends were puzzled and worried, but he also knew they couldn't see anything genuinely wrong with him. After a day or two, most people just decided to leave him alone until whatever it was blew over, but a few determined worriers kept knocking at his door. Eventually, as much to distract himself as anything else, John took out a map of Atlantis, marked all the balconies, and calculated which of them was physically furthest from the settled area of the city. He spent most of his time there after that.

Five days of repairing alien technology, and Stackhouse's team came home. John allowed himself to watch them come through the gate, just to make sure Rodney looked okay. Then, realizing he still didn't know what to do, he slipped out of the control room and fled to his balcony.

It was a ridiculously sunny day out, and the glare off the water hurt John's eyes, so he sat down with his back against the wall and stretched his legs out in front of him.

There was no way he was going to get out of this, really; it had to be worked out eventually. He and Rodney were teammates—they had to work together smoothly, and any kind of unresolved sexual tension—especially one-sided—was going to interfere with that.

That was the practical view, anyway, and screw the frat regs.

Then there was the personal view, which led to the same conclusion, even if it made a lot less sense: John wanted Rodney's ass. No, scratch that, he wanted Rodney. Period. And John wasn't going to stop wanting him any time soon, so he really had to do something about it, even though he'd already tried and managed only to piss Rodney off.

It occurred to John that knowing what he wanted really wasn't the problem here—it was knowing how to get what he wanted, and, sadly, just wanting Rodney badly enough wasn't going to get him anywhere.

But, when it came down to it, he didn't know what to do.

"Goddammit," John muttered, pulling his legs up. He crossed his arms atop his knees and rested his forehead on them.

And he didn't move for a long time, not even when he heard someone come through the door. He just sat there and waited for whoever it was to figure out that he wanted to be left alone.

Whoever it was didn't go away, though, just stood there for a couple of minutes and fidgeted before speaking up uncertainly. "Major?" A moment's hesitation. "John? I thought you'd be here . . ."

It was Rodney. And—despite what he'd just said—it didn't sound like he was going away.

Leave it to Rodney to know how he'd pick a hiding place.

Crap.

John tensed despite himself, but made no other answer.

Cloth rustled nearby, and he realized that Rodney had sat down next to him. What the hell was going on here?

"I'm sorry," Rodney said eventually. He still sounded uncertainscared, almost. "About what happened last week . . ."

John couldn't stay quiet anymore. "You're sorry?" he repeated. "I made an idiot out of myself, and you're sorry?"

"No," Rodney said, a little more sharply. "You don't get it."

"I get it well enough," John said bitterly.

They sat in silence for a little while longer, and then something warm brushed lightly across John's cheekso lightly he might even have imagined it, but he turned his head towards it out of reflex.

There was a moment for which both men stared at Rodney's hand, which was still hovering a fraction of an inch away from John's cheek. Then its partner came up to join it, cupping his face lightly.

John wasted a moment or two in shock and confusion.

And then Rodney leaned over and kissed him. It was a light kiss, but somehow passionate nonetheless, and both men were breathing a little more heavily when they pulled apart.

John rested his forehead against Rodney's. "Okay," he conceded quietly, "you win. I'm hopelessly confused."

A faint smile flickered over Rodney's lips and then vanished. "You kissed me," he said simply, "and it confused the shit out of me. It never occurred to me that you might've meant it—I thought you were trying to screw with me somehow, that you'd found out I wanted you and thought it'd make a nice joke."

"That you—" John echoed, stunned.

Rodney nodded. "Yeah."

"I never even guessed." John laughed ruefully, brushing his thumb lightly along Rodney's cheekbone. "So what changed your mind?"

"I was really pissed at you for a few days," Rodney continued. "I was thinking about it last night—replaying the whole thing in my mind—and I could remember your face so clearly all of a sudden, the way you looked after you'd pulled away from me. And you looked so awful . . . I hadn't realized how badly I'd hurt you." He fell silent, watching John's face closely.

John stared back for a moment and then, lost for words, leaned in for another kiss to which Rodney responded hungrily.

Really, it was all that needed to be said.

THE END