Epilogue

The days following the "duet incident"—as Sheppard so cheerfully insisted upon calling it—were filled with intermediate moments of blissful peace and hectic work. Both doctors had much work to catch up on and much to do as well. But their efforts—though not very great—were further hampered by Carson, who insisted they both needed at least a week more to completely recover from whatever physical and mental side effects the inhabitation of one body with two minds might have caused. In order to ensure his patients' cooperation, Beckett also enlisted the help of Colonel Sheppard, Teyla and even Ronan to keep an eye on the two of them.

He needn't have worried. Elizabeth and Rodney seemed far more eager to spend time with each other than with their work. After a short period spent pretending to try and catch up, and their customary battle with Carson, they both had relented rather quickly to "no' liftin' a finger fer at least a week" and promptly settled into a far more relaxing routine.

Elizabeth knew that she and Rodney knew each other better than any two people possibly could. Even before the duet incident, the two of them had been close. Now, though, she decided that perhaps it was time that they learned those things that only a select few could know. She wanted to know more about Rodney as a person, outside of what she was privy to in her everyday workweek. She wanted to share with him those secrets that only the most privileged could learn, and she wanted to learn the same from him. She offered the suggestion to Rodney and it had been obvious that he was uncomfortable with the idea. But as a testament to the love and trust he felt for her, as well as for their steadily blossoming relationship, he had soon accepted it as a good idea.

During the day the conversations consisted of little, trivial things—first kisses, family vacations, school field trips, favorites books and music and movies, and pets. They usually spent the most time on the latter subject, both of them smiling goofily as Elizabeth reminisced about happy, energetic Sedge and Rodney retold stories about the aloof—yet loveable—Einstein.

During the night, when most of the city was asleep, they would sit together in one of their respective rooms, holding each other as the conversations took a far more personal turn. Rodney would hold a sobbing Elizabeth as she admitted how heartbroken she had been over Simon, despite knowing that they had been growing apart. Other nights it would be Elizabeth holding Rodney as he retold tragic, heart-wrenching memories of past experiences with doomed relationships and his own, mildly dysfunctional family. Elizabeth had never realized how lonely Rodney's life had been before the Atlantis expedition and she was happier than ever to know that she was a part of that life now, helping to make it a little more bearable and a little less lonely.

It was also on nights like these that the two of them discovered an extremely interesting side effect of the duet incident. The first time they noticed was when Elizabeth had told Rodney about Simon. She had been sobbing into his arms, trying to talk through the tears, while Rodney whispered random comments that he hoped would soothe her.

"In a way I was sort of relieved," he heard Elizabeth admit. Her voice sounded strangely hollow and not so thick with tears. "Because I think I had loved you long before then."

"You did?" Rodney asked before he could stop himself. He knew it was wrong of him to feel so happy about that comment while Elizabeth showed him her broken heart, but he couldn't help it. Elizabeth sniffed and shifted in his arms so she could look up at him, her face somehow even more beautiful when it was red and puffy with tears.

"W-what?" she asked, her voice thick with tears. Rodney squeezed her close and kissed the top of her head.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt." He said, truly sorry that he had butted in. Elizabeth wasn't allowed much time to feel bad for herself and he didn't want to ruin one of the few times she felt comfortable enough to do it around him.

"No," Elizabeth frowned and sat up a little straighter in the circle of his arms. "You… you said, "you did?" I did what?"

"I… uh…" Rodney suddenly didn't know what to say and his question was beginning to sound extremely inappropriate and out of place. "I thought I heard you say… something. About you… uh… maybe… loving me before… uh." Rodney waved his hand, lamely suggesting that the "before" referred to the entire incident with Simon.

Elizabeth hiccupped, eyeing Rodney strangely.

"I never said that." She whispered and Rodney felt like an ass for hearing what he had wanted to hear and ruining Elizabeth's moment at the same time.

"But I was thinking it." She added quietly.

Rodney's eyes flew wide.

"You were… but that means…"

Elizabeth nodded slowly.

"You can still hear my thoughts."

Rodney let out his breath in a loud, short, "oh." He looked at Elizabeth with an expression torn somewhere between surprise and pure terror, wondering if it was considered invasion of privacy when he could hear her thoughts without being trapped inside her head. But instead of being insulted or concerned, Elizabeth only smiled and snuggled back into his arms, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his chest. She felt him relax beneath her, and his arms tightened around her, holding her close and keeping her safe and warm. Elizabeth closed her eyes and she felt herself drifting closer to sleep, worn out by her night of crying. She didn't get to do that very often, so when she did it usually left her feeling worn and empty. Tonight she had been sobbing not only because of Simon, but also because of every other situation that called for tears but had received none. Rodney understood. He had been a direct part of many of those situations and almost none had received the sorrow it was due, mostly thanks to the immediate threat of the Wraith or Genii or some other equally important and dangerous issue.

A few nights later it became evident that that wasn't all that the duet incident had left behind. It was the night that Rodney had finally felt brave enough to retell several stories from his childhood and high school days—days that he was neither happy nor eager to remember. He had been unable to meet her eyes through most of the night, glaring down at his hands instead as he forced the memories passed his lips. Unlike Elizabeth, he did not cry. A few times she had heard an obvious quaver in his voice, but whether from anger or a near-break, Elizabeth didn't know. What she did know was that her ability to feel his strongest emotions had not waned, despite the time that had passed since they had shared one body.

Sitting close to Rodney, so that their knees were touching, Elizabeth had felt every emotion that Rodney felt as he ran through a troubling list of twisted relationships and pathetic family incidences. She felt his long-concealed pain and his fear and his sense of betrayal. She felt his anger and his sadness, and his embarrassment had actually saying what he was saying out loud and to her. But, most of all, she felt the overwhelming relief at not only releasing some of his burden, but having someone to listen to him without judging him or without asking for anything in return. And through it all there was an unerring feeling of love and safety and trust—emotions that Rodney almost never showed to the outside world. For Elizabeth, being privy to such emotions was the greatest gift she could have been given.

Rodney hadn't known what to say when she had admitted at the end of his long-overdue vent that she had felt his every emotion through the entire thing. At first he had tried to apologize, humiliated that she had had to experience that.

"Apologize for what?" Elizabeth had demanded, reaching over and cupping his face in her hands. "For being human? For letting someone in? You have no reason to be sorry, Rodney. You only have to know that there is someone here, sitting in front of you, who loves you more than life itself and who would give the world to feel everything you just felt. Never apologize for that, because I love it. And I treasure it."

Rodney, still unused to the sense of compassion and friendship, smiled and kissed her.

"I don't deserve you." He murmured. Elizabeth smiled.

"No." she laughed. "But then how I ever deserved you is beyond me."

"Have I told you I love you?" Rodney asked, his eyes sort of glazing over in that familiar this-is-almost-too-much-to-take-in-right-now look. Elizabeth laughed again and kissed him.

"As corny as that sounds." She grinned.

Elizabeth and Rodney decided not to share their strange, yet special, ability. Instead they began honing it in private, slowly making it a stronger and more manageable. Soon they were having entire conversations without having to say a word, with Elizabeth thinking a statement and Rodney responding with an emotional rush. It made team meetings and lunches all the more interesting with Rodney would burst out laughing when no one was talking or when Elizabeth would blush hotly and cough politely after a completely innocent comment was made.

Both of them were pretty sure John knew what was going on, and Carson. Teyla and Ronan seemed blissfully ignorant, but then they were both pretty good at playing the blissfully ignorant card around the Earth-born Atlanteans. If anyone else noticed, however, they managed to pretend they didn't and life went on as normal, with the occasional crisis to be averted and the occasional day to be saved. And through it all, Elizabeth and Rodney grew closer and closer without ever having to say a word, connected by thoughts and feelings that ran deeper than anyone could ever fathom.

"You look like you're thinking hard about something." Elizabeth said, propping her chin on her clasped hands and smiling at John across the desk. The man had come in to discuss one of the more recent and uneventful missions, but had fallen into a thoughtful silence near the end of the conversation. He stared blankly at Elizabeth's desk, his mind obviously elsewhere.

"Oh," he said absently, "I was just thinking about you and Rodney."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, obviously intrigued. The duet incident had occurred nearly six months prior. Rodney had recently moved into Elizabeth's room, though he had stubbornly left his old room furnished despite Sheppard's constant harassment over wanting—er, needing—a larger room.

Sheppard, not looking at Elizabeth's face, continued with his same distant, distracted tone.

"And then I was thinking about what would happen if Teyla and I ended up getting beamed up by a dart only to have it shot down and then have Zelenka rematerialize both of us in one body."

Elizabeth raised both eyebrows and looked at John in surprise. The man grunted and got to his feet.

"Ah, knowing my luck I'd get stuck with Ronan." He said and, without looking the least bit phased, turned and walked calmly out of Elizabeth's office. She blinked in surprise, and then shook her head.

Knowing her luck, he'd get stuck with Rodney. But Teyla and Sheppard… that was an intriguing idea.

Elizabeth tapped her headset.

"Rodney," she called. He answered almost immediately.

"Elizabeth?" he asked. She smiled.

"What ever happened to the duet dart?" she asked, referring to its popular nickname—one given to it by Sheppard, no less. For all his talk about people not naming things, he seemed to be having a great time doing just that.

"Uh… we moved it to one of our off-world sites. Why?"

Elizabeth's smile transformed into a grin as she watched Sheppard talking with his Athosian teammate outside the control room.

"Get Radek and meet me in my office. There's something I think we should try…"