(dis)connected

Sam stumbled through the gate, bent forward, resting her hands on her knees, panting.

Cameron's boots were loud on the ramp before the sound of the gate disengaging swallowed the clanking.

Blood rushed in her ears. For a long time, there was nothing but the sound of her own breathing and the burning in her legs and chest. Pictures assaulted her, making her screw her eyes shut. No avail. Everything replayed itself in her mind's eye.

A hand on her shoulder made her tense.

"Sam, are you – "

Sam straightened, abrupt and painful. Locked gazes with Cameron in a warning. "Not now."

She could see his need to reach out, to comfort, to help, to talk, but Sam shook her head, short and sharp. "Not now, Cam."

***

Endless post mission exam, endless debrief. She couldn't remember the last time she'd looked forward to a shower this much. Just to wash the dirt and sweat and fear stench off. Her mind was already under the shower spray when Landry caught her arm before she could leave his office.

Sam straightened, falling into parade rest without a conscious effort. "Sir."

"McKay's here."

Something twisted in her stomach. The name alone was enough to remind her of what she still tried to ignore - Atlantis lost to them, Jack a galaxy away, the Ancients unwilling to help in the fight against the Ori ... The missions that were almost daily now kept those thoughts at bay, usually. The bone-deep exhaustion left no room for what-if's.

But McKay here instead of in Area 51 ... Well, it had been more than four days since she'd gone on this mission with a stand-in team. Daniel, Vala and Teal'c were still with the council. Something must have gone really haywire if they'd flown in McKay despite the silent SGC agreement that he should not work in Cheyenne for at least a year. Acclimate, they'd said. She'd wanted to hit people the first time she'd heard it and it was no better now.

Before, McKay's presence would have made her edgy. His obvious interest in her made uncomfortable, she wasn't used to this direct kind of attention.

Now, his presence was just a relief. Another last minute fix, she knew realistically, wouldn't have been possible for her now. She had her own problems, her own demons to fight. Demons that kept reminding her that whoever walked through the gate with a team should come back with one.

McKay's presence here gave her time to breathe, the distance she needed, and damn, she'd probably kiss him if he wouldn't preen about it for weeks.

"Not curious why, Colonel?"

She gave Landry a tired smile that took an effort to form. "The world was about to end," she said, shrugging, "or you wouldn't have let him come back here."

Landry's barely perceptible wince was a satisfaction in and of itself. He reached for his coffee mug and smiled, an evasive smile. "You should go and catch up." A sip. "And make him take a damn break while you're down there. The lab-rats are ready to stage a rebellion."

"Sir." She nodded, indicated her head toward the door.

Landry finally waved his hand, dismissing her.

McKay was here. Sam hooked a thumb into her right pant-pocket as she headed out of his office.

But, really, Sam had to admit, it would improve her own mood as well. Apart from his abrasive nature, she'd always liked McKay. He was one of the few people on the planet who understood her without explanations, he had a sense of humor and was chivalrous in the oddest moments. Not to mention that cute ass. Not that she ever told him that. She wasn't insane, after all.

Upon reaching the communal showers, she stripped fast. Smiled into the shower spray, her earlier fantasy finally reality, diverting her briefly from her own problems. The klaxons alerting the base to a wormhole activation rang against the tiles, but cut off and no further alerts followed. Sam sucked in a deep breath. Just another gate team returning then. No reason to rush back into BDUs and bolt for the control room. The labs and McKay were still her goal.

She wasn't really up for snark or catching up, nor even a couple of good, long looks at McKay's ass, but it would be better than going home alone to her empty, stuffy house. It might even be refreshing. Time to compartmentalize. Time to push the demons to the side. They could wait until she'd had some distraction.

***

Sam made into the locker room and into her clothes before the influx of men from whichever team had made it back hit the showers. Thank God for mandatory post-mission medical exams. She pulled on her knee high boots in a slow, tired move. Good girls wore panty hoses, but, damn it, she liked the feel of the soft leather sliding against her bare skin. She'd get away with no hose since she'd shaved her legs anyway. Before this last wretched mission, she had come in here in a skirt, something she didn't do often, but back then, she had hoped that it would be an easy, short mission and that she'd have time to go for dinner with Dr. Lam later. It was time to give her a chance. The boots had been necessary, too cold for sandals in October. The chill in the air outside transferred to the hallways under the mountain as well. In all her years down here, she had never managed to get really warm. Maybe it was the mountain. Tonight, it was the mission, too, chilling her to the bone.
 
She actually looked forward to fulfilling Landry's request of getting McKay out of the lab. Getting both of them out from under the Mountain. She'd never admit it out loud - his head would explode if he knew - but she liked the looks he gave her, and she knew that the skirt and boots combo would help her agenda.
 
"Colonel Carter." The voice startled her out of her thoughts. Sam looked up from the zipper of her left boot and found Colonel Sheppard standing at the entrance of the locker room, clad in a mud-spattered uniform, clumps of something green and oozing in his hair, looking ready to collapse.

She forced a smile on her face and tipped her head at him. "Colonel Sheppard."

He gave her a bleak, tired look. "You done in here?" He entered the room now that he had announced his presence. Sam saw a few livid bruises on his arms and a scratch along his cheek and her hand went to her own arm, unthinking. Looked as though Sheppard's mission hadn't gone well, either. Sam fought the urge to run both hands through her hair in frustration. Someone should have a good day around here. She was getting tired of nothing but bad news and death. The silence in the room was resounding. She wanted to talk to him but had no idea what about. And he deserved more than small talk. Hell, they all did.

"On my way out," she said. "I swear I left some hot water."

He managed a weak smile. "I don't think I'd notice if it was cold at this point, as long as there's soap."

"The rest of your team?" Sam inquired. The sound of her boot zipper echoed off the lockers. She stood, smoothed a few wrinkles out of her skirt and blouse and gave her boots a stamp, settling her feet into place. Sheppard watched, looking vaguely amused.

He sighed when she looked at him and answered, "Still in the infirmary. Babbis, Wallace and the botanist all managed to sprain or strain something this time. All three of them fell into some sort of nettle patch. Lam's observing them for twenty-four hours in case of a delayed allergic reaction." His expression darkened when he mentioned allergies.

"Well, the showers are all yours then, Colonel," she said, thinking at least he brought his team home, all of them still alive. She detoured around him and stepped into the corridor with a small smile and a nod. She was half-way to the elevators when she turned back and took up a station outside the locker room doors, leaning against the wall. She'd bet Sheppard didn't have a clue McKay was around. Maybe telling him would improve Sheppard's mood. He'd been distant just now, and it wasn't just that he wasn't gelling with his new team or post-mission exhaustion.

She was still trying to decide if he'd want to see McKay when Sheppard came through the doors, saw her and gave her a puzzled look. His hair was still damp and he'd pulled a button-down shirt over his t-shirt. Jeans and tennis shoes signaled he was on his way out of the Mountain too.
 
He raked his fingers through his hair. "I thought you were heading out?" He sounded curious, but not terribly interested. His gaze moved past her, down the corridor to the elevators and he turned away. Escape beckoned apparently. Sam would have been a little insulted if she hadn't been just that weary and desperate to get away from the job sometimes.

"As soon as I can drag McKay out of the labs, yeah."
 
Sheppard's back suddenly looked painfully straight and unmoving. When he turned again, it appeared to be with great difficulty. "McKay's here?" His voice was cautious, tight and controlled.
 
"Flown in to save the world while I was gone," Sam said. "Thank god he was around."
 
"Yeah. Thank god." The words were dripping with cynicism. The vibe from the Sheppard was different, this time, with a sharper edge than she saw in him last, on Atlantis. She didn't blame him. Landry had already privately confided in SG-1 that all the Atlantis crew would be kept separate and distant; something about too many alphas and post-traumatic stress. She wasn't sure that was a good idea, but it did mean that here and now, on a personal level, she could offer something she was pretty sure no one else could: Time and an open ear, and no questions asked.
 
"I thought orders had been to keep McKay away from here?" Sheppard's tone was light, but the underlying accusation was impossible to miss.
 
Landry had been pretty clear that Atlantis personnel - McKay especially - weren't to work on Atlantis gathered data.  Not so soon, anyway.
 
"Yeah. They were. Odd how people's minds change when the world is about to end, isn't it?"
 
Clearly, Sheppard wasn't thrilled that Rodney was being kept, as he probably saw it, back burner. Sam wasn't sure if she disagreed.  Keeping them from the things they loved and missed might be better for acclimating them back to Earth, but she wasn't so sure it was good for their mental stability. Even after four weeks, Sheppard still carried the kind of exhaustion that came from hopelessness. Atlantis was gone, back in the hands of her rightful owners, and they'd been abandoned instead.
 
Four weeks wasn't enough to expect them to get over this. Despite what the base psychologists had confided to Landry, she wasn't sure they would ever recover. Not really.

"Yeah, what are the odds," he said. The sheer cynicism in his tone took her breath away. If he sounded like that with Landry or other superiors, no wonder his career track had stalled. Sam loved and respected both the Air Force and the SGC. Sheppard sounded almost contemptuous. Not contemptuous the way McKay was, either. Bitter and knowing. Sam knew he couldn't have been like this in Atlantis, couldn't have functioned if he was, and cursed the psychologists again. They just didn't get it, not what it was like to be on a team, or off-planet, and certainly not what the returned Atlantis personnel felt. She didn't think she got that, but treating them the way they were wasn't working.

He shrugged. "No player has an incentive to deviate in a Nash equilibrium." His mouth twisted into a mocking smile. "Of course, that presumes they are using optimal strategy and don't just think they are. Human interaction is always based on imperfect information, though."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Game theory?"

He shrugged again.
 
"I didn't realize you were that good at math."
 
"Yeah, well, neither did anyone else until Rodney."
 
"Let me guess: since anything else would be a waste of his time, he's been using and abusing that since day one?" she asked, feeling the corners of her eyes crinkle with the upcoming smile.
 
"I never thought I'd be considered a personal pocket calculator one day," he said, drawling a touch.
 
Sam had to bite her tongue to keep the comment that was ready to spill out inside. Sarcasm aside, Sheppard had clearly enjoyed working with Rodney and that was something else returning to Earth has taken away. Instead she said, "I know the feeling."
 
"You are a personal pocket calculator?"
 
Sam surprised herself with the loud laugh. "As a matter of fact, yes."
 
"Never met one before." Sheppard grinned, the tension finally broken. It made him look years younger. He stuck out his hand. "Pleased to meet you."
 
Sam took his hand, shook it and mirrored his grin, feeling warm for the first time in weeks. Sheppard's hand was large and warm, had nicks and calluses in places she was familiar with. A good hand.
 
Unlike most other soldiers she'd encountered, there was no obligatory contest of wills as Sheppard squeezed back. Just warmth and pressure that felt good. He was as frayed as she was. Sam felt more grateful than she could say, warming up to Sheppard even more than she already had.
 
They walked together to the elevators and then on along the hallway leading to the labs when suddenly something banged loudly, then shattered and a cacophony of voices sounded from the lab. Sheppard winced, just like she did. "I hope that wasn't expensive," he said.
 
"It probably was."
 
Sheppard ran a hand through his still-damp hair, looking awkward, uncomfortable. "Sorry."
 
They had almost reached the lab's open door. Sam slowed her steps and shrugged, unwilling to let their conversation end. "We've all done it. He throws things, I blow them up. Same old, same old." A smirk in his direction as she remembered McKay complaining loud and often about the military's penchant for shooting things as a first option. "I've heard you shoot things."
 
Sheppard halted as well, looking mock-offended. "You've been talking to McKay about me, haven't you?"
 
"He may have mentioned you once or twice," she said, enjoying his put-upon pout. Sam let him stew for a while, then added: "In the first five minutes."
 
"Well, he talked about you enough."
 
Sam pulled a grimace. "Tell me he didn't share any of his fantasies."
 
Sheppard's mouth twitched. "The one in lab three was good, but the one in the shower?" He looked at her from the corner of his eyes, mirth sparkling. "That one took a gold medal."
 
"If I weren't absolutely sure you're spinning the biggest lie possible," she said, conversationally, "I'd have to hurt you."
 
He grinned at her, unrepentant. "No chance."
 
"Hand-to-hand combat trained by Teal'c," Sam stated.
 
"Stick-fighting with Teyla and hand-to-hand with Ronon." There was a definite preen in his voice, head tilted proudly, before a shadow flitted over his face. He continued, "Besides, would you engage a fellow officer?"
 
She copied his smirk as best as she could. "Yes. I would."
 
She didn't bother to mention that she was his senior in rank, because it really didn't matter. With Sheppard, talking was as easy as it only was with Cam – the same rank, same service, similar experiences – military brats recognized each other. She could let go of some of the usual boundaries. No need to be overly polite or careful. The easy back-and-forth just felt good, comfortable like a favorite shirt, soft with many washings.
 
"I could totally take you."
 
She smirked, crinkling her nose at him. "And I could kill you with my brain."
 
Sheppard blinked, then abruptly threw his head back and laughed – a wonderfully warm and dirty laugh that made Sam smile herself.

***

John was perfectly aware that the brass didn't want Atlantis veterans hanging out together; they'd done everything they could to separate all of them. He'd invited himself to accompany Colonel Carter to the labs anyway. If he hadn't run into her, if she hadn't mentioned it, he would never have known until too late that Rodney was on the base. It made him quietly fume.

Not Carter's fault, though, and he found himself relaxing into the sort of light banter he'd shared with Rodney more than once, until she came out with the same threat Rodney uesed regularly. It made him laugh, because he doubted she'd appreciate the comparison, but she and Rodney were really alike.

He wasn't sure what he said when they walked into the lab, his eyes were searching for Rodney already, and his stomach dropped through to his boots when he did find him because he looked terrible. Unshaven, pasty, bruised around the eyes, so obviously at the end of some marathon effort, too wired and paranoid to lay down and sleep unless someone he trusted made him...

"...a real dork," Carter said and he blinked at her and replied on automatic. "Yeah, I've been called that."

He set his hand on the door jamb and leaned, because stuffing his hands in his pockets just didn't feel natural, setting them on his hips made him look angry and crossing his arms the way he wanted to made his own insecurity too damn obvious with someone as sharp-eyed as Sam Carter in the same room.

He wanted to walk across the lab, wrap a hand around Rodney's arm and tug him to his feet. Wanted to take him home to his crappy apartment and tuck him into the queen-sized bed that was about twice as wide as anything they'd ever shared in Atlantis. He couldn't though, couldn't breathe a word and wasn't even sure Rodney would welcome it if he could.

This was Earth and Rodney didn't have to settle for a buddyfuck and a series of surreptitious handjobs snatched in between crises. Rodney could snag himself someone like Sam Carter. Maybe he already had, John thought a little bitterly, taking in Carter's blue-striped blouse, black skirt and high boots. Maybe she'd dressed for Rodney and they meant to go out together and he was just...in the way.

He had to close his eyes at that thought, had to not look at Rodney, before anyone noticed the hunger in his gaze. This was no place to give away a clue to what they'd been doing before, back in Atlantis. Especially when he didn't know if they were ever going to do it again.

He sucked in a deep breath, opened his eyes and smiled at Carter with deliberate charm.

***

Rodney jerked his head up, hearing a familiar voice. He blinked owlishly at the doorway, at the two people stepping into the lab.

"Yeah, I've been called that," John said.

God. John was back. It had been five weeks now. Rodney's throat felt tight, the skin around his jaw prickling. He needed to shave, probably. Dress-regs had never been a high priority, no doubt because of Lieutenant Colonel 'eight a.m. shadow' Sheppard, but Rodney usually found the time at least every other day. It'd been... how long had it been? At least a few days. Three? No, more. Since the damn ancient weapon had almost blown up the planet.

They'd dragged him out of Area 51 faster than he could blink, to work a miracle while their usual miracle worker was MIA offworld. He'd hoped to see John again, see if he was already working his ass off and developing a couple more gray hairs and a new ulcer, but John was offworld as well. It had felt like a punch in the gut.

The combined laughter of Sam and John - when he hadn't known they were both back, much less together - felt like another one.

Rodney hunched forward, both wanting to burn their images into his brain and not wanting to look up at them again. One look had been enough. Sam, dressed up for a date - those boots just shouldn't make her look so damn hot - and Sheppard - John, god - in faded blue jeans and Rodney's favorite shirt. There was no way they hadn't hooked up since he'd last been here.

It wasn't like he hadn't been dreading this, in a way, but that didn't help things now. Rodney had no problem imagining John being the dorky, edged-with-sadness mystery who wrapped Sam around his little finger.  Just a few lines murmured in his low, sexy voice. Maybe he'd had his hip cocked and that damned smirk. It was all just too easy. "Call me John," he'd drawl, which everyone knew meant Sleep with me now. You know you want to.  Never mind that Rodney had never heard John tell anyone to call him by his first name. And he could out-chill an arctic weather front with anyone who presumed against his wishes. Rodney'd seen and heard him charm women without benefit of first names often enough before, though. Not him, of course; John hadn't bothered with seduction when they were both desperate, pumped too full of adrenaline to care. Rodney hadn't wanted seduction, anyway. Hell, he probably would've laughed. Need had been their driving reason. Need, familiarity and proximity.
 
Of course Sam and John would hit it off. They'd been friendly enough during SG-1's last visit to – to the place he didn't live in, anymore. It hadn't been a long enough visit for any kind of meaningful dialogue, but Rodney had known with fatalistic certainty even then that if they had the chance, it would happen. They were both attractive to to him for similar reasons after all, reasons that would attract them to each other too.

Sam even liked Back to the Future. She'd be good for John. He'd be good for her. And he, Rodney, would still be here in this damn lab while they planned their honeymoon. A saner portion of his mind pointed out that he'd taken them from walking into the lab together to married in one giant leap of jealousy, but that didn't really help.

He wished he had more of a poker face.

Frowning at a piece of what might've been an irreplaceable Ancient crystal, Rodney glumly tried to put two fragmented edges together. The break was jagged, with small shards missing. Unfixable after the averted explosion. Just like most things in Rodney's life. Normally it took at least two bottles of something high proof to get him this morose, but he felt he was allowed, now. They'd just been summarily kicked out. The SGC had even less idea what to do with them. And John had already forgotten him and had moved onto his next conquest: Samantha Carter, the only truly untouchable thing in Rodney's life.

He should probably hate John for that. It wasn't like he didn't know how Rodney felt. He didn't have enough energy to hate John. He was too furious over everything else. Sure, they came crying to him when some idiot triggered a major overload in a weapon none of them understood, but did they let him work on the Ancient technology in Antarctica? No. They even gave to Jumper Project to Bill Lee. Bill Effing Lee. That should have been Radek's. Lee was a hack compared to Radek, who had three years experience working with jumpers. But no...

It was so fucking unfair it made his pulse into a rushing noise in his ears. He'd lost everything. His work, Atlantis, John...now John was wrecking his dream of Carter. The pretty lab in Area 51 was a bad joke and he was wasting his time proving theories to idiots when he'd worked with the fruit of those theories for years.

Maybe he should just go get drunk and be done with it. Maybe he should hate Sam too, perfect, inspired Sam Carter, who apparently got to have John, like losing Atlantis hadn't been bad enough, Rodney had to lose the only other wonder that had been wholly his. Maybe he did. Love and hate really could exist within the same heart.

Rodney groaned and let his chin sink to his chest. He was being ridiculous. He knew he was. That just made it all the worse.

John should have known, should have cared at least enough not to parade it in front of Rodney.

And yet here he was, showing off his relationship with Sam - damn it, even in the lab now, they were still standing side by side, too damn close - as though he were clueless about how much it would torture Rodney.

If they weren't going to say hi and at least fake some niceties, then they could at least take their damn romance crap somewhere else. Anywhere else. Somewhere far enough away that he could scrub the images of them together from his mind. God, they'd be so hot together. It was far too easy to imagine, and his mind was merciless. He hadn't actually ever seen Sam naked, but his imagination was vivid. That long, graceful body with round, perfect breasts – he didn't think his hallucination was that off – up against John's body, which was surprisingly attractive given he always looked so damn skinny in his black shirt. His skin was so –

Pathetic. He was being pathetic.

When Kusbit timidly approached, Rodney pushed the data he still hadn't read to one side. "What?" he barked.

Instead of cowering, Kusbit actually tilted his head. He reminded Rodney of Miko, who had immediately flown back to Japan: her little bird like body, housing a brilliant mind. She still cried too much. "Dr. McKay, are you all right?" Kusbit asked.

"What?  Of course I'm all right!  I'm fine!" Banished from home, watching the two people he – he liked pair off like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Everything's just peachy!"

Instead of backing down, Kusbit just frowned, asking, "Are you sure? It's just that, um."

"Um? Don't you know how to speak English?"

"You're breaking the crystal. Again." Kusbit pointed to Rodney's hands, where he'd been mindlessly pressing the two edges of crystal together. He didn't know how long, but long enough and hard enough that pieces of it had started to flake off. Ancient crystals were made of some unknown material that could stand up to fire, flood, and Ronon methodically hacking away at a test crystal with a variety of weapons when intact.

Yet the one in his hand was growing smaller, piece by piece.

"Right," Rodney said, dropping the pieces quickly. "Just, ah, it's a belated reaction to the power-surge and pulling the crystals while they were charged, and, and – " Kusbit wasn't buying it. Rodney hated that almost tender expression, the one he'd seen on marine faces in Area 51 that could frighten small children as they escorted him back from too many late nights. The one that wasn't just pity, but was mixed with sympathy and understanding, too. "Whatever. I'm going."

"Home, Doctor?"

He sneered. Did they really think he could be led like that? He knew he was getting more irritable. Lack of sleep did that. He actually wouldn't mind sleeping if it didn't come neatly packaged with nightmares, the few times he managed to actually drop off. God, he wished Carson were still here. Calling medical doctors 'good' always made Rodney laugh, but Carson was. He always prescribed sleeping pills to Rodney without complaint. The base doctor wasn't nearly so accommodating. "Do I report to you? No. Do you care where I'm going? No. I'm just – I'm going."

There was just one thing he had to do, first.

It nearly took more energy than he had to tidy his lab-bench. His stomach hurt, twisting itself into smaller and smaller knots, and his throat was so dry it felt like it was permanently blocked. His head was starting to ache. He didn't stop, though, just put things away, mechanically and out of habit, and then brushed the fragments of crystal into a container. Some unlucky soul would have to deal with that, later. He didn't care. His work here was done. Not that he'd gotten a single thank-you for it. God, he missed Elizabeth and her slim hand squeezing his shoulder.

Clearing his throat, Rodney folded his hands behind his back. It wasn't the parade rest John went into when he wasn't thinking. It was just a way for him to keep his hands still. That was all.

"Hi." He kept his speech monosyllabic on purpose, not trusting himself to remain polite. "You're back. Colonel. Lieutenant Colonel."

"Doctor," John said back, his mouth quirking upward. He looked happy, right then. It almost felt as though John was glad to see... Rodney stopped the thought before he could finish it. Of course John was happy. Just look at Sam. "C'mon, McKay, what's up? You're never formal."

Just never when John expected it. Smiling felt like repeatedly stabbing himself in the face, but he had to do this. Masochistic though it may be it was necessary for himself, since he doubted either of them wanted his blessing. "You missed the near-apocalypse by half a day while you were busy..." He trailed off, indicating them both. "I didn't, so I'll leave now. So, if you could step aside, I'll just–" He couldn't help lifting one hand to jerk over his shoulder. Tucking it back down, he tried to smile again, lifting his chin. "Right, then. Um. Good night. Colonel. Lieutenant Colonel."

If he could just make it to the door, he'd be okay. Noble, the better man, for once.

Only three more steps.

Two.

One.

Almost out, almost –

"What about the crystals, McKay?"

Rodney's steps faltered for a second. His neck prickled and he had to swallow down the rant that was building inside of him. How could that woman be so dense? It wasn't about the crystals. It wasn't about him being tired or burned out or hungry. It was –

He shook his head and kept walking. Didn't turn back. Not even when he heard both of them calling out after him. He made it to the elevator; didn't turn around to see them both walking side by side, didn't turn around to see their shoulders touching. The door cut off John's damn drawled "Hey, buddy, what's – "

Rodney let his head sink against the cool metal of the elevator. Motion sickness and something more ugly knotted his stomach. The knowledge that he was being replaced. Both John and Sam had found what they'd been looking for in each other, someone who was smart and sexy but less complicated, not so high-maintenance. The sudden stab of loneliness was almost physical. They had found each other while he was gone, so then why couldn't they at least leave him alone, now, allow him his gracious exit? He knew they weren't used to it. But, damn them, he was better than they thought he was. Much better. He wanted to throw things. Break something that was important to John and Sam.

Sheer jealousy had his stomach churning, acid burning up his throat until he could taste it, sour and ugly, in his mouth.

Damn it.

Well, despite what everyone thought, he could do noble. He was going to hold his head high, duck any questions and just leave, so the two of them could keep riding off towards their sunset. It was a stupid image, particularly since Sam was nearly as tall as John, and that was probably too much weight for Rodney's imaginary horse, and anyway why would John want to ride a horse when he'd much prefer a plane or a puddle jumper or even a skate board and –

The elevator doors whooshed open. Rodney windmilled, almost falling, a distinct lack of coordination coming from no sleep, but recovered in time. He didn't care who saw him, and it was clear by the snickers and one concerned, "Are you all right, Doctor?" that quite a few people had. He wasn't obsessing anymore, though. That was very important.

Stomping up to the gate, Rodney glared. The soldier on duty took it calmly.

Fucker.

"Oh, just give me the damned paper work," he snapped. The guard – Jameson?  Jaime? Something J – smirked back, far too like John for Rodney's peace of mind, and handed over the first of the too many forms Rodney had to fill out. He scrawled hurriedly. Time was important, since the goal was to reach his car before John and Sam made it up to the surface – if they even bothered.

Rodney's pen froze. Oh, god. Would that be worse? To know that he was right, and therefore they wouldn't even try to catch him?

The paper tore.

"Shit! Sorry, sorry, let me just – no, no, I really don't need to fill out anoth – fine. Yes, yes, whatever. Fine."

They weren't going to come. It'd been long enough that they should have and really, he didn't need any more proof than that.

Sam was perfect. Hadn't he said that, often enough? Hadn't he wanted her especially because of that? Just call him Cyrano. No, that wasn't quite right, John didn't need anyone to write his words for him and Rodney was distinctly lacking in silver-tongued charm, but he'd probably been the one to alert John to what a prize Sam Carter was.

He wished he didn't know how sad he was acting. This whole line of thinking was deeply pathetic. The rational part of him knew this, knew that he should just think rationally and analyze the situation without the emotional investment he had, and with a lot more sleep in his system. The other part just wanted to howl like a wounded animal.

***

"You're really worried about  him," Carter said, keeping pace with John only because she was in good shape. Christ, what was Rodney thinking, anyway? Sometimes, John just wanted to shake him, and couldn't she just go away? "Come on, McKay's just sleep deprived."

That hadn't just been sleep deprivation. That had been...he didn't know. Something hurting. Did Rodney really think he'd make a move on Carter and flaunt it in front of him? If he did, he needed to have his head straightened out. John was more than happy to do that, but not in front of Carter.

John quelled his irritation. Just because she knew McKay didn't mean she knew Rodney. He didn't know when that distinction had become clear to him, but ithad. He picked up his pace, trying not to curse when the elevator doors closed in his face.  Dammit, McKay. Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, "Look, I can't just let him go."

"Okay," Carter said slowly, dragging the syllables out. She dug a badge out of skirt pocket. "Come on. I know faster elevators. There's a ton of paperwork he'll have to do to get out of the base without regular ID and that'll slow him down. We can catch up at the security desk."

He followed her into an express elevator and watched her key in a code. He couldn't help memorizing it. Numbers just did that with him. The doors shut with a pneumatic whoosh and he was boxed in with her.

"Did he really imply you and I are – " Carter said, turning back to John.

He shrugged. He supposed Rodney had. It probably made sense in Rodney's brain, if nowhere else in the universe. He didn't know whether to be insulted Rodney thought he do that to him or bizarrely complimented that he thought John could pull Rodney's dream girl.

"Look, you're – " John stopped. "I don't want him driving, as out of it as he is. He'll go over a mountain side or something or get back to his place and mainline caffeine until he collapses.

Carter frowned. "Oh." She folded her arms in a pose eerily similar to Rodney's favorite lecturing posture. "I'm surprised, I guess."

The elevator doors opened and John stepped out. "By what?"

Her shoulder moved in a half shrug. "I don't know. The way he's acting toward you. I thought you were friends."

John squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "We are. You just don't...You don't know him the way I do. So, could we just find him before he ends up in a ditch somewhere?"

"Of course," she said and led the way to the security check-out, using a short-cut John hadn't had a clue about. He took the opportunity to pull himself together. The last thing he wanted was for anyone at the SGC to see how freaked out and worried and lonely he was here. He didn't even want Rodney to see that.

***

"Destroying government property again?" The familiar drawl was marred by breathing that was a little heavier than usual, indicating that John had indeed been running. It gave Rodney a perverse kind of satisfaction even as it made his face flush with anger over the fact that John really couldn't leave it alone.
 
He didn't answer. Didn't even look up. Just kept on filling out the forms, slow and methodical, even though John was so close Rodney could smell his damn aftershave.

More quick boot-steps echoed along the corridor. Sam. Of course.

"Nice dodging there, McKay," Sam said, and her voice was so full of forced cheer it surprised Rodney she didn't choke on it. "But did you really think you'd escape us?"

Rodney's head snapped up before he could stop himself. John and Sam were standing next to each other, shoulders almost touching, presenting a unified front in a way John only ever did with the his team, with – He clenched his teeth until his head hurt. An exit. A clean, clear exit that would let him save face and allow them to be as disgustingly happy and pretty together as they damn well wanted. That was all he'd been asking for. Why the hell couldn't they let him have that? Did they have some perverse need to prove they were better than him? They weren't, for fuck's sake.

"I was going to escape to my bed, if you don't mind." He put on his most derisive face and turned a cold smile at John. "Not everything I do revolves around you."

Rodney shoved the papers at the guard. He didn't want to see if his words has prompted a reaction from John. He didn't want a reaction from John.

"Since when do you sleep?"

"Since I noticed that while I was saving the planet," he encompassed the mountain and everything beyond it with a sweeping gesture, "you two were too busy pairing off to even check if I could have used some help."
 
Two stunned faces looked back at him. They didn't answer, just stared.

Rodney turned on his heel. "If you say one word," he told the silently watching guards, "I will make sure you never work in the military again."

"Have you lost your mind?" Sheppard yelled. "We've been off-world. Not together."

Rodney swept a derisive look at the two of them. "That's why you're together – " Even thinking the word made his tongue twist, tasting something sour and old.

"We're not together," Sheppard snapped. He glanced at Carter and winced. "Sorry, not that you – "

She waved a hand at him. "Don't bother. I get it. McKay, did you fry your brain while you were saving the planet?"

Rodney swallowed it down over the lump in his throat. Damn it all to hell. He was going to turn now, turn and leave, and be noble even if it killed him.

Too bad they were still following him.

"McKay," John called, "have you lost your mind? I only just found out you were even here – "

The night air was cool, insects singing an accompaniment as Rodney almost ran to his car. John and Sam kept pace with him. He wanted them to let him go, so he walked faster, kicking gravel out of his way. His throat was still too tight, each breath an effort to pull in and push out, cold against his insides.

"You know, I don't remember him being able to hustle this well, before." Sam's voice was light and teasing and Rodney wanted to hate her so much he was sick with it. She wasn't trying to be mean, he knew. She was honestly trying to make the situation easier for all of them and that was even more impossible to bear than malice would have been.

"C'mon, McKay, please. Just stop and we'll figure this out, okay?" John sounded so plaintive Rodney almost did stop. Except he knew what an act John could put on when he wanted to.

Figure this out? Rodney wanted to punch John, hard. It wasn't as if Rodney had hurt him. He had even backed down, let John have his perfect happy end. What the hell did Rodney need to figure out? John always got everything he fucking wanted. Wrapped Jeannie around his little finger. Hell, he had even gotten Rodney. Why, when he could have all the space bimbos and every other woman he wanted, did it have to be Sam? Sam, who had been the one person Rodney had always wanted for himself? And if he had her, if she had him, why couldn't they give Rodney the chance to act like a mature adult, to do what no one expected of him but which he was damn well capable of?

Rodney didn't stop. He even contemplated running the remaining distance between him and his car, but a hand on his shoulder prevented that.

"Rodney." Sam looked washed out under the dim halogen lighting of the car park. Did the military not pay to have its lots lit? You'd think with security being such a big concern for the SGC it would be lit up like an airport runway. Instead there were only a few lamps studded here and there, that didn't provide nearly enough light. "Rodney, hang on. It's not what you think."

"I think it's exactly what I think, Colonel. And I think both of you would have a great deal more, more whatever if I wasn't involved, not that it is any of my business, you're both adults, so if you would just – "

"Sure about that?" John had found a car to slouch against, because god forbid that man actually have to stand up straight for any length of time. "Are you sure it's what you think?"
 
"McKay," Sam said again.

Sam looked ethereal in the moonlight but tired; John just looked overworked and hollow. Rodney swallowed. They were beautiful, he thought: the length of John's body silver-touched and almost diffused around the edges, Sam's hair limned in light, shadows defining her cheekbones, both of them thrown into sharp chiaroscuro. But it was John's expression that kept him frozen and mute.

He looked...blank, eyes narrowed slightly: an expression Rodney had learned meant John's sharp mind was calculating how to get them out of some situation that had him scared spitless. Rodney just didn't know what could be scaring John now. Unless he really thought Rodney would destroy his career out of spite...

"What the hell?" Rodney heard himself asking. "What are you – you can't – look, I get it, okay? Go forth, make perfect babies, and stop – "

"Babies?" Sam asked, a faint smile twitching around her mouth.

John pushed off the car. He just looked pissed off now and Rodney wondered if he'd read the expression on his face right before. "And here I thought I was asking you a serious question."

"I don't need your pity," Rodney spat. He turned away and walked around the car. Started fiddling with the keys. "Don't you dare patronize me."

"McKay, will you stop?" Sam had slipped next to him while he was too busy glaring at John over the hood of the silver Toyota the SGC had provided him with. She put a hand on his, stopping him from activating the remote and opening the doors. Her fingertips were cold. "Just, stop."

Rodney took her hand between thumb and index finger and removed at as though it were unclean. He smiled a nasty smile at her. "Why should I stop? It's just about to be fun, isn't it?" He noticed John slowly rounding the car and began to feel trapped, even though John hadn't reached him yet. Trying to ignore him, Rodney concentrated on Sam again, sneering at her. "What do you want, absolution?"

In his rage, he had forgotten somehow that Sam was military. He was reminded of that fact when she grasped his upper arms, fingers digging into his muscles hard enough to cause pain, turning him and pushing him against the driver's side. Her voice was silky, too calm for the situation. "You know, McKay, it would help if you just said what kind of bug crawled up your ass."

He closed his eyes and swallowed, hard. His thoughts derailed at her proximity, anger drifting away like pale smoke.

When he opened his eyes and sneaked a look as discreetly as he could, John was standing next to him and had lifted his hand. He was easing the grip of Sam's hand – that would no doubt leave bruises that would show tomorrow – off Rodney's arm, lifting it away, his expression gone thoughtful. The touch burned through Rodney's jacket. He remembered when it had been John's hands locked onto his arms. The memory left his throat too dry to swallow.

"For a scientist, Rodney," John told him, "you jump to a lot of conclusions." He was standing closer than Sam was, body heat bleeding through their clothes. "Although Sam's right about one thing. Seems all I need to do to make you move is make you – "

John stopped, voice catching. Jealous, Rodney knew he was going to say, just as he knew that John was remembering why he didn't have to make Rodney move, anymore. Probably wouldn't ever again, since it was doubtful Rodney was needed on off-world missions in the Milky Way.

The shutters went up, Rodney could see John close himself off. It stung, but maybe it was for the better.

Neither of them knew how Sam thought about two guys together. Rodney couldn't imagine her reporting John, but he couldn't be sure, either. He'd never grasped the whole military thing, how much they adhered to regulations they didn't necessarily believe in. He didn't even know if she would pick up on the implication of what John had almost said.

John stepped back, making Rodney aware of the cold night air. Sam touched his arm, lightly this time, and squeezed once before letting go.

"Okay?" she mouthed. The place where her hand had been cooled down rapidly.

Rodney shrugged. He had no idea.

***

 "Give me the keys." Sheppard's voice cut through the lengthening silence. He held out his hand.

McKay's "Why?" was a little breathless, but no less demanding.

"Because we could all use a drink."

Do we ever, Sam agreed, if only to herself.

Sheppard snatched the keys from McKay's fingers and opened the car.

Sam saw McKay open his mouth to protest, but Sheppard beat him to it. "I'm driving."

"Fine," McKay grumbled and walked around to the passenger's side. His shoulders were hunched and tense. He didn't look back at her before he opened the door and sat down.

No extension of the invitation. She told herself not to be disappointed. Sam had already resigned herself to going over to her own vehicle and home to a microwave dinner, when a brief touch on her elbow stopped her. Sheppard looked pale in the lamplight, his eyes shadowed.

"You should – " He cleared his throat and fixed his gaze somewhere over her left shoulder for a long moment before looking straight at her. "You should come with us." The words were amiable, it would have seemed as though he didn't really care if she came along or not. His eyes, however, were pleading. Asking her to come along.

She said yes without thinking twice. Said yes because she didn't want to be alone this evening, whether she was reading more into Sheppard's words than was really there. Maybe he was just being polite. She didn't care.

It was only when Sheppard was driving the car through the second town after Cheyenne Mountain, the car's interior filled with a deafening silence, that she asked herself what the hell she was getting herself into here.

Because there was something between these two that she wasn't getting. Maybe it was just the out of balance effect of only having half their team present throwing their interactions off, but it felt like something else, something more.


Sheppard didn't drive them to a bar. Nor a hotel. Nor a diner. She'd seen all of those along the way and he had passed by every single one of them. Sam fidgeted on the velour seat. The palms of her hands tingled. The seatbelt cut into her chest. To have at least something to do, she wound down the window a bit. Fresh, cool night air washed inside, carrying the scent of fall – dry leaves, pine, and ripe fruits. In the dark, she saw pumpkins lined up on a field, incongruous and almost cliched for Colorado. Their bright orange was an eerie dot of color in the inky night when the car's light touched them.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw McKay fidgeting as well. She could tell that he was trying to start a conversation, but for the first time since she had known him, he failed. Instead, he reached out toward the glove compartment and pulled out several CDs. The jewel cases slipped and ended up clattering into his lap. He cursed under his breath, and that alone jarred Sam. McKay had never cursed before, at least never around her. It showed her just how frayed he was when he slipped at something so simple.

It took him a while to pick a CD, but finally, the uncomfortable silence was broken by melodious electronic sounds. Was that...? "Tangerine Dream, McKay?" She was surprised for a moment, but then wondered why. She guessed she just hadn't expected their musical tastes to be compatible.

"Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

It was back to silence after that exchange, the hiss of tires on tarmac, but Sam was glad to see Sheppard's long, blunt-tipped fingers thrumming on the stirring wheel to the rhythm of the music.

About three long pieces of music after that, Sheppard pulled over to the left and drove into the car park of a dark apartment complex. He turned the key and the car grew quiet. Only their breathing was audible.

"Welcome to our final destination," Sheppard finally said, with a pretense of humor that seemed to come only with effort. "If this is not your final destination, please make further accommodations on your own, because this is my stop."

"Where the hell are we?" McKay demanded as he got out the car.

Sam opened the back door and looked around the neutral houses, duplexes and apartment buildings, the cars in the parking lot. The entire feel of it was familiar, and the reason she had gotten out of here with the first bit of money she'd made. "Your apartment," she stated, looking at Sheppard, who had rounded the car and was standing next to McKay.

Sheppard shrugged. "Good a place as any."

"After that drive, you'd better have some damn good whiskey," McKay grumbled.

Sheppard was a dark shadow as he ghosted across the cement walk-way. Of course it was cement – cheap, sturdy, and reassuringly bland.  She'd known good soldiers who'd gone insane, stuck in military housing for too long. That Sheppard stayed here bothered her. He had the money, she knew he did.  His pay-grade wasn't that much lower than her own, and the USAF had been keeping it nice and warm in his three-year absence. It wasn't lack of options, either, since Landry didn't want his best people beating their heads against the walls just so the dents and smears of blood added a few unique touches; options for apartments vetted but not built by the military had been offered immediately. In fact, Sam was pretty sure Carson Beckett had taken that offer. So had Elizabeth Weir.

The door squeaked slightly as it opened. "You know, some WD-40 would – " McKay's tremulous suggestion cut off as Sheppard went still after flipping on the overhead light. His shoulder's were too straight and rigid to hunch, but Sam still got the impression that they wanted to. "Ah, right. Um. Very, ah. Very, um. Spartan, Colonel."

Sam grimaced, hoping neither man noticed. This was irrefutable proof of something she hadn't really wanted to confirm. 'Spartan' was a charitable way of describing it. The living room contained a ratty brown easy-chair, no doubt rescued from someone's dump, a TV with long, trailing silver ears as testament to its success in receiving over-the-air channels, and an overturned box that acted as a footrest. That was it. Plain white walls with nothing adorning them, a wide expanse of threadbare taupe carpeting of the sort that even she had covered as completely as possible when she'd lived in similar accommodations.

There wasn't even a DVD player.

She knew the rest of this place – never his home – would be exactly the same. Enough for bare essentials and not one drop of interest more. Neat in the way of military men, who never quite get over boot camp, either carrying the habit with them or rebelling utterly and becoming complete slobs.

"Yeah, yeah," Sheppard said.  "Hang on, I think I left the bottle in the kitchen."

"Bottle?" Rodney asked. His face was pale and haggard in the dim lighting, staring at Sheppard's retreating back. "What, you're too good for glasses now?"

The words weren't meant to be heard. She knew that, because the tone wasn't biting or sarcastic, instead forlorn.

Sam closed her eyes. It was an intrusion to be here. She wasn't supposed to witness Rodney at his most open and being here in Sheppard's apartment felt like stepping inside the man's skin.

"Colonel?" It was what Rodney always called Sheppard, but habit was habit and Sam still opened her eyes. Rodney was looking at her, almost ethereal without any direct lighting. "Are you all right?"

She made herself smile. It probably wasn't a good one, but she meant it. This wasn't the same snappy, abrasive man who'd met her with accusations and condescension, four years ago. This was the man Sam had wanted him to be, no matter how often she still thought about strangling him. "You should call me Sam."

His mouth opened, absently licking his lip as he tried to come up with a response. He wasn't as easy to surprise as he had been, Sam knew, and was perversely pleased she'd done so now.

"Uhm, yes. Sam. Of course."

Sheppard found them like that, Rodney hastily clearing his throat, backing towards the lonely recliner sitting in the middle of the room. Sam grinned at his retreat. He may not have been the McKay she remembered, but it was still fun to make him give way. A lot of fun, as a matter of fact, and a pleasure she shared. Sheppard's expression was a knowing smirk, darker with curiosity. "I miss something?"

Turning her same amusement on him, Sam took the opened bottle of whiskey from his hand and chugged it. Straight. Managing not to shudder – it'd been a while since she'd had more than a beer or a glass of wine before bed – she handed the bottle back to Sheppard. "Thanks. And nope, you didn't miss anything at all. Now, I think it's McKay's turn?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sheppard quipped, irreverently saluting her with the whiskey bottle, the gesture lazy enough to make her grin. "Of course, ma'am."

He handed to bottle to McKay with a waggle of his brows. McKay frowned at it. "Come on, Rodney," Sheppard taunted, "You'd kiss her, but you won't drink after her? It's alcohol. Any germs are history anyway."

"You don't know, there may be any number of off-world bacteria that are immune to alcohol as a sterilizing agent," McKay snapped back, but he lifted the bottle and took a deep drink. Sam found herself watching the motion of his Adam's apple under the skin of his throat. He handed it back to Sheppard, who grinned at him then licked the mouth of the bottle, before fitting his lips around it tightly and tipping his head back.

Sam swallowed hard and glanced away. McKay didn't.

"What now?" she heard herself say.

"Have another drink," Sheppard said. The cool glass of the bottle was pressed into her fingers. "I find it does wonders for my mood."

She took it and walked over to the large window that looked out from the living room onto the street. An occasional car went by and she noticed the walls were so thin she could hear the buzz of the motors dopplering up and then down as they approached, then passed. She could hear a couple of cats fighting somewhere outside. It was so damn depressing she had to take that second drink and a third.

Then McKay was at her shoulder, pale face reflecting in the glass, taking the bottle back. "Give me that."

They seemed to have run out of anything to say to one another. Sheppard was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed, watching Sam and Rodney at the window. His reflection looked like a ghost, the lights of the apartment building across the street shining through it.

"Well, this is just the most fun I've had since my last root-canal," McKay remarked, before stalking over to the TV and switching it on. The soft buzz of sound filled the room before the picture coalesced: talking heads, a football field behind them. "I should have known."

Sheppard unfolded his arms, relaxing a little, as though McKay's scorn pleased him. "Hey, if you can find something better..."

"What, better than standing around your unfurnished apartment watching broadcast American football and drinking on an empty stomach? What could possibly compare?"

"You want to leave?" Sheppard said quietly. "There's the door. No, wait, I'll call a cab for you."

McKay's mouth opened and closed, while the skin around his eyes tightened. Sam thought he was a breath away from storming out and wouldn't that be awkward, leaving her here with Sheppard, alone.

She grimaced and walked over to the TV, picking up the remote from on, surfing through channels until the unmistakable intro of The A-Team caught her ear. Reruns. Everyone's favorite.

"Sit down, McKay," she told him.

"I can feel my brain trying to kill itself inside my skull," he said. But he dropped down onto the carpet without further protest, taking another swallow from the bottle he still held, removing his shoes and socks.

"Get the light," Sam told Sheppard.

With a shrug, he obeyed, while she perched on the arm of the recliner and unzipped her boots. She had a feeling that she'd be on the floor before they finished the bottle, so they needed to go. She dropped the first one with a light thud and looked up. McKay was watching her. Aside from the glow of fluorescent fixture in the kitchen, the blue flicker of the TV was the only light in the room. It caught in McKay's eyes, giving them an irradiated glow.

Sheppard kicked off his tennis shoes, revealing bare feet, and padded over to McKay. Sam felt his gaze settle on her legs and curled her toes without thinking. His mouth quirked up, but he said nothing, just settled down onto the carpet next to McKay before lifting the bottle out of McKay's slack hand.

Sam unzipped her other boot and kicked it off. On the TV screen, Hannibal Smith declared, 'I love it when a plan comes together.' McKay groaned and Sheppard grinned.

"God, this is bad," Sam said after a half hour of watching improbable explosions and ridiculous actions. "I mean, even drunk, this is bad."

"I'm hungry," McKay declared abruptly.

The alcohol swirling through Sam's system made her stop and try to consider how that applied to The A-Team, before soberer thoughts won out. Drinking. Empty stomach. Never a good idea.

"Me too," she found herself agreeing. McKay grinned at her and she couldn't help but smile back.

Sheppard dialed the number of the pizza-service from memory, without double-checking it, and that told Sam too much of how he usually spent his evenings. The glimpse of the kitchen she'd had didn't look as though anything but the coffee-maker was being used. The counter was polished so clean that Sam had had the urge to sneak in, leave fingerprints and smears everywhere, just to stop it from looking so damn sterile.

"Fifteen minutes," Sheppard said after he hung up. It occurred to Sam only now that he hadn't even asked her what she wanted on her pizza. Rodney's favorite Sheppard knew; Sam didn't doubt that for a moment. He knew it just as she knew Jack's favorites, and Daniel's and Teal'c's. Cam's and Vala's, too, now. Some things just came naturally with being on a team. Blood-group, allergies, phobias, shoe-size, favorite beer, favorite aftershave ...

"In fifteen minutes, I'm going to be in hypoglycaemic –"

Sheppard fished a piece of hard candy out of his pocket and shoved it at Rodney in silence. The gesture looked often-practiced, routine. Sam smiled and held out her hand. "No playing favorites, Colonel."

Sheppard rolled his eyes and handed her a piece of candy as well. "I can see why McKay thinks you two are meant to be," he answered with a wry grin."That's it, I'm out."

"Does he now?" Sam turned to Rodney, who was very busy unwrapping his candy. The tips of his ears were turning red.

~*~

The pizza came twenty minutes later, a fact that caused Rodney to complain loud and often. The whiskey had loosened his tongue and his limbs, just like her own and Sheppard's. They lay sprawled on the floor in front of the TV, mocking the the antics of The A-Team unmercifully – B.A.'s jewelry, Face's ridiculous cons, Murdock's piloting – when the doorbell rang.

"He doesn't get a tip, he's late," Rodney declared. "I hate bad service."

Sheppard pushed up. "The five minutes more didn't kill you."

Sam dropped her head to her folded arms. "No, but me...I had to listen to him."

She could all but hear Rodney's sneer.

When she raised her head again, there was an open pizza box standing in front of her and Rodney was already mumbling, "Oh, thank god," around a slice.

She caught Sheppard's glance and grinned with him. In a way, it was reassuring to have Rodney back to normal. Then she looked away because that glisten of grease on Sheppard's lower lip tempted her to do something stupid, like run her fingertip over it. When she did, she realized Rodney was staring at him too, before he sensed her gaze and shoveled another slice of pizza into his mouth.

A look back at Sheppard told her nothing. He'd ducked his head and was teasing a string of drooping cheese back onto his slice with one finger. The only thing he could be watching were Rodney's hands.

A sequence of explosions and heroic music came from the TV. Sam glanced up, groped for a slice of pizza blind and shook her head in amusement.

"I can't believe that at one a.m. on a Thursday night, we're on the floor in your apartment, watching The A-Team."

"What? You never sat down and watched bad TV with the rest of your team?" McKay asked. "No movie nights while majors, who will remain nameless, subject you and your innocent teammates to Marty McFly and his flux capacitors?"

"Hockey," she mumbled around a mouth full of cheese and mushrooms.

"See, that's what we were doing wrong," McKay said to Sheppard.

Sheppard didn't look up from picking bell pepper off his slice, intently flicking each piece back into the greasy box they'd set in the recliner.

Sam grabbed up another piece of the pizza. A hand brushed hers, fingertips skirting the back of her hand before it moved away as Rodney picked up the slice next to hers. Sam swallowed and didn't look away from the TV on purpose. She'd thought that with the whiskey and the pizza and the TV-watching, this odd tension between them would have dissipated. Well, seemed as though her body at least was about to disagree. She snuck a glance at Rodney from the corner of her eye and couldn't help but think that the blue TV-light – highlighting a stubbled chin, long lashes, a straight nose and soft hair – looked good on him. Not that she hadn't always considered him attractive. Oh, she had. But his personality had been the real turn off. Had, though, because Atlantis seemed to have worn off much of his ego leaving the decent man beneath apparent.

Shaking her head, she looked back at the TV and the inane things Murdoch and BA were doing, bickering. She must be more susceptible to strong alcohol than she used to be, because no way would she have thought about Rodney McKay's hair before. Or about wanting to wipe that bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth, finding out how those lips would feel under her fingertips.

A glance to the right revealed Sheppard with the whiskey bottle against his lips again and Sam watched with a dry throat how the TV light did equally good things for him – throwing him into sharp relief against the dark room, lighting his throat as it worked, catching in the stubble and shining on his hair. He sat the bottle down in front of her, caught her glance and gave her a smile that kicked up higher on one side, sardonic. She couldn't tear her gaze away from those moist lips for too long.

Another sequence of explosions and a snort of laughter from Rodney saved her. "Oh, that's just too much. That's not just a insult to physics, it's like an argument for anti-Darwinists."

Sam jerked her head back to the TV, bit down hard on her slice of pizza, chewing slowly and with care, concentrating on swallowing. Sheppard really had picked a good one. That was all that mattered. Not that they were both close enough to touch her with each movement, and that their body-heat was bleeding through her clothes, making her skin itch. Not that she had just ogled them without any kind of subtlety.

She could feel it every time Rodney glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. He'd almost formed a pattern with it: take a bite, half-swallow it before mocking something inane on the television, then sneak a look at her. Did he want some kind of approval? He talked too much, yes, but he was an amusing drunk, and Sam didn't think that had been one of her criticisms. To see if it amused her? It did amuse her, most of the time. She hadn't expected him to have such a good grasp of explosives, although that was probably a little foolish of her. He'd picked up as a necessity the kinds of skills she'd been taught, plus all the other strange things she'd learned along the way. She had no doubt that he knew an array of Pegasus specific tricks as well.

But the way he watched her, assessing and almost suspicious, but eager...His eyes flickered to Sheppard, though, and the expression on his face grew even stranger, flashes of regret and anger mixing with affection.

A string of mozzarella stretched from her piece of pizza, stretched and then snapped, dropping right down her cleavage. "Shit," she said without thinking, but the cheese wasn't hot enough to burn. She dropped the rest of the slice in the box then fished the cheese from between her breasts.

Sheppard sighed beside her and Sam realized she'd dislodged the top button on her blouse, offering them both a generous view of her white satin underwire bra, complete with greasy cheese stain. He offered her a paper napkin along with a lopsided smirk and turned back to the TV. She could see the pulse in his neck, though: fast.

"You're not burned, are you?" McKay asked. He sounded hoarse and was flushed from more than just the alcohol.

Sam rolled her eyes, then shook her head and fumbled the button closed. "It was cheese, not a branding iron. And you're staring."

Sheppard lifted his slice of pizza in a toasting gesture. "Hey, you're worth staring at, Colonel Carter," he said, smiling at her.

"Of course she is," Rodney said.

"Sam," she reminded Sheppard.

Rodney looked back and forth first at her then Sheppard. "I – I, uh, thought maybe you two – "

"Christ, Rodney, we're barely on the same planet at the same time," Sheppard said. "Landry likes to keep me away from the varsity, you know."

Sam winced.

"You just, you both look so good, and came into the lab together – " Rodney replied.

"Looking for you." Sheppard closed his eyes briefly, then cut his gaze toward Sam. She just watched him, trying to figure out the funny vibe between them.

"Hard as it is to believe," she snarked a little.

And Rodney was still watching her.

The tension she'd thought eased was back again. The alcohol was probably making it worse, as Rodney's lip jutted forward. He looked mulish again, licking sauce from the corner of his mouth and missing most of it.

Clearly, these two men could not be left up to their own devices.

"You know," she said. "I think I've had enough of this. Does anyone mind if I change the channel?" Before either could react – probably in agreement, by their baffled expressions – Sam snatched up the remote. She had no idea what was on this late, but given Sam had found The A-Team, there had to be a terrible, melodramatic –

'Oh, Arnold. You can't leave me!'

– perfect. It wasn't the Lifetime channel, but it was certainly that type of movie. On either side of her, both men watched in horror as the lens took on a fuzzy, peach tint, as a woman actually clutched her hands beneath her chin, imploring her man to stay with her. Sam was a little horrified herself. Hadn't they stopped making movies like that?

"Uh." Sheppard cleared his throat. "Are you, uh, sure this is what you want to watch?"

"Why?" she asked as winsomely as possible. "Don't you like it?"

"Is there anyone on Earth or in any galaxy who could honestly like this?" Rodney sounded appalled. Sheppard nodded in agreement.

"Those movies are made for an audience, Rodney."

He snorted. "The retarded, obviously."

Sam narrowed her eyes. "Just for that statement, I'm not changing the channel."

"What?!" both men asked in perfect unison.

She held the remote in both hands, mock-protecting it.

"You're not serious. Please tell me you're not serious."

'Clarissa, you should never have done that to me!' the emotion-laden voice of a man with wavy, shoulder-length brown hair came droning from the TV. Sam wanted to punch him in the face immediately. She clutched the remote tighter when Sheppard groaned, laid back on the floor and thunked his head against the carpet.

'Oh, Arnold, I told you I would love you forever when we first met, how could you – '

Three, two, one ...

Rodney snapped his fingers. "Look, give me that."

So good to know he was still predictable in some ways. Sam couldn't help the grin any longer. "Try and get it."

He reached for the remote. "Give it – "

"No." Sam pulled it back against her.

Rodney grasped her fingers and tried to pry the remote from them. "Will you just – "

"You had your choice." Again, she pulled her hands back, laughing so much on the inside that her fingers almost went weak with the effort of holding it back. Sheppard was still sprawled on his back staring up at the darkened ceiling.

"Hah, if you call that choice – " Back.

Forth. "You just don't appreciate the fine art of – "

Back. Forth. Back, Forth. "Art?! You're calling that art, what mental institution did you –" They were both trying too hard, trying to act like this was all fun, happy-drunk playtime, but they were hitting all the wrong notes.

"Hey, hey, enough!" Sheppard shouted over their raised voices.

Sam used the momentary stalling of the fight for the remote and lunged, ending up on her belly, with it buried under her chest.

"Oh that's mature." Rodney's outraged voice cracked at the top. Sam had to muffle the snicker in the carpet. When she looked up, Sheppard had turned his head to just blink at her. Slowly.

"I win." She knew that she grinned like a maniac and didn't care one bit.

"My TV, my choice," Sheppard stated and held out his hand. "Give it here."

"No."

"What do you mean, no?" Rodney chimed in. "You can't say no. He's right!"

Sam licked her lips and let her grin grow even wider. "Watch me."

She made the critical mistake of taking her eyes off Sheppard to sneer at McKay. He had one hand on the bare back of her knee before she knew he'd even moved, tickling the sensitive skin and making her squirm and try to kick him away. Rodney joined him with a laugh that sounded forced, muttering, "If you'd tried that on Teyla she'd have flipped you into orbit, Sheppard."

Sam twisted her head to the side and caught a glimpse of Sheppard's grin, false as fool's gold, in response.

Rodney went for her ribs while Sheppard moved on to the soles of her feet. That made Sam yelp outloud, the sensation really unbearable. She squirmed and made noises that were far too close to a squeal for her liking. She lost the remote, sending it spinning over the carpet, but none of them paid any attention.

"Give," Rodney said.

Sam panted for breath and shook her head. She'd scraped her mouth against the scratchy carpet and wanted to spit. Dust tickled in her nose. Rodney flexed his fingers against her ribs.

"Do you give?"

Sam held still for a moment longer, giving the appearance of having given up and then, when Rodney relaxed, she twisted onto her back and lunged up, catching him off guard, pulling him down next to her with a triumphant whoop. Sheppard just ducked fast enough to avoid Rodney's flying foot.

Time to give him a taste of his own medicine. Rodney screeched when she found a particularly sensitive spot at his waist. The sound startled Sheppard as well and gave Sam the opportunity to grab his wrist and pull him down next to Rodney.

Only Sheppard wasn't out of breath, was barely breathing hard; fingers twitching as though he didn't know where to put them, finally coming to rest on Sam's bare thigh where her skirt had ridden up. Sam went still until Rodney grabbed her waist, pulling her on top of him, her back to his chest. Rodney's hands were hot and dug into her waist and hips. Sam blinked down at his feet bracketing hers, her head spinning a little. How had she ended up like this anyway? They'd gone from playful wrestling to something else, something that made her own breath hitch, as though the air in the room had become too thick to breathe. She tried to wriggle away and Rodney pulled her close against him, ass pressed against his hips, then Sheppard rolled onto both of them like a blanket, face to face, so close she could see each tiny line at the corners of his eyes. He caught her shoulders under his hands to balance himself, most of his weight on his knees and not her or Rodney. Whiskey breath gusted into her face.

Under her, Rodney grunted and opened his legs to alleviate the added weight. Her ass slid to the floor while she still tried to break free, wriggling and bucking, pressing back against Rodney's crotch. He groaned, sounding strained. His hands were sliding higher, now brushing her ribs.

Sam bucked again, laughing, high on endorphins. In a move that was obviously quicker than Sheppard had expected, she scissored her legs around his waist and lunged upward, throwing him off balance. Rodney's hands slid from her waist as she flipped Sheppard, straddling him when he pulled her with him. Over her own harsh breathing, she could hear Rodney whimpering and muttering about how next time she might as well castrate him. Sam reached out blindly to pet his head, laughing an apology, out of breath.

She shifted her weight, bent over Sheppard and grinned right in his face. "Now who wins?" His panting breath touched her face. He returned her grin for a moment, sharp and feral, looked ready to toss her off, but tensed when she shifted her weight again. Her skirt pooled over her their thighs and the soft denim of his jeans whispered against her bare legs, body warm. His eyelids fluttered for a second, teeth sinking into his lower lip.

"What?"

Sheppard didn't answer. Only moved his hips against her in the tiniest of movements, eyes never leaving her face. His erection brushed against the crotch of her panties.

Oh.

Her mouth went dry and she suddenly couldn't meet Sheppard's gaze any longer.

Rodney offered the distraction that she didn't need: on his knees beside them, his hands were back on her, fingers stroking soft enough to make her shiver before he flattened his hands against her and pressed her down against Sheppard, making them both groan.

For a breath, she thought Sheppard would kiss her or she would kiss him, but the instant passed even as she reflected on it and left them out of momentum and abruptly aware of each other, of their bodies in contact, and the awkwardness of the situation. Rodney's hands still rested on her, one on her hip, one on the small of her back.

Sheppard let his head thunk back and started laughing, this stupid, braying laugh. Sam realized he really was drunk. She never could have pinned him otherwise. Especially since her own reflexes were whiskey-shot. Rodney's hand flexed against the fabric of her shirt and she could hear his rough breath, see his eyes dilated dark when she turned her head a fraction to look at him.

This was the moment to back off, to laugh too, and back out, pretend she didn't know he wanted her, that they both wanted her.

She didn't laugh.

She didn't move.

~*~

John stopped laughing and swallowed. God, he was hard. He hadn't had sex since before they left Atlantis, fast handjobs exchanged with Rodney, lying on top one of the too narrow beds after they had got out of a meeting with Elizabeth and Caldwell, before everything went to hell. He hadn't even jerked off in the shower since then. No time and then no interest. Now he had Sam Carter straddling him with Rodney beside him and his body had decided to come back to life.

Except for the yammering TV and the sound of their breathing, the apartment was silent. The wavering light from the screen illuminated Carter and Rodney unevenly. Carter's blouse had come open again, revealing the cool sheen of skin and satin beneath. John wanted to touch. Her hair was a mess from rolling around the floor and he wanted to comb his fingers through it. He wanted to reach up and find Rodney's hand and lace their fingers together. He wanted to touch Rodney the same way he would Carter, slow and teasing, and maybe laugh somewhere along the way, because they'd never once slowed down when they got off together before.

He didn't want that anymore. Maybe...with Carter here, they could do something different. Maybe this was his last chance at anything with Rodney, too. If they were just convenient back on Atlantis, then this would be it. Because they lived in different states now. There was nothing convenient about that, or the sneaking around that would be necessary if John didn't want to get nailed for violating the Uniform Code.

He suppressed the desire to lift his hips again and push up into Carter's sweet warmth. He could get off just doing that, without ever being inside her, at this point, come in his pants like a teenager making out in the backseat of a Mustang.

Carter leaned closer. John raised his head and their mouths just brushed each other. Then she drew back. "Is this going where I think it is?" she asked.

He turned his head to the side and looked at Rodney. "Yes?"

Rodney was on his knees. He ran his hand up Carter's back to the nape of her neck, leaned in and kissed her. His other hand slipped off her hip and found John's shoulder, bracing himself.

John felt himself glazing over, just from being pinned down the way he was, by both of them. He swallowed a moan, then reached up and cupped Carter's breasts, sliding the fabric of her blouse over the slick satin of her bra.

Part of him had been thinking about this since he invited Carter to ride with them, the part that had driven them straight to the apartment. He hadn't quite believed it would happen, though. He circled one nipple with his thumb while Rodney kissed her wet and messy and noisy, the sound going straight to John's cock, constricted inside his jeans and trapped, as she ground down on him in little circles.

Rodney pulled away from Carter with visible reluctance. His hand tightened on John's shoulder briefly.

"Not on the floor," Carter stated. "This carpet makes me want to sneeze."

"Tell me you have a bedroom," Rodney said.

"Back there," John replied. His voice may have slurred a little; his concentration shot to pieces by the sensations pooling at his groin. He was barely holding on against the need to just rub himself up against Carter shamelessly.

She scrambled off him, though, before he could lift his hips in more than a stuttering little motion. Her skirt slid back down her legs once she was on her feet. John stayed on the floor another breath, watching as she swayed, then gave Rodney a hand up. The front of Rodney's trousers tented visibly, making John catch his breath against another wave of arousal.

He started to push himself up and his hand landed on a half-eaten slice of pizza. He grimaced.

"Bedroom," Rodney said. "Now."

John picked up the pizza off the carpet, then shook his head. He could maybe ignore that, but now he needed to wash his hand at least. "In a second," he muttered, getting up. "Let me get rid of this."

Rodney and Carter stared at him and he scooped up the pizza box and the used napkins, heading for the kitchen and the garbage can there. He needed a breath, a break, to get hold of himself anyway. His skin felt fevered and so sensitive that even one touch would set him off.

"I can't believe this," Rodney said from behind him. "He's the most anal retentive camper, too. Everything has to be cleaned up."

They followed him into the kitchen, detouring around the counter that stuck out at a right angle from the wall.

"My dad was like that too," Carter remarked.

John tossed the pizza box, washed his hands, then closed the blinds on the window in front of the sink. Great. That comment had calmed him down a little. Nothing like being compared to someone's father to cool his jets. He braced his hands against the edge of the sink and leaned forward. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. His cock thought so, still hard and pressing against his boxers and the zip of his jeans, but his head was still spinning from too much alcohol, even after eating, and the others were just as drunk.

He was still uncertain when he turned, but that melted away as he looked at Carter and Rodney again, mussed and hot-eyed, watching him impatiently. Need surged through him and he crossed the kitchen and caught Carter's waist in his hands, lifting her up onto the counter.

She immediately looped her arms around his neck and pulled him in close, kissing him, taking over and pushing her tongue into his mouth, then pulling back and licking at his lips, before biting them. The contact sizzled through John, making him gasp back into her mouth. He stepped between her legs, pressing closer until his knees hit the side of the counter and then leaned in, feeling her breasts against his chest.

Rodney's hand, broad and hot, set down on the back of his neck only made it better, made him wilder, trying to get closer to them both and to hell with the bedroom.

~*~

Rodney watched John's control finally slip away, watched him boost Sam onto that spotless counter and couldn't stay away another second.

John and Sam were kissing intently, so caught in each other that he felt free to move in closer. They were as gorgeous together as his jealous imagination had predicted, but they were obviously new to each other, which eased something inside him. He felt like they wouldn't be together if he wasn't here too, with them, that he was included, instead of excluded. He could trace his fingers over Sam's hands, circle her knuckles, then slide under and cup his palm against the hot skin at the nape of John's neck.

It surprised him when John responded to just that, giving a whole body shiver and groaning into Sam's mouth, a desperate, hungry sound. John had never made a sound in Atlantis, gritting his teeth and breathed out explosively through flared nostrils even when he came – Rodney had watched more than once. There was a moment, afterward, when John's eyes would slit half-closed and his face looked open, before he came back to himself, but it never lasted long. Then his mouth would firm and he'd pull away. He was never really out of control.

Not like he seemed to be now. John wasn't silent, wasn't tensed against every sensation now. He moaned as Sam ran her hands down his back. God, it was hot, hearing John, feeling the heat radiating off him, and seeing how he just twisted into every touch without ever stopping kissing Sam. Rodney couldn't make himself take his hand off John's neck, not for anything, so he had to fumble open his pants and shove them down one handed.

And Sam, Sam was so gorgeous there, perched on the counter, thighs spread wide, blue eyes all black pupil, blind with arousal, her hands roaming over John as he lowered her to lie flat. Their mouths parted, lips wet and swollen, both of them panting for breath.

Rodney leaned in, his side next to John's, reaching for Sam, needing to touch her too. John pushed his hip back against Rodney's, obviously seeking closer contact. He ran his hand down the same path Sam's had taken, then lower and cupped John's ass, then left it there as he bent and licked a wet, urgent kiss against Sam's navel.

Sam and John together had seemed like his loneliest nightmare, but together with him they were better than his sweetest fantasy and he wanted everything: John's sleek muscles flexing under his hands, the taste of Sam's silky skin on his tongue, John's moans and the higher, breathy sounds Sam made, the scorching heat between all three of them. It might be all he'd have of either of them.

~*~

The kitchen counter was cold against her thighs and ass. Impatience burned through her, muscles clenching on their own. John's eyes were dark now, his hands purpose-driven as they plucked at her clothes, pushed her back to lie on the counter. More cold under her shoulder blades. His hands were are sharp, warm contrast, on her belly, sides, on the waist of her skirt, pulling, pushing.

Rodney stepped up from behind John to stand at his right side, and bent over the counter to press an open-mouthed kiss against her bellybutton, tongue dipping. Sam squirmed, her legs twitching, kicking John as he pushed her skirt up to her waist.

"Ow," John mouthed, rubbing his chest as he stepped back.

Rodney moved up from her belly again, slow, his gaze raking up and down her body, resting on her breasts before sliding lower. And up. He met her eyes and something hot curled in Sam's belly at the need she saw reflected there. His fingers fingers slid under the elastic band of her panties, not waiting for approval from her or John. She sucked in a breath and hesitated for a moment before lifting her hips and allowing him to slide them off. This was sex with co-workers and that that was never a good idea didn't matter anymore, nothing did. This was going exactly where she wanted, where, if she was honest, she had hoped it was going all night. She wanted their hands on her, rough, male, nothing meaningful or deep. She just wanted to be fucked out of her mind, to stop thinking, to forget. Her hands curled around the counter to keep from reaching out, needy.

The swish of a shirt being pulled off jerked her back into the here and now. John's chest was bare, leanly muscled and swirled with dark hair. The light of the lamp behind him made it hard for her to see his face, just his hair, glossy and dark. Rodney's hands on her legs – different from John's, less calloused – opening them so John could step between them. Cool air moved against her damp curls. Beard stubble against her breast, warm suction on her nipple, kisses, licks, bites. A low moan formed in Sam's throat when she saw Rodney bending down and kissing the back of John's neck, just as John bit down on her left nipple. John was still standing, but was bent over her, with Rodney directly behind him, sandwiching John between her and Rodney. Her neck arched, head falling back against the counter with a thunk. Did they have any idea how hot that was?

"Careful now," John slurred as he went lower, kisses moving between her breasts down to her belly and up again to mouth her other breast.

Rodney snorted in amusement and mouthed John's skin. John shivered in response to the Rodney's breath against his nape.

Bastards. She moved her hands into John's hair, pulling strands of it between her fingers, her nails against his scalp, trying to urge him to move faster. She didn't mind foreplay, but this wasn't the time, she wanted him in her now. His breath was hot and moist and uneven against her breasts when she wriggled her hips lower and slung her legs around his waist, moving against him with urgency. The sensation of dry denim felt rough against her exposed clit, the feel of John's fingers digging into her hips to steady her was a shock to the system that made her jerk and her legs slip off his waist.

Their breathing was absurdly loud in the empty kitchen, a clock's monotonous ticking unwelcome as she tried to get her reactions under control. Her thigh muscles were trembling, legs hanging off the counter, touching the fabric of John's jeans. But Rodney's hands were back, lifting and stroking her legs from thigh to ankle, slow and tantalizing. Lifting her left and pressing a kiss to her instep. Resting it on John's shoulder. He repeated the same procedure with her right leg, only this time, he paused to breathe in her skin, nudging his nose against her calf.

Sam was glad that she had taken the extra time to shave earlier, and use that body lotion that Janet had given her for her birthday years back and which she had kept buying ever since. Rodney nuzzled her for a long time, trailing his hands over her skin, mouthing her ankles and her foot, pressing a kiss to the sole, moist lips and small bites to her calf. Sam's toes curled. Rodney smiled at her over John's shoulder – god, John was moving lower and lower, and he wouldn't, surely he wouldn't, too intimate, too close, he wouldn't, but damn, she wanted him to, she always had the best orgasms from a man using his mouth on her – and delivered a small bite to her big toe. She wanted to kiss Rodney but he was too far away, and already busy running his hands from her legs to John's shoulders and over his sides, stroking John's flanks. Steadying John with one hand as he bent down to her, his ass pushing against Rodney's groin. Rodney was teasing John's nipples with the other. She squirmed, trying to see more and her elbows slipped on the smooth counter.

Rodney was watching her, watching John kiss and bite and suckle his way down below her bellybutton to the beginning of her pubic hair, while he was painting sweeping patterns over John's back and sides. Kissing the soles of her feet, touching his tongue to her toes, one by one, humming against them. His gaze alternated between her and John, eyes glazed over, hot. Hot and wanting. Sam shivered, felt herself getting wetter. She'd never thought that mere looks from Rodney would be such a turn on.

Sam knew that John hadn't shaved since the morning, had felt it before, on her breasts and her belly, but when he nudged her thighs farther apart, just enough to grant him better access but without having her legs slip off his shoulders, the feel of his stubble against the sensitive inside of her thigh made her jump and buck against him. John raised his head and smirked at her, dirty and hot. It made her want to punch him. Now, now, damn it, now. She'd wanted a quick fuck, not an elaborate seduction, and god, what would Janet think if she could hear her like this?

John couldn't hear her thoughts, but moved anyway. Slipped a hand under her ass and pulled her toward him so she was perched just on the edge of the counter. Dipped lower. Started blowing air between her legs, over swollen, slick flesh, making her hair stand on end. Raised his head to check her reaction with a feral glint in his eyes before lowering his head again. Started inhaling long and slow, like he was drinking her scent in, smelling her arousal while Rodney massaged the sole of her left foot with a sure, deft hand. The other was still holding John steady.

When John touched his tongue to her clit for the first time, Sam let her head fall back against the counter again, sending the salt shaker rolling off. The high clink of glass against tile told her that it had broken. She turned her head to see the salt spilled over the floor. Spilled salt brought bad luck. She didn't care. Only thought about how she wanted to keep her eyes open, but at the same time wanted to close them and savor the sheer sensation of John's lips teasing her.

She heard Rodney mutter, "At least it wasn't the pepper," and gave a short, desperate laugh at that. John raised his head for a moment to grin at her. His lips were glistening. Later, she thought, later, she wanted to taste herself on his mouth. Mingle his taste with hers and Rodney's. Taste raw, earthy sex and lick it away. The thought sent her body shaking as John ran his tongue over her clit again, adding a hint of teeth.

She bucked against his face, sweat-slick back sliding on the counter, her grasp white-knuckled against the edge, the effort of staying on top taking its toll. Rodney spanned her ankles, keeping her legs from slipping off John's shoulders, holding her still for John to work her.

Craning her head, Sam looked between the valley of her breasts, down her belly, to John's head between her legs. Dark hair framed by her pale thighs, moving up and down as he licked and sucked, that sent her pulse sky-rocketing. Sam panted, hands clenching around the counter edge until her joints hurt, and oh, god, John didn't stop, just kept alternating between tasting and blowing cool air on her and sucking, with the barest hint of teeth...Rodney was still pressed behind him, kissing his way up John's spine. He stopped at the top, looking at her, his gaze naked and wanting. He slid one hand to John's face, stroking for a moment. Then his fingers dipped lower, onto her clit, rubbing while John licked and sucked, trailing his tongue over her, slicking Rodney's finger in the process.

She was out of breath now, tense as a bowstring, the muscles in the her thighs shivering, hips rising and falling. It was almost too much, her thoughts fragmenting, body squirming at the steady build up of sensations that made her skin feel fevered and too tight. John just gripped her tighter, pressing her hips and ass against the counter. He wasn't going to let her have fast release. Neither was Rodney, who was dipping a finger into her, pressing slow and firm against her inner walls. She choked in a moan at the sudden intrusion, arching her back as she tried to sink down on him. She could feel John licking at her entrance, swirling his tongue over her lips and Rodney's finger in her. John's right hand abandoned her hip. She saw him flailing it like a drowning man, before finding Rodney's thigh, clutching and drawing him tighter against his back. Rodney started, eyes closing for a moment, his finger stopping mid-stroke. He opened his eyes again and pressed in closer, pushing John against Sam as he tried to cover every square inch of skin on John's back. Rodney's finger slid deeper into her too, and resumed its movement.

John's head snapped up abruptly and his eyes glazed over. For a moment, his grip on Sam's hips eased. He arched his neck back, mouth slack against her for long seconds. His shoulders, his entire body, started to move then and he gulped in a huge breath, mouthed her blindly, whispering and groaning against her clit. "Ah, yeah, yes." From the sudden change and the sound of skin on skin, she realised that Rodney was jerking John off. Her gaze met Rodney's and she found him staring straight at her.

Sam swallowed a moan, saw what she hadn't noticed before, when Rodney had been looking at her with less of a challenge, less determination in his gaze: he was rubbing off against John. John, who was groaning and whispering unintelligible words against her flesh between licks and kisses, shuddering to the rhythm of Rodney's strokes. The vibrations of his keening moans and the sudden rush of warm breath, the smell and feel of him coming – shaking all over before spasming, arching, panting against her, his fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave bruises, the harsh cry that escaped against her – merged with the feel of Rodney's finger nudging against her inner walls, hitting the same spot again and again. pushed Sam over the edge into a sharp, short orgasm that sent her body trembling, her thighs clenching around John's head.

She was still shivering through her climax when John slid down and away, boneless, his hands skimming over her thighs and away. Sam wanted to cry out in loss, but Rodney was taking his place, his cock slipping inside in a single, smooth thrust that filled her, sending another shudder of pleasure through her. Rodney made a sound in the back of his throat, choked and frantic. His head dropped forward to her chest, soft hair tickling her breasts.

Fuck, yes. This was what she had wanted. Thick inside her, filling her, hitting all the right places. Or, he would, if he'd move. She slung her legs around Rodney's waist, mirroring her action with John before, nudged her heels against his ass.

His eyes glazed over, and then there was no more hesitation. He began to pound into her, thighs slapping against her ass, making the counter shake. Sam gripped the edge again when her back began sliding over the counter, felt her fingers starting to cramp up and her head move beyond the support of the counter. If she let go now, he'd fuck her all the way across the counter. Wild laughter bubbled up inside her at the thought and only Rodney's relentless strokes – almost, almost, close, but never quite there – kept it at bay.

Yes, was all she could think, yes, yes, more. Harder. She wanted to fuck him hard enough to leave marks, wanted something to keep, something to remind her of this night.

A low sound caught her attention, distracted her from Rodney for a moment. Sam rolled her head to the side and saw John, sprawled on the floor, back propped against a cabinet door, one hand in the spilled salt, moving in circles. Watching Rodney. Watching Rodney fuck her. His eyes met hers. A stab of fresh arousal, sharper, more keen-edged, made her realize that it wasn't just John watching them. Now it was her, watching John watch Rodney fuck her. Sam bucked against Rodney, who groaned.

John's hand went to to his chest, moving slowly up and down, then he ran his index finger around one tight little nipple. He looked utterly debauched there on the floor, spent cock hanging out of his open pants, chest sheened with sweat, eyes dark and half-closed, mouth swollen and parted. His lips were still glistening. The need to kiss him made her mouth dry.

Rodney pulled her out of her reverie, turning her head back, fingers strong on her jaw. His eyes were dark, bottomless, in the harsh fluorescent-lit kitchen. "Look at me." His voice almost a growl. A jolt went through her body. Was he still jealous? God, he was fucking her, how could he still be – She didn't finish the thought because Rodney was kissing her rough and deep, blowing her mind, demanding her attention. She kissed back just as forcefully, giving him the reassurance he obviously needed. Raised her hips against his, offering more of her, all of her. He slammed back into her, every thrust shoving her hot, sweaty skin across the table a little more.

This time the pepper shaker did get knocked off, rolling somewhere she couldn't see. She heard John chuckle, felt it bubbling up in her as well. It was Rodney's strained,  "Damn, damn, god, Sam, I – " and him picking up speed that stopped her.

Sam closed her eyes and lost herself in the sensation of rough thrusts and the slick Formica counter under her, the sound of the whole thing creaking steadily in protest at their weight, the smell of sweat and sex and salt filling the room. Her teeth sunk into her lower lip. She was panting, moaning low under her breath, just countering Rodney's thrusts that were verging on desperate. The sounds he made were near-pained, small, breathy, tight moans that broke the thud of their skin slapping against each other. She barely heard John step up on the other side of the counter behind her. Her eyes flew open when he set his hands on her shoulders, though, steadying her, stopping her gradual creep beyond the edge. She looked up at them, Rodney watching John, watching John's mouth still wet from her juices. John watching Rodney fuck her, primal and remorseless. But there was something, something more…

Sam stopped Rodney's thrusts with a sharp flexing of her thighs. Tugged his head down for a short kiss and pushed him up again. She stroked her hand over his waist and flank, as far as she could reach, then up over his chest to his jaw, nudging his head up until he looked at John. Sam reached for Rodney's hand,found it and lifted it. Ran his thumb over his lips, before lifting it to John's mouth. John took the digit in without hesitation, lips sealing around it.

She could feel Rodney's shudder in response run through his entire body.

Rodney and John stared at one another for a long moment until, finally, John released Rodney's thumb and bent forward, his body almost obscuring Sam's view. He stopped just before Rodney's face, searching his eyes. Whispered, "Please," before touching his lips to Rodney's.

Rodney went completely still.

John pulled back, his face blank. His hands on her shoulders were shaking.

Rodney closed his eyes. Ran his tongue over his lips, slow, thoughtful. Sam's head sank back against John's stomach, breath stuttering out in a moan, knees going watery when she realized that Rodney was tasting her, too. Then Rodney opened his eyes again and surged forward, pressing himself along her, catching John's lips in an open-mouthed kiss. He slid deeper inside her in the process and Sam gasped. John's hands moved from her shoulders to Rodney's face, cradling it, pulling him closer just as Rodney's did the same, fingers trailing idly over John's jaw.

The kiss was desperate, forceful and hungry and unmistakeably a first one. Sam's inner muscles clenched  in response to the need radiating off them.

Rodney was completely focused on John now, kissing and licking and sucking, muttering unintelligible words under his breath, against John's mouth. Sam shifted restlessly, squeezed between them, Rodney's cock in her a blunt pressure now, unmoving. The sound of their wet kisses echoed off the tiles, loud and incongruous in the kitchen. Her skin cooled where she wasn't being touched, and she began to feel left out. Neglected. Then again, looking up at the hungry kisses John and Rodney were trading, she wondered if she shouldn't give them some more time. Hysterical laughter stuck in her throat as she realized the ridiculousness of the situation: Rodney buried deep in her, but completely oblivious to her, utterly focused on John. Her hand migrated over Rodney's side to her own, trailing over her stomach to dip between them and find her clit. A tremor went through Rodney when she started circling middle and index finger over the slick bundle of nerves. Slow, circular motions, light at first, then more, firmer pressure. Pleasure like sun warmed honey spread through her limbs lazy and slow, leaving her craving more.

She started the movement again, undulating her hips, shifting against Rodney, urging him to move. Nothing. Both men were too preoccupied. Kissing as though their lives depended on it.

Sam decided that she'd waited long enough. She lifted her head, sucked Rodney's right nipple into her mouth and bit down, just as she scraped a fingernail over the base of his cock. A jolt arced through Rodney's body and he tore his lips away from John's, lowering his head and groaning. His hands dropped from John's face to her and pulled her hands away, clamping his fingers around her forearms, then sliding up to her biceps, pressing her back down. He started thrusting against, slow, deliberate and deep.

Sam curled up from the waist, struggling against his grip until John bent close over her head, silhouetted against the kitchen light. His lips captured hers, upside down and strange, their tongues meeting. Wet suction against her lips and smooth, even thrusts into her fractured her ability to think. Rodney's hands bit into her upper arms, John's stubbled chin rasped against her forehead, her muscles began to protest…Sam began to feel vaguely claustrophobic and wholly out of control. She bucked and squirmed, trying to get away from the sensations yet trying to get more. John's hands played with her breasts, cupping and massaging, flicking her nipples, then moved up to Rodney's chest, then back, alternating. Sam thrashed her head to the side, away from Johns lips, gasping, still rocking her hips up into Rodney's thrusts, realizing he was looking down at her, not at John, again, licking his lips compulsively. John gasped and stared back at him.

Rodney sped his thrusts into a breathless rhythm, making Sam hook hook legs around him, her heels digging into his ass. He was working into her with frenetic energy, but it still didn't seem enough. He cursed under his breath, letting go of her arms to scramble onto the counter with her and kneel, pulling her onto his lap, resting her weight on his lap and her shoulders. A different angle now, Rodney's fingers biting into her thighs, and, god, this was even better. Her head was pushing against John's bare belly, one shoulder brushing against his hip, making her aware again that if John hadn't been there, she'd be sliding off. Rodney was trusting John to catch them both.

John was breathing hard. He leaned in, pulling her up to rest against his chest, acutely changing the angle Rodney's cock entered her, making her whimper, holding onto her shoulder with one hand and bracing Rodney with the other, trading kisses between her jaw and neck and Rodney's mouth.

Sam jerked as John's other hand found her breast again, cupping it without finesse, sensation shooting all the way down to her toes. Rodney broke off kissing John when she tensed and looked down at her, blue eyes shadowed by those impossibly long lashes. Wanting to see what he was looking at, Sam craned her neck down. Her breath hitched. John's hand was dark against the pale skin of her breast. His thumb pressed deliberately against her nipple, pulling another high noise from her. The sensation of his rough fondling and the sight of it had her scalp prickling. Rodney caught her eyes and just looked, long, quiet, the only sounds audible their breathing, the wet noises of sex and John's hands on her skin. It shouldn't have turned her on so much, but just Rodney watching her made heat pool low in her belly. She arched her back. Rodney slowed his thrusts momentarily and bent down, his cock shifting against the walls of her vagina, to fit his mouth over her nipple.

She couldn't look away even as pleasure coursed through her and all she wanted was to sink back against John and buck up against them both. But she held still, felt the tension centering in her groin, watched as Rodney trailed the tip of his tongue around her nipple and then over John's knuckles. John groaned as well, his fingers flexing against her breast, kneading. Rodney seemed restless now, his back no doubt protesting and he abandoned her nipple for her mouth. His hips snapped into hers faster, even harder, while his hand slid from her belly down to her pubic line. He detoured for a moment to pull her higher into his lap, then plunged his fingers lower, finding her clit. Looking down between them she could see his now fingers circling, slick and shining with her juices, and his cock moving in and out of her with every thrust. John hooked his chin over her shoulder and watched too, eyes heavy lidded, breath gusting uneven and hard next to her ear, hand still working against her breast, the other locked on Rodney's shoulder.

Sam looked back up to meet Rodney's brilliant eyes, staring, just staring, sensations overloading as his fingers circled and circled–

Her body arched, suddenly taut, flushed, all nerve endings wired. A few rough manipulations of her clit – yes – a few hard thrusts that had her back sliding on the counter, hitting John, making John grip her tighter – yes, yes, just a little more - the smell of sweat and aftershave and sex and warm skin – yes, fuck, yes, now. The orgasm flooded through her in shockwaves, tight and coiled in the beginning, then moving from her belly out against her skin, high flight and free-fall, g-force and a super nova, it went on and on, Rodney thrusting into her the whole time, relentless, almost manic, his face a blur in front of her pleasure-drunk eyes. Her arms flailed wild on the counter, scrabbling for something to hold on to. John's hands – couldn't be Rodney's, they were more callused – found hers, lacing his fingers with her own. A moan rose in her throat, raw and primal. All her muscles contracted around Rodney, clenching down hard, making him groan. She was grinding down onto him, because the way he was holding her hips steady now prevented them from lifting. On and on, her body flared with lightning trying to break free. Fresh sweat broke out as the last waves crashed over her.

Sam was left breathing hard, panting to get much needed air back in her lungs. Her muscles still contracted around Rodney even though the buzz was fading, yet for some reason he didn't stop, still hadn't come. It was as though something was missing, as though he was still trying to drive out his demons by fucking her hard. It could be that or nothing at all, but she didn't care anymore, not when the steady, rough friction against her sensitive membranes and the relentless pressure against her clit edged her into another climax only seconds after the first had subsided.

If she'd been holding back before, she no longer tried now. Wrestling her hands free of John, she reached for his head, twisting her neck to the side, tugging him down sharply. She couldn't stop herself from biting at his lips, wanting to draw blood, wanting to leave her mark on him. Everything smelled like salt and pepper, sex and semen and whiskey, and not like blood and dirt or death and this was exactly what she had needed. To come undone, to only feel her body and forget everything else.

Everything except John and Rodney. Rodney, who was panting and sweat soaked, his face almost alarmingly red. Without a change in position, every thrust sent a jolt of near pain through her pelvis, and that actually made it all even better. It didn't matter if it was close to pain, it grounded her in the here and now, and she wanted more. More of Rodney's gasping groans, of John's lips and the all but bruising suction that alternated with the softed of feathery touches from his kiss-swollen lips, of Rodney's hands biting into her hips. Rodney gasped in between thrusts, voice rough and gravelly, almost to himself, "Come on, come on, come on."

She felt John's head snap up, leaving her gasping as he glanced at Rodney and frowned. He looked back at her next, a dark, knowing expression on his face. John leaned close, his hair tickling her face. She had already turned her head to kiss him again, but his lips trailed around to her ear instead, whispering: "Fuck him back, Sam."

Gooseflesh broke out all over her body at the gust of warm air against her ear. Her eyes widened a little, taking in the wide green eyes above her face, the high colour in John's cheeks and the way his breath fanned her cheeks in a staccato rhythm that was just barely out of synch with Rodney's breathing and fucking. Was that what – She didn't think twice, couldn't. Just lifted her right hand to John's mouth, watching him hold her wrist gently and then suck three fingers into his mouth, twisting his tongue around them, wetting them thoroughly. "God, oh, god," Rodney panted as he watched them. The sensation of John's warm, wet and slightly raspy tongue swirling over her knuckles had her face flushing hotter. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment and she found it hard to breathe until John let go of her wrist and she could open her eyes again. Saw her fingers glistening with John's saliva. Saw John nodding.

With her heart pounding in her ears, Sam felt John propping her up all the way until she was pressed against Rodney's chest. The different angle made him slide deeper inside her, and though he had less room to keep up the powerful thrusts from before, his cock was now touching nerve endings that made her bite back a gasp. She wrapped her left arm around his back to hold herself in position and lifted her chin just to look at him. His eyes flickered as they met hers, his gaze desperate, panicked, needing, wanting. Sam pressed a kiss to the center of his chest, then reached behind Rodney, stroking until she found the cleft of his ass.

His thrusts stuttered for a moment, and his hands fumbled for hers, halting on her forearm as though not sure whether to pull her closer or push her away. It gave her the time to overcome the uncertainty and just go with the flow. She circled her index finger over a sparse swirl of hair and soft, puckered skin for a moment, still hesitating, because, damn it, what was she doing here? But Rodney's broken moan stopped those thoughts and Sam lowered her head again to suck his left nipple into her mouth, then pushed a finger inside him.

She only managed to get in to her first joint, but Rodney's entire body jolted, almost violent in response to what she was doing. His hips slammed forward, the hands that had been scrabbling at her arms before fell away to reach behind her, for John.

Sam didn't hear his increasing moans anymore after a while, too surprised by his response and her own boldness. Rodney was hot and smooth inside, amazing her. He was sweat-slick skin and salt on her lips and tongue. His hips stuttered into short, hard strokes. God, he was tight around her finger, tighter than she had ever been around her own fingers, and different. His sweat mingled with hers on her belly. These deep strokes into her from the different angle were making his cock slide against her front wall more, sliding along already oversensitised nerve-endings. That and the way his pelvis was rubbing against her clit repeatedly was making it build inside her again, another orgasm lingering just out of her reach, and she twisted her hand, while fucking him back as good and as hard as she could, wanting to repay some of what he had given her already, wanting to make him make her come again. She sucked on his nipple hard, disrupting his rhythm. Over her head, she heard John kissing Rodney, open-mouthed and messy, his chest warm against her back, hands twined around Rodney's biceps, keeping them all sandwiched together. The urgent moans and grunts from Rodney reverberated against her lips. She felt a similar rumbling from John's chest.

Sam stilled her hand when she met a hard nub of nerves, curiously running her finger over it. Rodney suddenly was shaking all over, losing all rhythm. Just a few more movements of the finger were all it took and he was coming, finally, hips snapping into her, once, twice – almost there, almost, almost, come on, McKay, one more thrust, only one more – grunting into John's mouth, pulsing inside her. As much as she was glad that Rodney had finally found release himself, she couldn't help the frustration prickling through her body over the denied climax. When John ended the kiss, Rodney withdrew from her and slumped down across the counter next to her, leaving her feeling hollow and only too aware of the wetness trickling out of her and the fact that they'd been too stupid drunk and desperate to use a condom.

Sam closed her eyes. Thank God everyone woman at the SGC was given a Norplant before she went on offworld missions. The underlying implication had always made her uncomfortable, but right now, she was glad. She wasn't going to get pregnant from this.

Next to her, Rodney was panting. She could hear John peppering small kisses over Rodney's face and squeezed her eyes shut tighter as she became aware of her rapidly cooling skin. She had wanted this. She'd wanted to be a body, wanted sex she could forget in the morning, just something to make her feel better, and she'd got it. This was the sort of sexual encounter people fantasized about. Then why was she feeling this pang of loss? Because one night stands were a fool's game. And going to bed with your co-workers was always a mistake. Her body was still taut and tense from the denied orgasm and she felt something heavy and cold settle on her chest. Even with the mind blowing orgasms she'd had, she felt worse than she had earlier in the day. Damn it.

Sam blinked her suddenly moist eyes open when Rodney's hand touched her thigh – heavy and shaking with exhaustion. His thumb moved over her skin in small circles, no doubt trying to build a connection, but all it did was make the hunger inside her burn higher. She turned her head to the side and found him looking at her with tired, sated eyes. A smile, more honest than she had ever seen on him, lifted the corners of his mouth. He moved his hand, skating it down the side of her thigh to her hand. Grasped it and lifted it to his face. Stroked her wrist, then kissed every fingertip with more gentleness than she had ever thought him capable of. It stirred something in her, lifted part of the ice from her chest.

Above them, Sam heard John move. His hand moved into her line of vision to caress Rodney's face and trailed over her fingers as well. He gently slid her completely back onto the counter's support before releasing her shoulders, then bending and kissing her on the lips, sweet and tender, a message in the unhurried brush of lips on lips that she couldn't decipher.

When he let go of her, he looked at Rodney again, who closed his eyes momentarily. Had that been a nod? Sam couldn't tell.

John moved away from behind her, making her aware of the cooler air coming from the living room. He walked around the counter, limping slightly, and set both hands on her legs, stroking gently up and down her shins before lifting and bending them so her feet were flat on the counter.

Sam's heartbeat tripped, slowed, then beat a quickening staccato against her ribcage. She looked down to where John was standing between her legs, where he was pushing her knees apart and rubbing his cheek against the side of her knee, sending shivers through her. Again?

She managed to say hoarsely, "Isn't this where we started?"

John kissed her inner thigh tenderly. His gaze met hers. "Too much?" he asked.

Sam shivered and shook her head.

John's lips trailed up her thigh, those lush lips pink and kiss swollen against her pale skin. Strong hands were holding her knees up and spread wide when her legs started to shake. Her stomach fluttered. Her hand clenched to a fist in Rodney's grasp and her back almost bowed when John lowered his head against her and his tongue touched her again. She halted her involuntary movements, wanting to see what he was doing just as she was feeling it. A gasp was lodged in her throat, the air so thick and humid in the kitchen and full of the scent of sex it was difficult to breathe.

Rodney let go of her wrist and moved closer to her again, pulling her near so that her head was pillowed against his chest. She could hear his heart beating, as fast and hard as her own. His hand migrated to her side, circling her bellybutton and stroking over the fluttering muscles in her belly. From time to time, his hand detoured down to stroke John's dark hair. It made John moan against her, licking her more intently.

Sam felt the heat rising into her cheeks. John's eyes closed, dark lashes fanning his cheeks, his tongue dipping against her, licking up every trace of hers and Rodney's mingled fluids, single-minded and intent, taking his time. His tongue was relentless, greedy, thorough, but all the roughness from before was gone.

She knew what he was getting out of this. It wasn't only for her, this was just as much for John, even Rodney, as much as it was for her. John, who was spreading her legs wider at the knee, until the strained muscles ached, settling closer before looking up at her, their eyes meeting. He let his right hand drift up her thigh, making her thoughts derail and her eyelids flutter as he worked three fingers into her, filling her again. She gasped and shifted her hips to accommodate him.

Rodney's hand moved from her belly to her right breast, cupping it and running his thumb over the nipple. He had his face pressed against her hair and was murmuring quiet affirmations that were lost in the sound of her heart beating in her ears.

John's breath was hot against her as he sucked at her clit, gentle, careful, tongueing it, biting a little, not enough to hurt, just to sting, to ratchet the sensation to another level, while he worked his fingers inside her.

Sam began to writhe against him, to moan. But John was patient and slow, didn't stop, not when the slick, hot, jolting sensations of his tongue and fingers were becoming too much, not when she started to shake and flush, breaking out into fresh sweat, not when her hips began moving and she was squirming hard. He never let up. He worked into her, unhurried and painfully gentle, giving her more than she thought she could take when all she wanted to do was come, when she was so close, so damn close.

She started cursing him, echoing Rodney, "Come on, fuck, come on, come on."

Rodney's breath hitched, his hand cupping her breast more firmly, thumb and index finger pinching her nipple. The sensation raced through her and centered in her belly, started a chain reaction of synapses firing all at the same time: John's tongue and John's fingers and John's moan and Rodney's hands and Rodney's lips pressed against her sweaty temple, whispering in a rough, awed voice, "You're beautiful together." She flew apart. Her neck arched on Rodney's chest, her back bowed, hips lifting from the counter so that John had to press her back down with his free hand. He never stopped, not once, licked and sucked and bit her through an orgasm that went on and on, nova-bright, fierce gold and endless relief, sending her head spinning, her mind fragmenting and her hands flailing. Rodney caught them and stroked them, soothing and warm, until she slowly came down from the high, until John stopped moving his fingers and gave her a last, tender lick.

Sam closed her eyes again, panting, spent, aftershocks still shivering along her skin even as John moved away from her. Rodney's hand closed around hers, laced their fingers, careful and gentle and she squeezed back, trying to find the power to smile. Instead, she rolled her head to the side and pressed her lips against his chest. She opened her eyes in time to see John rise, one hand braced on the counter as though his legs weren't willing to hold him up.

Then he leaned over her, kissing his way up her still quivering torso until he reached Sam's mouth. He kissed her lips so sweetly it hurt. "Thank you," he murmured into her mouth, "thank you."

Rodney bent down to kiss her temple. His arms were warm around her.

Sam felt the urge to laugh out loud. They were thanking her? After what John had done, she felt the need to thank him … but she also realised that this hasn't just been about her coming again and male pride. It had been both their way of showing her that she hadn't just been a conduit, that this had meant something and that both had wanted her. Not with words, no, but Sam knew enough about not finding the right words at the right time, and she knew enough about men.

Hungers muted and tension worked out, she kissed John back, slow and tender. "Anytime," she murmured against his lips, making him grin.

"But not any time soon," Rodney huffed against her hair, breath stirring the sweat-matted strands. "Or I'll be an invalid before the end of the week."

Sam grinned and ran her thumb over the back of Rodney's hand. "What a headline that would make: Brilliant scientist hospitalized by vigorous sex."

Rodney groaned. John chuckled.

"Bed," Rodney said. "I am about to slip into a coma, my back is killing me and I don't want to fall off the damn counter in the middle of the night." He lifted his head a little, squinting at John. "You do have a bed, right?"

"No, Rodney. Of course not."

Sam still chuckled over their antics when John helped her off the counter. He had to steady her when her watery legs threatened to buckle and do the same to Rodney.

"Watch the glass," John warned Rodney and guided Sam away.

"Sorry about that," Rodney said. "Next time let's do this somewhere with fewer breakables."

"Whatever you say, Rodney." Sam felt the silent laughter that ran through John where he was pressed next to her side, arm around her waist to lift her over the shattered bits of glass and into the living room.

"That's right, leave me on my own," Rodney grumbled, "it's not like I have shoes on either." But he followed them out and into the tiny hall leading to the apartment's bathroom and bedroom.

"It's a good thing no one can see us," Sam remarked, grinning as they hobbled trough the bedroom door.

Rodney just grunted. He stripped off the rest of his clothes, then pulled the duvet off the – to Sam's surprise – queen-sized bed and dropped on the mattress. He lay there for a while, panting, and Sam and John watched him in amusement.

"Are you waiting for better weather?" Rodney asked and opened one eye. "Get in bed. The shower can wait until tomorrow."

John shrugged, pushed off his jeans, and crawled into the bed next to Rodney while Sam slipped off to the bathroom. There was no need to wake up with a raging case of honeymoon cystitis tomorrow morning. She'd have a hell of a time explaining that to Dr. Lam.

She looked into the mirror as she washed her hands and listened to the loud gurgle of the toilet flushing. Looked and saw bruises beginning to form, felt her legs weak and herself sore and grinned at her mirror image like a lunatic. She regretted nothing.

When she came back to the bedroom, Rodney had pulled John close, spooning around him, the duvet forgotten at the foot of the bed, their bodies touching from toe to shoulder. Sam shook her head and smiled at them, slid into the free space next to John and pulled the duvet up over the three of them. John's arms went around her, pulling her snug against him so that he spooned around her, his face nuzzling into the space between her neck and shoulder.

Rodney reached his hand around, over John and rested it on her waist, fingers heavy and warm.

They all smelled of sex and sweat and warm skin and it was the best damn thing Sam had smelled in ages. She wriggled back against John, felt his soft cock against her ass and smiled into the dreary room.

Rodney's fingers on her waist stopped moving in mid-stroke and the change in breathing made it clear that he had fallen asleep.

Sam reached for the nightstand and switched off the light. John kissed the back of her neck and that was the last she remembered before she fell asleep herself.

~*~

Rodney woke up to the sound of a shower running. There was a warm weight numbing his arm and hair tickled his nose. Hair that smelled distinctly of John. Rodney breathed deep.

He blinked his eyes open slowly, squinting at the bare, too white walls. Boxes were covering the floor, not one wardrobe in sight. John hadn’t unpacked any of the trinkets he’d had in his room on Atlantis. Something twisted in Rodney’s chest and he gathered John closer, pressing him tight against his chest. John murmured and tensed in protest for a second but then relaxed against Rodney with a sigh.

Sam was nowhere to be seen, but the steady, off-key humming coming from the shower gave her away. Rodney smiled into John’s hair. Good to know that Sam had some flaws. He hadn’t found any last night, and if he was honest with himself, he was still slightly shocked that she had finger-fucked him. No one was ever going to believe that. Not that he would ever tell. There was preening and then there was idiocy, and while he had always skirted mania, he’d never been stupid.

The shower stopped just when John turned and whispered a kiss against Rodney’s chest. "You snore."

Oh, perfect. Leave it to John Sheppard to be a sweet-talker. "Good morning to you, too."

"Well, you do."

"And you talk in your sleep." The cheap shot was too easy. And, oh, god, he had missed this, just the banter, missed it so much it hurt having it back now. All of last night’s tension was gone. They still weren’t back in Atlantis, but Rodney had John back. It was all that mattered now.

John winced, then his eyes narrowed. He licked his lower lip, showing off a bite mark there that made Rodney's mouth go dry. "No, I don’t."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don’t."

"Do."

"Don’t."

"Do."

"Good morning," a laughing female voice interrupted them. Rodney blinked at Sam, his mouth slightly open. He had thought she’d looked good last night, with the skirt and the boots and then later, naked? This was almost better - wet blond hair darker and in a complete disarray around her flushed cheeks, a blinding smile on her face, and…she was dressed in one of John’s black shirts. It barely covered her upper thigh, hugged all the right places.

"Looks good on you," John commented.

Sam looked down on herself, then back up with a sparkle in her eyes. "Don’t go proprietary on me now." She stepped up and pressed a toothpaste-flavoured kiss on both Rodney’s and John’s lips.

John chuckled, a warm movement against Rodney’s naked body.

"I hate to do this, but we should be back at the SGC in two hours."

"God, tell me you’re joking. I’m not fit to work. You have broken me. Both of you." Rodney groaned and pulled the duvet over his face, almost choking John, who struggled away from him.

John pulled the duvet back and smiled sleepily at Rodney. His hair was sticking out everywhere at once, making him look even dorkier. "Feeling your age?"

Rodney just rolled back a little and gave John a neat kick out of bed.

Both he and John showered quickly while Sam dropped back down on the bed. Rodney couldn’t help but bend down and kiss her knee when he came back, blessedly clean and refreshed.

Sam opened her eyes and smiled at him and Rodney realised that this was the stuff of hundreds of fantasies come alive - only better now, with Sam in John’s shirt and John, who had finished showering as well, sneaking up behind him to press a kiss against the top of Rodney’s spine.

Sam’s growling stomach broke the silence and she laughed, blushing a little. "Breakfast?"

"God, please," Rodney agreed and helped her up.

They padded out of the bedroom one after another, sleep-slow and with aching muscles, all smelling of John’s shower gel. When they reached the kitchen, Sam stopped short so that he almost ran into her.

"Wow," she said.

"Uhm," John agreed.

Sam crossed her arms in front of her. John’s shirt stretched over her breasts. "I hope you don't cook, John."

"Oh my God, that's so unhygienic," Rodney stated, feeling his voice rise. "Just add a little blood and we'd have a fantastic crime scene."

They all stood next to each other, surveying the kitchen with some kind of awe. The pepper shaker was on the floor, open, but still intact, contents spilled black all over the gray linoleum. The doors under the counter were sprung open and smeared with suspicious stains. The top of the counter bore handprints, fingerprints and even ass prints, more dried stains and a small dusting of pepper which Rodney was incredibly glad hadn't ended up anywhere near sensitive body parts. He leaned to the side a bit and found the salt shaker broken on the floor, the salt sparkling in the morning light. The glass shards were sprinkled all across the floor, and there was a dark red stain – He wheeled around, staring at John. "Did you cut yourself, you idiot?"

John shrugged, rubbed the back of his neck and then his face. His stubble scritched against his palm. "Just a scratch."

"Let me see."

"What? Come on, Rodney."

He snapped his fingers. "Let me see." He took John by the shoulder, steered him out of the kitchen to the living room and sat him on the recliner, reaching for his foot.

"Rodney!"

"Have you seen this floor, and the carpets here? I will not have you die of blood poisoning when I only just – " He stopped, biting off the last words. It was too soon, guaranteed to send John running.

But John just looked at him with an odd, tender look on his face, and lifted his foot so Rodney could grasp and inspect it. A minor cut, already beginning to heal. Rodney breathed a sigh of relief, but didn't let go of John's narrow, long-toed foot. "I'm not going to die of blood poisoning." John curled his toes against the palm of Rodney's hand.

"Coffee?" Sam brought the blessed distraction.

John's foot in his hand shuddered when he snorted. "We destroyed almost everything on the counter, but I think the coffee machine is still intact."

"Coffee!" Rodney let go of John's foot with a small caress and rose. "Sam, you're brilliant."

"Why, thank you." Her smile was radiant this morning, different than last night. She still looked tired and overworked, but something had returned to her eyes that had been missing before. "And since I'm brilliant, you can make the coffee now."

"Hey!"

"Stop complaining. You’re the one who always tells me that everyone but you makes weak coffee."

Rodney huffed and rolled his eyes. "You had to remember that."

He padded into the kitchen barefoot, wary of the shards of glass still lying on the floor. Glowered at John. For someone who had wanted to clean and tidy right in the middle of sex last night, he was damn slow at removing a health risk. Speaking of cleaning…Rodney winced when he saw dried semen on the cabinet door and counter top. That counter would just never get clean again. Good thing he didn’t live here.

When he reached the coffee maker, he stopped short, stifled a guffaw, then started to laugh, louder than he had in ages.

"What?" Sam and John echoed from the living room, both standing in front of the window that John had opened.

Rodney didn’t answer. Couldn’t, for the laughter shaking his body. He just picked up the item lying on top of the coffee maker and lifted it with two fingers so that Sam and John could see.

Sam’s lace-topped panties.

John managed a straight face for about a second, then he joined Rodney, giving that wonderfully dirty laugh that always made Rodney cringe because it was so dorkish yet so utterly infective.

Sam walked up to him, snatched the panties from his fingers and shook her head. "These would make for interesting flavor," she said, matter-of-factly, before padding back into the living room, and that went straight to Rodney’s groin. But no way. No way on Earth or in Pegasus was he up for any more sex this morning. He swallowed down the remaining trickles of laughter and busied himself making some of the blackest coffee Sam and John would ever see.

His stomach grumbled and he rubbed his bare belly. "Hey, I remember someone saying something about breakfast? Seeing as I'm providing you both with coffee?"

John’s turn to roll his eyes. It was comforting to see this again. "You're making it and probably drinking it all, Rodney. Not providing it."

But he slipped into the kitchen unit next to Rodney, brushing his hands along the small of Rodney’s bare back as he passed. Warmth spread out from where John’s hand had been.

The rich scent of brewing coffee began to envelop them while John bent down to rummage in an empty sounding cabinet. It gave Rodney a nice view of the boxers stretching over John’s ass and the expanse of smooth skin over his back. No, damn it. He was in no shape for this. Breakfast. All he wanted was breakfast.

He watched John sweep up the shards of glass and the spilled salt and pepper, then stretch and go to another cabinet to take out a box of cereal and a blue bowl. The only thing in the fridge was a carton of UHT-milk. Thank god. At least it wouldn’t have curdled while John was offworld. Rodney had had his doubts, because the only other food item he'd spotted in the kitchen was a loaf of white bread – with a fuzzy green covering.

John moved back into the living room and set the cereal box, the milk and the bowl on the floor. Sam closed the window with a shiver and seated herself gracefully. A glimpse of lace showed Rodney that she had put on the panties again. He really didn’t know if he’d have survived breakfast otherwise.

His gaze came to rest on the meager breakfast laid out before them and he frowned. He turned and looked into the kitchen, then back to the living room. No more bowls to be seen. And there was only one mug next to the coffee maker.

"One bowl?" Rodney said in horror. He picked up the coffee pot and the mug and walked into the living room.

John shrugged, then took the pot and mug from Rodney’s hands. "What do I need more for?"

Rodney glared at him, arms folded over his chest. "Excuse me? What about me?"

"And me?" Sam interjected, looking helplessly amused by them. She wasn’t taking him seriously at all, was she? Damn woman.

John's lifted shoulders mimed how helpless he was to change things. "We shared a bottle last night, why not a bowl this morning?"

"There is an essential difference between the small surface of a bottle and the much bigger surface of a bowl – "

"We both had our tongues down your throat last night, Rodney," Sam said, dry as dust. "Buck up."

"Do you at least have sugar?"

John shook his head and crouched down, tailor fashion, next to Sam.

"Another spoon, maybe?"

Another shake of John’s head. His mouth was curved into a smile, the one that almost always crept onto his face when Rodney ranted about something. Rodney'd noticed. It was one of the ways he had first realized John actually liked him, rather than tolerated him.

Rodney flailed his hands in exasperation before sitting down on the musty carpet himself. "What are you doing, camping here?"

The vibration of a passing truck made the house tremble in the silence that followed. John's face gave him away: yes. This was exactly why everything here was so spartan. John had no intentions of staying.

Rodney swallowed hard, needing to reach out and touch, but fearing it might not be welcome yet.

Sam broke the silence by reached for the pot and pouring the first mug of coffee. She pushed it at John, smiling sympathetically.

They ate breakfast in quiet, sharing the bowl and spoon and mug, and Rodney surprised himself with how little it bothered him despite what he’d said earlier. He busied himself with watching John and Sam, both looking so much better than they had last night. There were bruises forming on Sam’s thigh and arms where the shirt rode up far enough to let him see and Rodney winced. Sam caught it and just shrugged, running her finger over the bruises in something close to a caress.

The sound of trucks going past became more frequent, indicating that rush hour was close and that they didn’t have much more time. Sunlight broke through the curtains, still weak and without warmth. It sparked off Sam’s hair though, while leaving John and Rodney in the shadows. Rodney hated the damn apartment, but he hated the thought of going back to the Mountain, doing more inane work he didn’t want to be doing, hated pretending nothing had ever happened last night even more. And there was Nevada, they'd ship him back to Area 51 and his lab as soon as they could.

Sam and John carried the breakfast remainders back into the kitchen, making Rodney shake his head over their military need for cleanliness and order.

"Come on, McKay," Sam called after she’d walked back in the bedroom. "Time."

Time. Wasn’t on their sides, no matter what the Stones said.

Rodney pushed up from the floor with a groan, then stopped and frowned. Sam’s skirt and blouse were still on the floor in front of the counter. Not that it wouldn’t be a fond fantasy, but she couldn’t possibly go back to the Mountain in nothing but her underwear and John's shirt.

"Coming?" John asked. "You can borrow a shirt."

Rodney walked into the bedroom and stopped again, leaning against the door to appreciate the view.

Sam was struggling to put on her bra under John's shirt, which hung around her neck. She had fantastic biceps, Rodney reflected, and gorgeous skin. He hadn't taken the time to really appreciate either the night before. A pair of John’s jeans waited on the bed and Rodney watched with a smile how Sam slipped into them, buttoned up, wriggled a little and pulled the belt tight to keep them from falling off her hips. It was one of the cutest things he had ever seen on her, better even than the damn pink jacket from his hallucination. She caught his look, plucked the shirt back over her hips and opened her arms, presenting herself. "Well?"

Rodney put both thumbs up, grinning at her.

"You’ll need to drop me off at my apartment, though. I can’t go back to the Mountain like this."

"I kinda like it," John remarked, raspy and slow, having arrived silently and now standing next to Rodney. His skin was warm, and he didn’t shy away from the body contact.

"Of course you do." Sam rolled her eyes, but ruined it by smiling. "Now, get going, you two."

John sighed, but moved. He stepped over to one of the boxes on the floor, rummaged through it and threw a shirt at Rodney. "Here."

Rodney took a step closer, caught it. Unfolded it and stopped breathing for a moment.

His shirt. That was his shirt. The one he’d thought he’d lost in the laundry room on Atlantis.

He stood there in the middle of the room, clad in nothing but boxers and stared first at the shirt, then at John. "You…. I…."

"Must have been a mix up in the laundry room." John shrugged, but it was too casual, too studied.

Rodney swallowed down on the feeling of utter elation crawling up his throat, trying to break free in a whoop. He nodded. "Yeah, must have." But he couldn’t help the grin spreading over his face, so broad it almost hurt. Damn John Sheppard for making him go mushy over a shirt.

He caught Sam watching them, raised his eyebrows at her, unable to stop grinning. She shook her head, smiling at him and then John, fond.

Rodney shrugged and smiled back.

~*~

They stepped back out in the living room five minutes later.

Sam pulled on her boots under John’s jeans, then straightened.

"Ready?" she asked.

"No," Rodney replied. "But that doesn’t count, does it?" Turning to John, he said: "I’m flying back to Area 51 tomorrow."

Sam watched John’s face fall before he stepped to the door to fiddle with the keys and couldn’t help feeling a pang of regret herself.

"But, hey, Carson called. Something about dinner with Elizabeth next week…" He trailed off, voice caught between hopeful toward John and apologetic toward her.

The turned key made the lock click. John didn’t turn around, his face thrown in shadows. "Sounds nice." His voice was too laconic to not be deliberate. Sam still heard the thread of anticipation running beneath it, the relief at the prospect of seeing Rodney again soon. John was making an effort to sound casual to not hurt her and Sam wanted to thwap him over the head. It wasn't necessary; that didn’t hurt. Not when she had finally realized how tightly these people were twined around each other, how little Landry or anyone at the SGC understood them.

She put her hand on John’s at the doorknob, pulled it away, nudged him to face her. Kissed him, then Rodney. Opened the door and stepped into the bright light of a new day.