I've not been having much of a fun time lately. On top of the chemo, as a separate issue, I ended up in hospital with extremely twisted insides and had a lengthy op and (full disclosure because I think such things shouldn't be hidden away) I ended up with an ileostomy. So, you get what I mean when I say not much fun. Anyway, this story is, in an oblique way, actually a relatively light-hearted attempt at processing some of what I went through. I hope you like it.

"Jesus fucking Christ," said John.

Rodney twitched and spun around, his heart rate kicking up to potential crisis levels for the twenty-sixth time that day. "What? What?" He scrambled over a heap of rubble, slipping on the sharp chunks of loose stone, to peer out of a gap in the tumbled walls. "Are they coming? Have they found us already? Sheppard?"

"Calm down, McKay." John perched awkwardly on top of a half-fallen wall. "They're not gonna find us here. They went after Ronon and Teyla, just like I planned."

"Oh." Rodney deflated, his shoulders sagging. Then his heart lurched again and he jerked back into full-on tension. "But what about Ronon and Teyla? They'll be caught and those savages will kill them! So what kind of a plan was that? Whose idea was it that fifty percent of our team would end up fucking boiled in a pot and eaten by the end of this stupidly long ninety-six point four hour day?"

"They'll be fine, Rodney. Don't worry."

"Why wouldn't I worry? I worry all the time - why not now?" The ruined building spun as he gave Sheppard the full force of a McKay eyeroll. "Oh, this is one of those protect the civilian things, isn't it?" Airquotes set to maximum.

"Well, yeah, it is. It's kind of my job, you know."

Rodney folded his arms. "Don't you think we've gone a bit past all that?" he snapped. "I am reasonably proficient at the whole soldiering thing now."

"Of course you are," said John soothingly. "You even manage to keep hold of your weapon now. Mostly."

Rodney narrowed his eyes but let it drop. At least he and Sheppard were safe. And you had to assume that the other half of their team were experts at eluding pursuers - they'd been eluding the Wraith all their lives, after all.

He wobbled on a loose stone and looked around their temporary shelter.

"Hmm. I suppose this must've been a nice place at one time. Just the kind of thing I fancy, in fact. Nice view down the valley, no immediate neighbours."

"Yeah, that happens when the Wraith pay you a visit," said John, vaguely. "Jesus fucking Christ."

"What now?"

The twisty expression on John's face would inevitably be followed by that plaintive whine he did sometimes. "This was my last decent pair of pants." He shuffled on his uncomfortable perch and twisted to glance down at his hip.

"You can get more, can't you? The Daedalus is due - didn't you order any more? Huh. No. Probably too busy drooling over your ordnance list to remember that clothes are pretty much essential to retaining your authority as commander of - no, wait, hang on a minute, what? What's wrong with them?"

John twisted and plucked at the fabric just below the edge of his tac vest. He mumbled something. Something stupid, probably.

"What?"

"An arrow, I guess."

"An arrow?" Rodney found his hand covering a certain painful memory. He closed his eyes. "Sheppard, please don't tell me you have an arrow sticking out of you. Because then I'd have to deal with it - cut it out or cut the shaft off or push it through - and I'm not sure if I could do that!" He felt sick.

"Chillax, McKay, it's fine."

"Chillax? You're telling me to chillax?"

"Yeah. It musta just scraped me or glanced off or something. Pants are fucked, though."

Rodney gulped and braced himself. "Let me see." The flat shards of slate underfoot made his boots slip and slide. He could see the sheen of dampness at the top of John's leg.

"It's fine." John ripped at his velcro vest pockets. "Why don't you sit. Eat something." A missile approached Rodney at high velocity. He caught it - an energy bar - one of the caramel ones he'd been a bit obsessed with recently.

"But don't you need me to…"

"Nah. I'm good." John unwrapped a pad of gauze and pressed it to his hip.

Rodney looked around for a butt-sized piece of stone. He found one and eased himself down. His back ached in protest. He opened the bar and took a big bite. The veins on John's hand stood out as he pressed the wadded gauze against his hip. "Doesn't that hurt?"

John shrugged.

"I guess that's a… yes?"

John shrugged again. "Does it matter?"

Rodney took a smaller, contemplative bite. "Well, yes. Doesn't it?"

"No," said John. "I took some fire, it's gonna hurt, isn't it? But so what? Is it gonna compromise my performance in the field? No. So, no - it doesn't matter."

"Oh," said Rodney.

Sheppard said stuff like this sometimes. Actually he said it all the time. And while Rodney was sure that, in a way, his reasoning was sound, it wasn't actually how things were supposed to work. Some kind of soft scientist (he internally sneered) would no doubt talk about human society evolving based on mutual support, and individuals expressing needs in various ways in order to receive care from their tribe/extended family group.

Rodney made no qualms about expressing his needs. And more often than not, he supposed those needs were actually met. In fact (he popped the rest of the energy bar into his mouth and scrumpled up the wrapper), although Teyla, Ronon, Carson, and even Zelenka all played their parts in meeting Rodney's occasionally slightly demanding requests, it was John who went the furthest toward ensuring Rodney's optimal functionality.

Rodney contemplated his wounded team leader - his usual long, bendiness twisted into tension as he kept up the pressure on his hip.

He lifted the pad, plucked at the fabric of his pants, grunted a vague approval and dropped the bloody fabric on the ground. Then he lifted his hips, pulled his pants down as far as his thighs and swore again.

"What? Oh."

"Yes, oh," grumbled John.

"They were your favourites." Spider Man boxers - black with red and blue webs. Rodney had given them to him for Christmas. "At least you still have the others."

"Uh-uh. The Hulk got taken down by that mudslide on M5H-783. Never the same again."

"Iron Man?"

"Ancient dryers did for him."

"I told you - hand wash and air dry! I would've done it for you, along with my own delicates!"

"Delicates?"

"Well, yes. When you have skin as sensitive as mine, you need gentle fabric next to it." Rodney sniffed defensively. "Dare I ask about Captain America?"

"He's okay."

"I know he's not your favourite."

John sighed. He pulled his ruined boxers down to expose the wound on his hip. As well as everything else.

Rodney squeaked.

"Get over it, McKay."

Rodney wasn't sure he'd ever just get over that. Or that he wanted to. But he kept an extremely tight rein on such never-to-be-expressed thoughts (and desires) and anyway, lechery wasn't appropriate in the situation - John was hurt. Again.

He cleared his throat, fixing his eyes on John's face - on his face, McKay. "Are you sure you don't want me to…?"

"Nah. It's okay. You could pick up all the crap I drop, though. That'd help."

Rodney gulped and clamped his lips together. That sounds like a pretty accurate summary of my job, Sheppard. He wouldn't say it, no matter how much the words kicked and struggled against the back of his teeth. Yes, he was rude and arrogant, but he wasn't cruel. Well, not to Sheppard anyway.

He fished out one of the little plastic bags they all kept in their vests - part of the 'leave nothing behind' policy that they tried to operate, to avoid cultural contamination or whatever the airy-fairy 'scientists' called it.

The bloody wad of gauze went in the bag and the sharp tang of alcohol filled the air as John cleaned around his wound.

"Gonna need a few stitches," he said.

"Really? Can't you just use those sticky strips?"

"Uh-uh. I need this thing locked down, in case we need to run."

"Locked down." Rodney rolled his eyes. "You're not a piece of ordnance, Sheppard."

"Kinda am," he said. He began ripping packaging open and laying things out along the top of the broken wall.

Rodney sighed. He could argue, but would it do any good? His stomach twisted and he'd only just eaten that energy bar so it wasn't from hunger.

Sheppard wasn't just a loaded gun. He wasn't a disposable asset, to be used as required, to be treated with the coldness of a chess player sacrificing a pawn. He was a human being who deserved to get what he needed. And what's more, he was Rodney's friend and, ergo, his needs were a priority, as someone who contributed to the wellbeing of the scientist most likely to save any given planet, galaxy, potentially the universe and why not just extend that to the multiverse to cover all the bases.

Rodney tutted loudly with dissatisfaction. John ignored him. He had put on some blue disposable gloves and was preparing to sew himself together.

Saliva gathered in Rodney's mouth as he tried, and failed, not to look at the sluggishly oozing wound. He swallowed, closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths - in through the nose, out through the mouth.

"What's up, McKay?"

Eyes still shut, Rodney replied, "Oh, nothing. Nothing at all."

John's voice was the soft, slightly absent one he used when he was concentrating hard on something, usually cleaning a weapon. "You sure?"

In through the nose, out through the mouth - perfectly calm and serene. Or not.

Maybe he'd actually feel better if John were wincing and grimacing his way through the whole process? Maybe he just needed John to be affected in some way so that… Rodney rubbed the end of his nose. So that what?

He caught a glance of the thread pulling tight and swiftly shut his eyes again. "How can you do that? With your own skin? And you haven't even used any anaesthetic, have you?"

John made a shrugging noise, one of those sounds he specialised in because they saved a lot of words and expressed everything about his cluelessness that you needed to know. "Well," he said, consideringly, "I guess I just blew out that fuse a long time ago."

"What?"

"Aw, come on, Rodney. You know what I mean."

"No, actually I don't. Enlighten me."

"Well, I've seen a lot of shit, is all. Had a lot happen to me. You see enough crap - it stops meaning anything. Like there's a circuit where there's a bit missing."

"Oh," said Rodney. "A blown fuse." He thought about that. Did John need his blown fuse replacing? It sounded like the kind of thing Rodney should fix.

"It's okay, Rodney."

"Well, I'm not sure that it is. I'm not sure I like the idea of so many bad things happening to you that you just don't care anymore."

"I care!" John's reply was quick and firm. "I care, Rodney," he said, more softly.

Rodney sniffed and crossed his arms, aiming for a 'you'd better' expression, even with his eyes shut. "Well, good," he said tightly. "Because I care too."

There was a soft huff of laughter. "I know you do."

Rodney allowed his lids to part a couple of degrees so that John's image was fuzzy. Blue blobs were smoothing down white. He opened his eyes fully. "You've finished."

"Yup."

Rodney began picking up all the wrappings and odds and ends that John had discarded. John pulled up his underwear and pants and stood, waggling his hips, so that it would have taken a far stronger man than Rodney to resist admiring his long, lean lines.

A squashed kind of whimper escaped from his mouth but he turned it into a thorough throat-clearing. "The atmosphere's very dry, isn't it?"

"Yeah, sure it is, McKay."

The plastic bag rustled in his hands as a breeze picked up. He squeezed the air out of it and stuffed it into his vest.

"Um, so, you're sure Ronon and Teyla will be okay."

"They'll be fine." John checked his watch. "They'll have made it to the Gate by now." He looked down the valley to where the sun was just hovering over the treetops, veiled in gathering cloud. "It'll be getting dark soon."

Rodney clasped his arms around himself. "Are we going to be here for the night?" It'd be cold. They'd have to sleep really close together.

"Nah. They'll send a Jumper. Ping our trackers. Be home in time for tea."

Rodney frowned and calculated. "In time for mid-morning coffee," he corrected.

"Whatever. I'll be hitting the sack either way."

"You'll be hitting the infirmary first."

John snorted and rolled his eyes, but he wasn't as good at it as Rodney - it always came out like a sulky teen and not as a seriously pissed-off potential threat to recalcitrant technology of any intergalactic origin.

The sulky teen turned away and vaulted over the half-fallen wall and began scrambling up the rubble behind it.

"What the hell are you doing? We should just sit down and wait! Especially you, Sheppard! You've been injured."

"Yeah, whatever, McKay. I'm just gonna check out the lay of the land," said John. He caught hold of a creeper and began pulling himself up the ruins.

"That's going to give way! It'll give way and you'll fall and get hurt - even more hurt! Sheppard! Get down!"

John ignored him, reached the top of the ruins and, crouching on the remains of a staircase, took out his binoculars. Rodney huffed and scowled. They'd successfully eluded their pursuers, hadn't they? They'd found a nice, safe little hideaway. Why did Colonel Ants-in-his-pants have to go looking for trouble?

Rodney watched, his fingers twitching anxiously, as John carried out a complete three-sixty survey. Then he put his binoculars away, grabbed hold of the flimsy creeper again and lowered himself down, the slash in his pants gaping open and shut as he moved. Rodney tried to see if there was blood on the dressing beneath, but he couldn't tell.

John regained levelish ground and stood there with his silly hair sticking up and a stupid, smirky expression on his stupid, smirky face. "What's up, Rodney?"

"What's up? What the hell do you think's up? I might be the civilian and you're the big, bad soldier, but just for once can you sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up and think about what's best for your continuing health right now? Or hey, why not let me do the thinking for you, which will probably be a lot more effective."

"Whoa! Calm down, McKay!"

"No, I will not calm down." He narrowed his eyes and hoped his gaze was coming across sharp enough to puncture John's bubble of stupid smirkiness. "Not unless you admit you're in pain."

John shuffled. "Why the fuck should I?"

Rodney took a step back and rubbed his chin as if he were contemplating a particularly hazardous Ancient device.

"We're friends, right? Good friends? Best buddies, you might say, if you were the kind of person who speaks in such banalities, which actually you occasionally are - not that that's a bad thing, I suppose. At least not in your case."

John's features tumbled around his face as if he couldn't settle on any single expression. He compromised on his usual confusion - adorable confusion said a tiny, squashed voice in the very depths of Rodney's internal circuitry - followed by the customary head-ducking, neck rubbing placeholders for speech.

"I'll take that as a yes," said Rodney. "So, far be it from me to venture down the sickly-sweet-scented avenue of mawkish sentimentality, but 'best buddies' take care of each other, am I right? Of course I'm right."

John mumbled and shrugged, which was only to be expected.

"And don't you go telling me that it's your job to look after me, as a civilian and, of course, as the strongest asset in the fight to protect our fair planet. Because your job doesn't include leaving those nutty, flaky, sticky Manarian pastry things on my workstation at increasingly frequent intervals. Your job doesn't include making yourself available at stupid o'clock to reenact the stunts from the Dukes of Hazzard just because I'd had a bad couple of days in the lab and felt like some practical physics for a change. Your job doesn't include pestering the SGC for months to make them change the uniform fabric to something approaching bearable for my sensory issues. Your job doesn't include all the time you spend with me gaming or watching movies or discussing said games and movies, or all the times you pop up in my lab for no convincingly good reason, or any of the times you've dragged me out of my lab to make me eat, drink and generally realise that there is an outside world. So! Best buddies seems to cover it? Am I right?"

Somehow he'd moved close up into John's space and they were standing chest to chest. Rodney took the opportunity to prod John hard in the centre of his. "Am I right?"

"Yeah, Rodney. Of course we're best buddies."

It was the floppy bangs doing the talking, but good enough was good enough. Eye contact would have been too much to hope for.

"So, as my best buddy, you take care of me - or give in to my outrageous demands, as some would call it."

The bangs fluttered in an amused huff. He really did need a haircut.

"But sometimes, John…" Rodney hesitated briefly, but then curled one hand over the shoulder of John's vest, the tough fabric and strapping an outer shell over his clothes and skin. "Sometimes you should let me take care of you. You should let me see what you… you know - what you need." He covered the other shoulder, because he liked things to be symmetrical if at all possible.

"I, uh… I'm not so good at that."

"Oh, I know. That's abundantly clear."

John's hazel eyes briefly flickered to his and then dropped again. His mouth twisted. He tutted softly and sighed. There was something trying to make its way out. Rodney waited.

He should move away, really. He should slide his hands down from John's shoulders and give him some space. But he didn't. And if Sheppard wanted space, he'd just take it, wouldn't he?

"Uh, so… I guess you've seen my file. Even all the bits you're not supposed to see."

"Obviously."

"So, you know there's some pretty fucked-up shit in there."

"Yes, and they make you have regular counselling during which you mostly talk about college football."

"Yeah." The corners of John's eyes crinkled, then smoothed out and tense ridges between his eyebrows took over. "Uh, but I… I wasn't always like this."

Rodney waited. The trees in the valley below gave out a constant white-noise of leaves in the evening wind. He and Sheppard were alone, a tiny island of humanity in the descending grey of twilight - just the two of them, connected by his hands on John's shoulders and by their friendship.

"There's a bit in my file - you would have had to dig deep to get past the security. And, uh…" He paused, his head ducking low, his boots scraping on the rough ground.

"Oh," said Rodney. "Yes." It had been a black-ops mission. A mission gone wrong. John had been tortured. Rodney wanted to slide his hands up from his friend's shoulders and cradle his face and whisper promises of extreme violence against the people who had hurt him. But he just squeezed instead, in reassurance and encouragement.

"Uh, yeah, so, anyways… uh…"

Words were never John Sheppard's friends. Rodney curbed his urge to give John a multiple choice list of trauma and waited, even though patience was not one of his limited number of virtues. And anyways, shaking his friend wouldn't shake the words free.

"It went on for a while," said John. He paused and what Rodney could see of his changeable hazel eyes was a flat, lost, grey-brown. "And uh, since then… since then there's a part of me that doesn't feel, doesn't react. You know, when I get hurt or whatever."

Rodney swallowed, and blinked, and blinked again.

"Cause, uh…" He sighed and his shoulders rose and dropped heavily. "There's part of me that's one hundred percent, rock-solid certain that no one's gonna help me. No one's gonna give me what I need. No one's gonna…" He cleared his throat. "No one's gonna care enough. To…" His breath shuddered, long and deep and then in a tumbling rush, he said, "No one's gonna care enough to take the pain away."

Rodney licked his lips. He sniffed. "I care." His throat hurt so much the words rasped and grated.

"Yeah." John shrugged and then he moved away and Rodney's hands flopped to his sides. "Yeah, I know that. Course I know that. But in here?" He tapped the side of his head. "Deep down - there's a bit which, I dunno, shut down? Maybe it died."

He turned in place, his boots screwing themselves into the loose rock chips. Then he shrugged again and sat down on top of the half-fallen wall, and took out his canteen and drank.

Rodney sat down next to him.

"I'm sorry."

John screwed the lid back on his canteen. "It's okay."

"I hate to think of you being hurt like that."

"Yeah, well. That was then - this is now. I'm okay."

"Except you're not."

John shoulder-bumped him. "I'm happy enough, Rodney. Living in an alien city? Fighting big bad aliens? With my best buddy?" The shoulder bump was rougher this time and Rodney shoved him back. John wobbled on his perch and slapped a hand down to keep his balance.

"Shit," said Rodney. "Sorry. You're hurt and I - shit. Sorry."

"You said that. It's okay."

"Jesus fucking Christ, John. It's not okay." Rodney squirmed and flailed so that he ended up sitting astride the wall to give his glare optimal trajectory. "That hurt then, didn't it? When I shoved you. The slash in your hip and the tight-as-a-bitch row of sutures - I know how that feels, John. It burns. It aches. It doesn't let up and it twinges even worse when you move the muscles around it. Doesn't it? Go on, admit it!"

John sneered beneath bristling brows. "So what if it does? I don't need a running fucking commentary."

Rodney rolled his eyes and took a breath in, ready to tell John Sheppard exactly what he needed at length and in detail.

He let the breath go. "No. No, maybe not."

The sun had dipped below the far edge of the forest. The temperature was dropping too and the breeze was picking up. It ruffled Rodney's hair and dried the sweat on the back of his neck.

An animal called in the distance, small and high-pitched, and another answered it. Pack-hunting carnivores, knowing their luck.

"Jumper'll be here soon," said John.

"Hmm." Rodney scratched his chin. He rubbed his nose.

The Jumper would come. They'd climb aboard and soon be back on Atlantis. Carson would fuss over them for a bit and then John would slink off to his quarters and Rodney would spend some time re-establishing his territory (yelling at his minions) before retreating to his room and falling face down on the bed.

John would carry on keeping his emotions locked-down, hiding away beneath a veneer of smirks and snarky jokes and reckless bravery. And Rodney would carry on using his towering intellect to save everyone's lives on a daily basis. Nothing would change. And it wasn't a bad life. Living in an alien city? Fighting big bad aliens? With my best buddy? John was right -it was an amazing life.

But it just needed a little tweaking - a little addition or alteration to its basic code. Or possibly you could think of it like introducing a cleverly constructed virus into John's code. Something that would make his programming glitch just a little. Something that would possibly set him on a new path.

Rodney nodded decisively - virus constructed, debugged and ready to run. And.. action.

"McKay? What the hell? What are you - oh."

At one time, Rodney had been a skinny, flyaway streak of ego and derision, blonde curls and angular jaw used as back-up weapons to his scorching, searing destruction of his colleagues' fumbling attempts at scientific advancement. Since then, however, it wasn't just his intellect that had broadened and gained solidity and depth - his physique had done the same.

And now, when he reached out toward his friend, his broad shoulders and nicely-muscled arms were just right for drawing in John's lanky frame, and wrapping him completely around and holding him gently but firmly against his chest. And Rodney's competent, dexterous hands were just right for splaying against John's back and patting and rubbing a bit and generally making soothing motions. And, once his friend got with the programme and let go some of his rigidity, which didn't take more than a few seconds of murmured encouragement - as if he were coaxing reluctant Ancient circuitry to life - one of Rodney's broad shoulders was just right for John to lay his head down on so that one of those clever, agile hands could be put to work patting and ruffling John's hair, and playing with its springiness and pushing through the wild strands to scritch around his scalp in a way Rodney found extremely satisfying and hopefully John did too. His startled protests had died down to a rumbling growl of contentment, so Rodney had to assume their satisfaction was mutual.

The rough edges of the wall were digging into Rodney's thighs where he sat awkwardly astride. His back was a bit sore too, from supporting John's weight. And the breeze was taking on a sharp, chill edge, so that anything not in contact with his friend's warmth was getting just a little bit shivery.

Rodney didn't care.

He was hugging John - and it appeared that the hug was being gratefully received.

It could have gone badly wrong, of course. It could have resulted, in fact, in a very firm, well-aimed punch in the face. But, having applied his problem-solving skills, not to the usual crisis situation, but to his friend's battened-down, tangled-in-knots emotions, the hold-it-together patch that had sprung to mind seemed to be working hi usual McKay magic.

"Mmmf," said John, his breath making a warm patch on Rodney's shoulder.

"Yes," agreed Rodney.

"Uh-hmm-gh," said John.

"I know," said Rodney.

John's shoulders shrugged.

Rodney rubbed a broad hand up and down his spine.

John sighed and relaxed even more into a boneless heap.

Rodney wondered, if he rocked slightly, would John take offence? And would his back stand the strain? He tried it.

John sighed again and snuffled a bit. Rodney's back ached, but that was okay.

The moon rose and they stayed, mashed together in a single John-and-Rodney unit, which, Rodney thought, was entirely right and proper and really how they always should have been. He didn't know why he hadn't thought about just going ahead and hugging the stuffing out of John before. It was an obvious move, really. But that's what you get for being in charge of an Ancient city and all its systems, Rodney decided - and if a brief hiatus in a ruined building was all it took for him to formulate and carry out the correct procedure for handling Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, then Rodney would still rate his effectiveness and efficiency pretty damn high.

There was a squawk from John's radio.

John sat up slowly and acknowledged, with his usual economy. The Jumper was, at last, on its way.

"Soon be home, then," said Rodney.

"Yeah." It was dark, but the moonlight outlined John's form as he rubbed at the back of his neck and flickered in sparks as he lowered and raised his eyes again. "Uh…"

"I think we should do that again," said Rodney, boldly. "When we get home." The bones in his spine clicked as he sat up straight and jutted out his chin, laying himself out for rejection.

"Okay," said John.

"Okay? Really?"

The pattern of silver and black wobbled as John shrugged. "Yeah. If you wanna."

"Of course I want to. I should have done it long ago and kept doing it until you realised it was a good idea. Although, that would come under the heading of non-consensual wouldn't it? Which is definitely a bad thing. And I've forced myself on you now, haven't I? Oh God, what've I done? You didn't want to hug me. I just decided for both of us because it seemed like a good, non-verbal way of giving you some kind of… you know…" - he waved his hands, wobbled and slapped them down on the wall - "some kind of warmth. Some kind of comfort, for fuck's sake, which you never normally allow yourself, and who decides they're not allowed comfort? That's just madness! That's just - oh."

They were back to John-and-Rodney again, except this time it was John's arms wrapped around him, and his head smushed into John's shoulder.

"Shut up, McKay," said John.

"Oh. Yes. Good idea." He freed his arms and slid them around John's lean torso and squeezed. And sighed. "This was a good idea, wasn't it?"

"One of your best, Rodney."

"Yes. And my best is pretty fucking good, isn't it? Pretty off-the-charts amazing. My best blows everyone else's puny efforts completely out of the water."

"I'm not gonna argue."

"But… I suppose we'd better…"

Rodney patted John on the back and pulled away, and John returned the pat and sat up. And there they were, just two colleagues sitting on a wall and waiting for a Jumper - which should have picked them up ages ago and multiple heads would have rolled completely off their respective shoulders and ended up bobbing in the ocean surrounding the Ancient city if Rodney hadn't managed to put the time to such very good use. The heads might have to roll anyway, just for the sake of form.

"It uh… it hurts like a total bitch," said John.

"Oh," said Rodney. "Oh. Well. Thank you for telling me." He reached out and patted John's shoulder. "If I offer you some tylenol, will you take it?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

Rodney found the pills in his medkit. John swallowed them with a swig from his canteen.

"Thanks, McKay."

Rodney patted his friend's knee. "Maybe," he said. "Maybe there's a spark in there somewhere? And maybe I can get current running through it again."

"What?"

"That bit inside you. The bit that's shut down. Maybe I can fix it."

John shuffled and there was a grating sound as he dug the toe of a boot into the loose stones. "Well," he said eventually, "you're good at fixing things, that's for sure."

"Yes," said Rodney. "I am."

A whining swish grew slowly out of the breezy rustling of the forest. The Jumper had arrived.

"But I'm not expecting miracles," Rodney continued. "I don't want you to feel like you have to be fixed. I'm here for you, fixed or not."

"Best buddies," said John, and the moonlight flashed on his grin.

"Best buddies," agreed Rodney. He reached out and John's hand was there, reaching out for his. He squeezed back when John's long, strong fingers gripped his, firm and sure and with a promise in their strength.

"Best buddies," Rodney said again.

But they were more than that.

Rodney knew it.

And, somewhere wrapped inside his best buddy's battened-down, tangled-in-knots emotions, Rodney suspected that even John knew it too.

Snuggly comfort achieved for John and Rodney. I'm gonna get me some of that.