qua torva res es

 by scarlettandblue


From Secret Santa with love for silverraven11
The request made is at the end of the story. I hope I managed to deliver on some of what you wanted.
Beta read by who has done the most fabulous job ever under very trying circumstances, i.e., me taking a very long time to write a pretty long story! Thank you so much for all your help.
I also admit I fiddled with it again after it came back from its final beta reading, so any mistakes you spot are all me.

Warnings:
It's a sort of cannon AU, in that this is an AU of an AU that cannon created. Slash. Swearing and sex and a few owies for our dear boys. So pretty much NC17 I'd say....

Disclaimer:
And of course I don't own John or Rodney (I wish!!) or any of the SGA and SG1 crew,
or any Navajo Tribal Police officers from new Mexico. But playing with them is such fun and you shouldn't sue anyone for having fun, should you?




qua torva res es


Rodney was really pissed that he had to consent to stay with Jeannie before they agreed to his release. It's not like he didn't understand. They had to be careful. Doctors these days seemed like they were more concerned with the practice of avoiding lawsuits than they were with medicine. But he'd stabilized on the medication and, as to the rest, it was just plain ridiculous. There were many, many more reliable and far less painful ways to try and kill yourself than to deliberately induce anaphylaxis. He just he couldn't make them understand it had been an accident.

He mostly stayed in his room his first three weeks in Vancouver. Only coming out for meals and to shower, because he learned his lesson regarding the medical profession's so called logical progression from lack of personal hygiene to an automatic diagnosis of some flavour of crazy. But it was all so painfully awkward at times that he almost begged to go back to the facility.

He hadn't realised exactly how appalling it was going to be, as the focus of both his phenomenally nosy sister and her truly, clinically tactless offspring. But he decided that If he had to listen to another discussion going on right outside his bedroom door, where Madison asked when Uncle Mer was going to howl at the moon like a crazy dog, he might seriously reconsider the whole voluntary death by lemon thing again.

But things did ease up a little. Or maybe Maddie got really bored waiting for Rodney to do something obviously crazy and just lost interest. Or Jeannie simply started slipping him another pill and he was too medicated to care any more. Whatever the reason, he found he'd relaxed enough to contemplate what he was going to do with the rest of his life.


Report 14
Day 60
Tsub1
To: Col F Simmons
From : Dr J McKenzie

Subject 1 continues to display behaviours within normal boundaries. Interaction with Civilians non critical at this time. Memory patch fully functional and embedded

Recommend continued surveillance. Monitoring of psychiatric sessions. Continued sampling to ensure brain chemistry remains at optimum levels once medication is reduced.

Review: 28 days.


Rodney never managed to feel comfortable with his therapist, and he never told him what he really thought or remembered of his breakdown. He wasn't stupid, he said enough to get McKenzie off his back, and after five weeks they cut his sessions back to one a week and the doctor began a planned reduction in his medication.

Rodney knew he should have mentioned the dreams as soon as they started but he couldn't. From the first moment he dreamt of the moonlit desert he felt certain, it was real. Not part of his psychotic break or whatever it was they were calling his breakdown.

The washed out shades of pale and dark spreading and disappearing into impenetrable night. The moon high and so cold in the sky. The air clear enough that the craggy texture of the craters across the lunar surface are in sharp relief against the night sky. It was so real it was almost painful. He was always running; running hard and joyful in the cool moonlight. There was such a feeling of freedom, such acute unfathomable bliss in his heart that the first few times he woke from the dream there were tear tracks on his face.

But more than that he kept quiet because he was never running alone in the dreams.


Report 20
Day 80
Tsub2

To: Col F Simmons
From: Dr Lee

subject 2 remains unchanged.

All measurements and data within normal range for species. As previously stated there is nothing remarkable about this subject. And in light of this my recommendation remains unchanged. It is likely just a lost pet that was caught up in the retrieval. Release it to the civilian authorities to deal with.



Rodney had the dream most nights now. Sometimes he'd wake from it with a vague disquiet, tatters of the dream would gently slide away on the ragged edge of sleep and wakefulness. Sometimes the dream filled his head with sound and feeling so vivid that he'd feel a kind of bereavement when he'd wake once again in a Vancouver suburb, in his sister's soulless spare room. Alone.

Then one morning he wasn't alone when he woke up.

"Mer." Jeannie said his name softly, a little crack in her voice, nothing like her usual combative tone.

"Mmmhh?" He was never coherent before his first cup of coffee, but all the same he tried to make his voice sound normal, and not like he was right on the dark edge of loss.

"Who's John?"

Rodney felt a strange clutch in his chest, like he was suddenly falling. His whole body, muscles and bones and tendons, tensed in a startling moment of joyous anticipation... then... his brain kicked in and he said in a thick confused voice.
"I don't know a John."

"Just now you were saying his name." Jeannie crossed from the doorway and sat on the bed next to him, she brushed her hand tentatively across his shoulder and squeezed gently. Even diffused through the material of his t-shirt it felt shockingly intimate, and yet somehow unreal.

Maybe it was because Rodney and Jeannie had been estranged for many years, and even though she had taken him in, even though she had been kind to him in her way, they were still distant. And they did not touch. So perhaps it was just this distance that made the feeling of her hand on his shoulder nothing more than a pale imitation of touch.

Maybe it was because when he tried to think back to the last time someone had touched with any meaning stronger than, 'excuse me', or 'out of the way!' there was an empty, aching place in his mind, and when he tried harder to remember, tried to think of even casual touches, there was nothing. Even in the Academy Hospital no one really touched him, unless they were wearing gloves. It was likely the standard these days on all wards, to avoid any kind of direct skin contact, to lessen the spread of infections.

But Rodney had an inkling that the real reason touch seemed so distant, that he felt cocooned beyond even his own naturally reserved nature, was to be found in the dreams.

The dreams were filled with every sensation. His body ruffled by the cool night breezes, the scents of a thousand infinitely exciting, enthralling things filling his head. The heat and strength of his body running fast and sleek through the darkness.

The sheer delight of chasing and being chased, playful and intent by turns. Rolling and tumbling with wild exuberance until suddenly too tired to go another step he'd just drop to the ground panting hot harsh breaths, lying still, ripe with the pleasure of just being there at that moment, of waiting for the next moment to come, filled with something new. And always, he was conscious of his night's companion, the one who ran beside him, the one who chases and is chased, the one who pressed close to his side panting and laughing and breathless too when they can't run another step and collapsed to the earth together to rest and wait.

Rodney's eyes were shut tight and he curled in on himself, he tried hard to hold on to the way he felt in the dream. He had this strange notion that if he could bring it with him to the daylight, if he could just retain some of that dreamed joy in his waking self then everything would somehow be okay. But he can't do it, something always distracts him and it just goes away.

"...so you don't have to be! Okay, Mer... Mer?"
She shook his shoulder again and Rodney realised he'd missed whatever Jeannie had been saying.

"I don't?" He tried to make it sound like he knew what she had been saying.

"No! Of course you don't." She sounded kind of cranky, but that was more or less her normal tone of voice with him.

Rodney held his breath, because he was pretty much hopeless at being a good brother to Jeannie, that much he had figured out since he'd been staying with her. He always said or did the wrong thing. Sometimes he very carefully didn't say or do anything at all, thinking that might get him into less trouble but he maybe just breathed wrong or something because not saying or doing stuff was just as likely to piss his sister off.

"Is that what this was all about?"

He had no idea what she was talking about, and Rodney figured he'd better come clean now, because the longer it went on the more pissed she'd be, so he said. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't have to hide from me, Mer." For once she didn't sound angry.

"I... I'm not" Rodney shrugged, aware of her hand still there, just resting gently around the curve of his shoulder.

"Then tell me about John."

"I don't know a John, I can't tell you what I don't know." But even saying the name a second time, it felt strange and familiar in his mouth, like a sweet breath of desert air.

"You dream about him every night, Mer." She squeezed his shoulder again, and it wasn't like a warning, like she was about to get mad. It felt almost as if she was trying to be nice.

"I do not!" Rodney didn't understand what made him angry. Unsure if it was Jeannie knowing that he was dreaming, even if she got the details wrong. Or if it was her trying to be kind to him, trying to be nice, when she'd never seemed to feel the need to before.

The strange thing was, he got mad and she didn't. She just leaned down and hugged him, pressed her cheek against his for a second and then pulled back and patted him once more on the shoulder before she got up.
"You don't have to tell me, Mer. Not if you don't want to. But I hope you know you can tell me. I won't be shocked or mad at you. You're my brother, and nothing can change that." Then she left, shutting the door quietly on her way out.

When he had given in, when the lure of the kitchen and the first cup of coffee of the day finally proved irresistible, Rodney had imagined incredible awkwardness and humiliation awaited him around the breakfast table. But everything was normal, maybe even better than normal.

Kaleb was engrossed in his morning paper and lowered it just enough to mumble a greeting before he disappeared again behind his impenetrable wall of newsprint. Madison was completely mesmerised by the swirling patterns her spoon made in her breakfast cereal and barely noticed his arrival. Then Jeannie thudded his first mug of coffee down in front of him like it was a particularly aggressive opening move in some weird board game that used place settings instead of chess pieces . But then she squeezed the back of his neck as she stepped back, just like mum used to when she was having a good day, and it seemed to Rodney as if his world shifted to the left then settled back down again in a slightly better place.

It was Kaleb's turn to take Maddie to school, so pretty soon it was just Rodney and Jeannie sitting in the quiet sunny kitchen. But instead of awkward, the silence was strangely comforting. When Jeannie finally spoke it was just to ask if Rodney had any plans for the day, and to suggest a trip to the Mall if he didn't. And Rodney agreed to go even though he hated the Mall and everything it stood for, apart from bookshops. And electronics stores.

They had a pretty good time though. Rodney had forgotten that Jeannie could always make him laugh. That between her blatant pushiness and her pointedly mean teasing she was kind of light and funny too. They ended up buying books for Rodney and Kaleb, yet another Barbie, assorted furry creatures and a pretty blue dress for Maddie, plus a state-of-the-art bread maker and some organic face cream for Jeannie.

Then there was a totally manic shopping phase where Jeannie insisted Rodney buy clothes for himself. Two plain shirts.. pale blue and dark orange, and two outrageously stripy shirts in multiple colours. Five long sleeved t-shirts and seven short sleeved t-shirts in contrasting colours, although she wouldn't explain why the colours had to contrast quite that much. Three impractical sweaters. Two pairs of cargo pants plus some jeans that were too tight and made his ass look fat.

He managed to surface from the fugue shopping state just in time to veto the purchase of an incredibly expensive charcoal suit with maroon silk shirt and tie, but it was a close call, so he refused to go into another single shop. Except for the computer store, of course. And one shoe store because he had to agree those were some seriously cool orange trainers.

By the time they got home Rodney was exhausted, he slumped in the breakfast nook watching Jeannie, who seemed to have been weirdly energized by the whole shopping process, and was buzzing around the kitchen like some kind of exotically charged particle. Just watching her seemed to sap the strength out of him. That could be the only explanation for his inability to resist her when she started asking him questions.

"What are you going to do, Mer?"

"I thought I might lie down in my room for half an hour."

"Not now, idiot! I mean what are you going to do?"

"Oh, that. Really not sure."

"You could teach."

"Oh I could not."

"Write?"

"Not really allowed."

What? Not allowed, why not?"

"My contract. Non-disclosure agreements, other stuff."

"They have no right." Jeannie was winding up for one of her diatribes against the American Industrial Military Complex. It had been a familiar complaint in the Miller household since Rodney had taken up residence. How she can't believe her own brother sold out to the Establishment. How he should be ashamed he used his powers for evil. How it's the duty of good Canadians everywhere to resist the Goddamned Yankee dollar and Goddamned Yankee Global Branding.

Fortunately he had the means to cut this particular rant off at the pass. "They do, as long as they continue to pay my full salary plus benefits."

Jeannie's mouth snapped shut, and he had to hide his smirk at the expressions that had passed over her face. Sour, grudging respect, actual open mouthed-amazement, and just a tiny little dash of pure avariciousness at the thought of how loaded he might actually be and how much she might be able to guilt out of him in terms of more presents for Maddie.

But all she said was, "So how come you aren't living it up in some luxury penthouse?"

"You know they wouldn't let me out until I proved I had a stable living environment. Apparently penthouse luxury doesn't cut it with the shrinks."

Jeannie pursed her lips, like she didn't want reminding, and Rodney felt his heart sink. It wasn't like he had planned to stay there forever. And if he was honest with himself he had been half expecting his welcome to run out at any moment. Memories of how his visits home usually ended were all too vivid in his mind, so really, managing a whole seven weeks before getting kicked out was somewhat of a record.

"I suppose it really is time for me to move on. I mean I imagine I've outstayed my welcome... So I understand... And you have your lives to be getting on with so it's hardly surprising you might ... and I'm not quite as... with the medication...oouff." Rodney was dragged to his feet and whatever he had been about to say was muffled in Jeannie's hair and neck as she literally squeezed the breath out of him in a really, really tight hug.

He had already worked out that Jeannie had touched him more that day, if he counted every time she flapped a sweater or shirt at him, or held something up against his back muttering about his shoulders being far too wide, or the three times she shoved him into a changing room with a pile of clothes, than she probably ever had done in their entire adult life.

Rodney tried to struggle out of the confines of her arms but she wouldn't let him go. He tried to reason with her. "Jeannie, this is odd?"
But it sounded like she had growled and she squeezed him even harder, so he added quickly. "But nice, it's very nice." He patted her back tentatively. "But I'm having a little difficulty breathing."

Jeannie stepped back and away from him then, her face hidden by her hair and when she spoke her voice was a little rough. "Don't be a moron. Stay as long as you want. Stay for ever, Mer. That would be just fine by me."

"Oh... I... okay... that would be... uhh... fine by me too."
And Rodney couldn't help the ridiculous urge to grin at her. Which was why when Kaleb arrived home for lunch they had both been grinning in the kitchen like fools. But the man clearly did have a few half-way usable brain cells because he simply nodded at Rodney then grabbed his wife and kissed her cheek.

After that, Rodney found it easier to talk about things with Jeannie. She still confused him sometimes, asking him strange questions about the people he worked with, and what he did for fun. She seemed to have no concept of what working for a secret military establishment entailed. And clearly she had never been locked in an underground bunker for days on end with top government scientists or she would have understood that the concept of having any attractive colleagues he might have wanted to date held very little meaning, even in relative terms.

There was a brief flurry of interest when he mentioned Sam Carter, but then Jeannie seemed to lose interest in her as well. Eventually she dropped the whole subject of Rodney's lack of a private life and concentrated instead on his future.

One morning Jeannie asked if she could come with him to his next session with the psychiatrist. Rodney figured that as he spent all his sessions deflecting McKenzie and diverting or closing down the various lines of questioning, it might be a very bad thing to give the man more ammunition by taking his less than tactful sister. But Jeannie was virtually impossible to refuse once she got an idea in her head.

Rodney almost felt sorry for McKenzie. The man had been seriously thrown when Rodney showed up with Jeannie in tow. He'd shifted awkwardly when Rodney blithely gave his full consent for her to sit in on the session. McKenzie had spluttered briefly about confidentiality clauses and non-disclosure employment agreements, but Jeannie had just ploughed right over his objections, quoting some official-sounding legal jargon about medical ethics and patient empowerment.

The session had been pretty tame, thankfully. But Jeannie had watched Rodney and McKenzie back and forth like it was a riveting tennis match. Whenever he glanced at her, Rodney noticed Jeannie would have a kind of closed off superior half smile on her face, and whenever she caught him looking she'd raise her eyebrow and tilt her head to indicate he should get back to it with McKenzie and amuse her some more.

As the session came to an end Jeannie began to ask McKenzie some questions. She asked about his qualifications, and what kind of psychoanalysis he practiced. She wanted to know what alternative treatments he had considered for Rodney aside from medication and what specific drugs had been prescribed to him while he was hospitalized. She wanted to know whether his ongoing treatment was mandatory or voluntary.

McKenzie stammered and mumbled his way through his answers, and then they were out of there and back in the car on their way home.

"I don't think you should see him any more."

"He's not that bad, Jeannie."

"The man is a total idiot, and far too stupid to manage you. He relies way too heavily on drug therapy. Plus he works for your employer, so I don't trust his motivation. And worst of all he's Freudian, and Freudians are no good to people like us, Mer. My therapist explained it to me and she saved me years of misery in the wrong kind of analysis."

"You had therapy?" Rodney couldn't quite keep the disbelief out of his voice, this was the first he'd heard of it.

"Of course I did. You don't honestly think I'd be this well balanced and normal after the childhood we had without it, do you?"

"No, I suppose not." Rodney wasn't really convinced but he'd learned it was better to agree with Jeannie when she was driving.

"I'll make you an appointment with Kate. See how you get on with her."


Report 25 (Final)
Day 90
Tsub1
To: Col. F Simmons
From: Dr J Mckenzie

I have finished my evaluation of subject 1.

The memory patch has been in operation for 90 days. There has been zero bleed-through of suppressed memories. Sufficient time has passed to allow for any delayed reaction or breakdown. The patch is now fully integrated and fully operational. The subject has reached an optimal level of mental stability under the circumstances.

Despite repeated testing there are absolutely no signs of any adverse side-effects from the subject's exposure to the device.

The subject has re-integrated with the family with little emotional fallout, and while the situation is not ideal it is an acceptable compromise. l predict the subject may be mis-advised to seek alternative, less high value therapy, but this has no bearing on the classified issues that I was tasked with overseeing.

Any future involvement of other, possibly less qualified or skilled, mental health operatives will have no effect on the damage limitation procedures we have already incorporated into this subject.

My conclusion is the treatment has been a complete success and there is little value in my continued involvement with the subject.

Of course the subject will no longer be able to participate in the classified reaserch that he was engaged in prior to the incident. It is an unfortunate consequence of the invasive nature of the memory patch that some mental capacity and fortitude has been compromised. The subject may retain much of his high-functioning mental powers but his ability to withstand interrogation and his capacity to remain circumspect and unemotional has likely been damaged by the procedure.

Based on my findings and my professional judgement of the subject after our lengthy sessions, my recommendation would be continued employment of the subject on less sensitive areas of work. This would allow an optimal degree of control and supervision.

I would suggest an approach be made within the next two weeks as the subject seems to have recovered physically and is now mentally stable.

Alternatively I could recommend enforced retirement with a sufficiently generous severance package, provided we authorize a subtle campaign to discredit any future research or publishing that might compromise security. Something similar to the propaganda applied to Dr Jackson's unfortunate revelations should be sufficient. This is a viable alternative should it prove unsuitable to retain the subject in employment. This alternative would also pose minimal risk in my opinion.

Having observed the subject's current family situation I would strongly advise against authorizing a more permanent and final solution to the situation.
I feel the time when this might have been a viable option has passed and to attempt this kind of hard clean up now would pose a high level risk of exposure.

While the subject's family is neither prominent nor important, either politically or financially, I believe they poses a sufficient level of political and social awareness to ensure that were the subject to disappear now, there would be an unacceptable level of publicity. There would be little we could do to deter them, as action against citizens of an ally who are to all intents innocent non- combatants would undoubtedly be unacceptable to the present administration.

I will begin the process of closing my base of operations here unless I hear from you.


Addendum:
While I have not been involved in the research or testing of subject 2 it is my view that this second subject be disposed of. I no longer have any requirement to re-examine it, as subject 1 has been fully and successfully treated. We have undoubtedly collected all the meaningful data we can from the second subject, so there can be little point in keeping it alive. My recommendation is euthanize it and dispose of the body as an extreme contaminant, for the sake of caution.



Rodney stopped taking the pills McKenzie had prescribed. He honestly didn't notice any difference. He attended his first session with Kate Heightmeyer and she seemed happy enough that he was medication free.

Two days later Rodney received a letter from the Human Resources manager at the joint Oversight Committee. When he first read it the letter made him feel strange, useless and old before his time. But in the end the only sensible thing to do was accept the retirement package the were offering, it was too much money and too much freedom to turn down.

Rodney still had the dream, just less frequently, but when it came it was powerful enough to leave him devastated for a day or two afterwards. The dreams followed a pattern he was sure. It was just a pattern he couldn't seem to understand.

The dream was always triggered by a moment when he would suddenly become transfixed by the colour of his skin in the darkness. Moonlight, sometimes starlight would appear to light his skin a different hue. He would find himself staring at his own hand, pale and strange against his pillow and then the next instant he would simply be in the heart of the dream.

But all the obvious patterns that could be attributed to the waxing and waning of the moon did not seem to apply to his dream. It wasn't some kind of full moon madness, nor did it coincide with the new moon, or the harvest moon, or even a blue moon.

After he had exhausted every permutation of the moon's influence he became quite obsessed with keeping a diary, trying to chart a configuration of moonlight and something else combined that would trigger the dream. Food had kept him busy for a few months, but it wasn't that. Then he started checking chemicals. In food, in toiletries, in household products, even in the air but there was nothing significant there either.

He briefly considered the cause might be power cables or other sources of electricity, or electro-magnetic power, thermal hotspots or fault lines, even ozone. But none of them seemed to have any significance, and Rodney figured he needed to stop before he became too obsessive. Before he started speculating wildly about alien light beams or black holes or tears in the fabric of reality, or something even more way out that might necessitate him wearing a hat made of aluminium foil around the house.

After about a year he had learned to accept it as part of his life, part of who he was, like his allergies or his degenerated disc or his hypoglycaemia. He learned to make proper allowances, he didn't let it rule him, just like he never let the fear of an unexpected lemon rule his day. So what if one or two days every month he simply had to stay in bed to recharge his batteries? If he could live with it so could everyone else.

He started thinking about work again, but it was strangely unappealing. The fire he used to feel just wasn't there. The spark had been put out and there was a numb kind of gap in his psyche where ambition, the drive to discover, to know used to be. He spent several sessions with Kate, trying to decide if he missed that aspect of himself, but he couldn't decide. In the end they agreed he would simply wait and see how it turned out. Like most of the things they figured out in his therapy, it wasn't a perfectly elegant solution but it was enough to get him by.

A few more months drifted by and then Rodney heard back from an application he had sent out. It wasn't full time, just six days a month directing a project at The Pine Mountain Observatory in Oregon. It was more practical astrophysics than theoretical but it seemed like he might enjoy the change of pace, so he accepted.

The first couple of months he stayed in a small but comfortable hotel in Bend that gave him the excuse he needed to think about finding somewhere more permanent to live than his sister's spare room.

It meant he would have to go back to Nevada.

He hadn't been back at all since they let him out of the hospital. I wasn't like he had forgotten. He'd had a life there, a job at the Groom Lake facility, a modern ranch style house in Alamo, he'd had a new Jaguar coupe, he'd even had a pet cat. But somehow he hadn't been able to face any of it so he'd let Jeannie take care of it all.

She had arranged for his most personal belongings to be sent to her in Vancouver, the rest had gone into storage. She said the cat had gone to a neighbour, his car was sold and the house had been placed with a rental agency.

For the first time in nearly two years Rodney thought about going home, and he was surprised to find he could not do it. He simply could not bring himself to drive up to his old house and park in the drive. He could not bear the thought of stepping through his front door and standing in his living room with the sliding glass doors that gave a panoramic view of the desert. That view had been what sold the property to him when first looked round it. Now it seemed to terrify him.

Rodney called the realtor in Alamo, even that made his hand shake a little. He was relieved when she told him they had an office in Las Vegas. Seemed his freak-out only covered the area around Groom Lake, not the whole of Nevada.

Rodney had been to Las Vegas several times. He didn't hate it there.

So he arranged an appointment to go over the sale details in a week's time at their Vegas office. He booked himself a suite at the Luxor, he figured he could afford it now, thanks to his retirement fund. Plus he remembered this guy he used to work with sometimes, Daniel Jackson, spending a whole hour lecturing some hapless military type who had been thinking of holding his wedding at the Luxor. It made him smile to think of how ticked off Jackson would be to know he was staying there.

From what he remembered, how to beat the house was a surprisingly hot topic of conversation among the scientists at Groom Lake. Maybe it was just because they were in Nevada. Maybe it was the propensity for maths geeks to be utterly convinced their brains could count any number of cards and thus have an infallible system to win at Black Jack.

Rodney even recalled one very weird metallurgist who spent all her time in a heavily shielded lab trying to produce new metal alloys combining naquada and strontium. She was convinced she could influence the roulette ball with just the power of her mind, and a glove lined with filaments of smelted naquium or whatever she called her new super metal discovery.

Rodney had always pretended such things were beneath him. He regularly threatened the especially stupid ones with exposure to the Top Brass for spending more time on their various pet gambling schemes than their actual projects. Nevertheless, he had tested his own theories several times on occasional weekends in Vegas.

He bet small and careful on Black Jack, and he consistently won because, unlike many of his colleagues he actually was a genius, so he really could remember every card that had been played. But he made sure he never drew unwanted attention by winning too large.

The only other thing he ever bet on was video poker machines. They had marginally better odds in most casinos, and he found it soothing to sit at the bar enjoying a couple of drinks and tapping quietly at a machine until he had amassed a couple of thousand dollars.

The one thing Rodney absolutely never did was play actual live poker. He learned that lesson while he was still at home. After years of being able to beat him at any card game they ever played, Jeannie had finally let Rodney in on her secret the night before he left for college to study for his first degree. She explained how every emotion, every thought, every damned card he was dealt showed up like a neon sign in the expressions that crossed his face.

This had been something of a revelation to Rodney, as he had always believed his face was kind of passionless, bland and unremarkable to look at, just one of the many ways he had apparently proved to be a disappointment. Also, at the age of sixteen it was incredibly off-putting to be the subject of a lecture from a twelve-year-old sister about the dangers of playing strip poker in the dorms.

Of course, any hypothesis was nothing until it was rigorously tested, and Rodney certainly tested Jeannie's theory a few times before he had to conclude that in this one area she might actually have a point, and Rodney was finally convinced that he didn't have a poker face.

Three days into his kind of vacation in Las Vegas, Rodney found himself in the realtor's office siging the papers for the sale of his house in Alamo, and when that business was finished found himself agreeing with Mrs Gray, the glamorous sixty-year-old who had been dealing with him, to look at some new condos in a small development that had recently been built in one of the more attractive suburbs of Las Vegas. It seemed that he didn't have a real estate face either.

Rodney found he liked the three-bedroom apartment so it was surprisingly easy to sign the papers and buy the place. And, because it was ready for occupancy, and because he had cash to spend, he found that three weeks later he was moving in to his brand new Las Vegas home.

It took him a couple of months to settle in, and then he was half reluctantly, half proudly, hosting a Halloween family get together. Jeannie, Maddie and Kaleb descended on him on the 29th for a week-long holiday. He made an appropriate amount of fuss but secretly Rodney had missed his sister and her family, and he was unexpectedly thrilled they were staying with him.

Maddie was given special dispensation to stay up late on Halloween night after all the trick or treating was done. They had planned a walk down the strip after dark to people-watch, because most people out on the 31st would be in fancy dress. Although Rodney would come to regret using that particular phrase, when special dispensation became the two most over-used words in the McKay household for the rest of the week. Because if he never again heard his niece ask whether he had 'special dispensation' to have another cup of coffee or use the bathroom or to wear a particular amusingly captioned t-shirt, it would still be too soon. But on Halloween night it was kind of funny to hear Madison ask with complete seriousness if the guy dressed up as Frankenstein had special dispensation to walk around looking like a big freaky monster.

Rodney had a surprise for Jeannie and Kaleb too. He had thought long and hard about how he had reacted when Jeannie had told him about her situation and her plan to marry Kaleb. After all, he'd had plenty of time to think recently. So, he'd booked them into a honeymoon suite at the Venetian for the weekend. They would have champagne breakfasts, his and hers spa treatments, a romantic dinner and tickets to whatever show they wanted to see afterwards. Rodney had even asked for vouchers for the boutiques in the casino so Jeannie and Kaleb could buy themselves something nice to wear for their romantic evening.

Rodney was well aware that this was what he should have done six-and-a-half years ago. He knew it didn't make up for what he had said and done back then, how he had reacted when Jeannie had first told him she was pregnant, but he hoped it would at least be the start of making it up to her.

Madison was quite taken with the idea of being grown up enough to stay by herself with Uncle Mer. She had been happily skipping along beside him after they had left her parents at The Venetian and headed back to the car. Rodney was hyper-aware that he had a most precious task entrusted to him, looking after Maddie, so maybe that explained why he noticed the sounds coming from the level above them in the parking garage. He didn't know how, but he definitely recognised the sound of someone being beaten up. The hissed "not the face!" followed by a heartfelt groan just confirmed it, but Rodney was unsure what to do.

He had never been confident with physical confrontation. He could be aggressive, even intimidating sometimes, but it was verbal, and it was always about defending himself or his theories. More importantly, Rodney had to remember he wasn't alone, his first priority was Madison.

But when he glanced at her he could see Maddie had heard what was going on, and while she might not understand it fully, she had figured out something bad was happening to someone. When she looked at him, he felt the weight of her expectations on him to make the world right again. To stop the bad thing happening. He felt the absolute need not to be an abject coward in her eyes.

"I'm strapping you in extra tight, you hear Madison?" He sat her down on her booster seat in the back of his vehicle. "You keep your head down. Whatever you do don't look out, okay?"

"Yes uncle Mer." Maddie sounded serious. She didn't sound scared.

Rodney put his own seat belt on and turned on the engine. He grabbed his cell phone and dialled 911. He told the operator who he was, where he was and what was happening, then ended the call. Rodney put the radio on and cranked up the sound, he didn't want Maddie to hear anything bad, and as he drove towards the up ramp he reminded her, "Remember - no looking out, Mads."

He saw an indistinct group of people at the far end of the upper parking level and he flicked his headlights on to full beam. As the high beams illuminated the dark corner everyone scattered apart, leaving one man who was bent over awkwardly, a hand pressed against the wall to hold himself up. Rodney slowed a little, pretending to hunt for his ticket on the centre console, but really wanting to make sure the other men had left.

Seconds later a fancy black SUV pulled out of a parking space and headed out of the garage with a squeal of tires. Rodney glanced up quickly as the man at the far end of the garage watched the vehicle disappear. When he was sure it was gone the man straightened up and walked a little stifly towards an older-looking car. Rodney pretended to find his parking ticket and headed for the down ramp. He very carefully didn't look at the man getting into the dented Chevrolet. He had the strangest feeling that he was afraid to see what the man actually looked like close up.

After they had driven away and were on the road home Rodney turned the radio off and asked, "Are you okay, Madison?"

She was quiet for a moment and Rodney had the terrible feeling he had somehow got it all wrong, that he had traumatised his six-year-old niece for life. He swallowed and was about to speak again, about to offer to take her to her mother or do whatever she needed him to do to make it better, when she finally spoke. "They were bad men."

"Yes they probably were." Rodney was relieved at how she sounded, matter of fact, a little grave the way she could be sometimes, and blessedly untraumatised.

"You should have run them over!" She sounded very serious, studious even, like she had given a lot of thought before coming to that conclusion.

Rodney was a little dumfounded. "Running people over on purpose is bad, Madison." He heard her take a breath, clearly about to question the statement, so he added. "Even if they're bad men. You still shouldn't run them over."

"But they might do it again."

Maybe she was a little traumatised after all.

"They can't hurt you, Maddie. They had no idea you were even there. The windows in the back are tinted, remember?"

"I'm not afraid for me, Uncle Mer!"

Rodney swallowed, for perhaps the first time ever he understood the sweetness and the responsibility of really mattering to someone, even if it was just one little girl. "They can't hurt me either. They don't know who I am."

"No, not you."

Rodney felt that like a kick in the chest, but of course he really should have known she hadn't been worried about him. But she was only a child so he tried to keep his voice gentle as he said. "And they can't hurt your parents either, you do know that, don't you?"

"Yes of course I know that. But they could hurt him again."

"Who?"

"The bad men, they could hurt the other man again."

"Oh I don't think that's very likely, it was just some kind of random mugging thing."

"They parked next to him."

Rodney thought back to the moment when the imposing black vehicle had pulled away and realised she was right. Then he realised what her knowing that fact actually meant.

"I told you not to look, Maddie."

"I know."

"What else did you see?"

"Nothing."

But Rodney had learned a thing or two while living with Jeannie so he asked again.

"Madison?"

"V16 661."

"What's that?"

"The Bad Men."

"You remembered the licence plate?"

"And D98 363."

"And that's?"

"Him. The man they were picking on."

"How did you know to do that?" Rodney was amazed, because while it was clear Madison was very smart, this seemed beyond what he would imagine any six-year-old should know."

"Mummy told me if I see a car in the neigbourhood with someone acting funny I have to write down the number and tell her or daddy. It's my job to stay smart and be safe. Didn't your mum tell you to do that?"

"No, no she didn't."

"Oh. What did she tell you to do?"

"Uhmm, eat my crusts and be quiet any time I wasn't in my room?"

"How did that keep the bad men away?"

"I'm not sure it was meant to. There probably weren't any bad men when I was little, it was a long time ago."

"Mummy said children always had to learn to be smart. It's in stories and everything, like Hansel and Gretel and the breadcrumb trail. And she said not to worry because she learned to be smart when she was little, so it wasn't a 'big deal'. And she 'turned out just fine' and so will I."

"Well, see, if that's what Mum told you it must be right. And what do I know? It's obviously a girl thing."

"No! Mummy said boys have to be smart and safe too. I think your mummy told you stupid stuff. But I know what to do so we'll be okay, Uncle Mer."

"Yes, we will." Rodney knew he hadn't had much experience with children, well with anyone really, so he supposed that was the reason he felt like he was floundering. That he felt amazed she thought she had to take care of him, when he was the adult, and she was the child. But he remembered his younger sister being exactly the same way growing up, and Madison was Jeannie's daughter through and through.

"I wrote the numbers. We can give them to the policemen."

"Yes, we will, once we get home."

Of course it figured there actually would be a police cruiser parked outside his condo when they got home. Rodney endured several uncomfortable minutes while the officers eyed him suspiciously as he helped Maddie out of the car and led the way to his apartment.

It wasn't until Madison had shown them her room and her stuff -- and had happily confirmed that yes of course Rodney was her real uncle. And that she was staying with him while her mom and dad were on a special holiday in Venice for the weekend, because Uncle Rodney had been a 'totally appalling brother' and forgotten to get them a wedding present, but he was making it up to them now with honey mood sweets. And while she knew the sweets were a special present for Mummy and Daddy she was hoping they were going to save a few for her to try.

Once officers Falcon and Donatti, whom Madison informed Rodney she had Special Dispensation to call Officer Tony and Sergeant Mikey, had stopped looking at him like they were just waiting for him to twitch funny so they could put him down like a rabid dog, everything was smoothed out. Rodney handed them the page torn from Maddie's special notebook and had to endure the raised eyebrow at the glitter pink writing, but that was it. They took a short statement from him and then left.

Rodney never expected to hear another word about it, nor did he think to wonder how they had known where he lived. He had enough to think about entertaining his niece. But as the rest of the weekend passed without a hitch or a major tantrum, from either of them, it was obviously a better use of his huge brain. Then, almost before he knew it, the vacation was nearly over and Rodney was surprised to find himself wishing they had longer.


On the last morning of their holiday Rodney had promised to take everyone out for breakfast. Maddie got to choose and predictably they were all soon seated in Egg & I.

She had been obsessed with the name of the place for some odd reason ever since she had overheard someone mention it the first day of her vacation. And once Rodney had found the home page for the place and she'd clicked on the chicken about a thousand times there was no way they weren't going to be eating there at least once. Jeannie's only comment was that at least it wasn't an IHOP.

Everyone was soon happily tucking in to their chosen breakfast, but Rodney couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The food looked good. The coffee was passable. Their waiter had been attentive and efficient and had underlined the note he made about Rodney's citrus allergy three times, but still he was uneasy.

Jeannie looked up and caught his expression and, completely misunderstanding his apparent unhappiness, she squeezed his hand and said, "It's okay, Mer, we'll have other vacations."

Rodney nodded and smiled. He didn't say anything because for some reason, more down to sheer dumb luck than any actual ability on his part to interact with people, and his family in particular, he finally seemed to be getting things right with Jeannie.

"Next month you can come and visit us, Uncle Mer," Madison added. "And we made sure you won't be so lonely...."

"Madison Miller, what did I tell you?" Jeannie interrupted whatever her daughter had been about to say.

"It's supposed to be a surprise, mummy." Maddie looked pretty upset, Rodney noticed her bottom lip beginning to tremble a little. It was a sign of impending water-works that he remembered all too clearly from his own childhood and his own little sister. He thought it might be time for diversionary tactics.

"No harm done, Mads." he said brusquely. "I have absolutely no idea what you Miller girls are nattering about, but I'm sure it is quite riveting, to anyone who isn't a genius."

Madison looked at him. "You're not funny!" she said, but she was obviously trying not to laugh.

Jeannie smacked him on the arm, although it was more for show than the normal variety of assault she inflicted on his person. "No, not funny at all, Meredith!" And there was definitely amusement in her eyes as she said it.

He forgot about his earlier uneasy feeling and set about demolishing his breakfast.

After they had eaten and he had paid, Rodney was debating whether to suggest a trip to the Hoover Dam, or a flight over the Grand Canyon. These were pretty standard tourist fare for Las Vegas, but he thought Jeannie and Kaleb might enjoy showing Madison the sights on their last day.

Then Maddie suddenly piped up. "I want to see Calico."

"What the ghost town?" Rodney remembered it was some kind of Wild West tourist trap.

Then everyone seemed suspiciously interested in 'Calico the ghost town'. Rodney offered to let them take his vehicle if they wanted, they could just drop him off at home, because he was pretty certain it wasn't going to be anything he wanted to see. But Madison was starting to look upset again, clearly she wanted him to come and see Calico too.

So they set off. Rodney let Jeannie drive while he sat in the back because he only had a vague idea of where they were going. He settled back for a comfortable hour with his eyes closed while he digested his breakfast and ignored the annoying smirk his niece kept sending his way.

He didn't really pay attention, and Rodney only vaguely recalled that the sign for Calico was off the highway, but he thought it was some way out of town, so when they turned off after a scant ten minutes' drive it seemed too soon. He looked around as they pulled up a long drive and parked outside a working ranch house.

"Jeannie?"

"It's okay Mer, we're expected."

A pretty woman headed towards them from the neat barn next to the house. Jeannie got out of the car and opened the rear door to unstrap Madison from her car seat.

"Mrs Miller?" The young woman shook his sister's hand then she looked down at Maddie and said, "And this must be Meredith."

Maddie shook her head. "I'm not Meredith. That's a boy's name. I'm Madison."

"Oh I'm sorry. I misunderstood. Madison, I'm very happy to meet you, and I think there is someone in there who would like to meet you too." She waved behind her to indicate the barn she had just come from.

Maddie nodded solemly and walked towards the barn with the two women. A moment later she grabbed the young woman's hand, tugging on it to pull her down so she could whisper something in her ear. Then all three of them looked around and Rodney found himself under an intense scrutiny for a few seconds.

"What's going on here, Kaleb?" Rodney didn't have much of a brother-in-law rapport going with Jeannie's husband, but he was hoping for some small consideration in the name of masculine solidarity after that particularly disturbing Witches of Eastwick moment.

"Better not to ask, Rodney. Just let Jeannie and Maddie do their thing. Arguing never changes the inevitable, it just prolongs the agony."

Rodney huffed out a disgusted breath. So much for masculine solidarity. But he supposed that six and a half years of marriage and fatherhood had made Kaleb the expert in this situation.

Ten minutes later Jeannie and Maddie walked back towards the car with something that looked suspiciously like a cat carrier, and Rodney wasn't sure why he felt tell-tale moisture welling up in his eyes. He didn't know if it was from sadness or happiness.

He had worked out fairly soon after coming to stay with Jeannie that something had happened to Copernicus. He'd asked after the cat several times and she'd told him a neighbour had taken him in, but whenever he tried to find out which neighbour she was evasive. In the end he hadn't been brave enough to ask what had really happened to his pet.

Jeannie came round to his side of the vehicle, opened his door and shoved the carrier at him. She shook her head as he was about to ask what was going on. She shut his door and helped Madison up into her booster seat and strapped her in.

They had already driven down the driveway and exited back onto the highway before anyone spoke.

"This is Calico, Uncle Mer." Madison tried to push her fingers far enough into the carrier to reach the soft pretty fur of the half-grown cat inside. "She's a good cat."

Calico didn't seem to agree with this assessment and moved further away from Maddie's fingers with an annoyed hiss.

"Mmmhh?" Rodney was reserving judgement.

"She's my cat. But mummy said before that I couldn't have a cat, because once upon a time a cat killed a whole spaceship. So It's bad, but you don't care about that so you have to keep her for me."

Rodney stared at the cat for a moment, mulling over the cat/spaceship connection. He looked up and caught Jeannie's eye as she watched him in the rearview mirror, she raised her eyebrow at him, amused, and mouthed the word Species.

"I have to keep her?"

"Yes, you like cats. So you have to keep her. Then she won't be by herself and alone all day."

"Oh... All right."

Madison smiled at him brilliantly. She kept trying to pet the cat's fur through the grille but the cat kept squirming away from her. "You can't change her name either. She's Calico so you can't call her some stupid astrology name, okay?

Rodney nodded muttering. "Astronomy."

But Madison didn't hear him and carried on. "And you can introduce her to your new friend."

"Yes.... that's good." Rodney wasn't really paying attention now, so it took him a moment to register what she had said. Then he had to consider if he actually wanted to ask because, honestly, sometimes it was best not to. "I know I'm going to regret this but which new friend do you mean?"

"John."

"Huh?"

"It's just like in all the stories, Uncle Mer. You save someone's life and they're your best friend forever."

"What?"

"John is D98 363. He was sitting right behind you in Egg & I but he was shy because we were there. He's nice and the waiter called him John. He smiled at me but he was sad, because he didn't get to speak to you. So when we were leaving and we walked right past his table I whispered in his ear that he should come and see you tomorrow when we were gone."

Rodney thought he might be in a state of shock.

"How do you know he was D98 363?"

"I saw him park and come in."

Rodney shivered. The feeling from earlier came back. This guy, this John had been watching him. But it made no sense, because there was no way for John, if that even was his real name, to actually know who Rodney was. So it had to be a pure coincidence. After all, the place they'd had breakfast was meant to be popular with locals, and he'd guess D09 363 was a local vehicle because no one in his right mind would trust an old relic like that over any distance.

"Yes, I'll see him tomorrow for breakfast." Rodney figured the easiest thing was to agree with Madison and then drop the subject, because there was no way he'd ever be venturing back to that place again. Not after his niece had apparently propostioned a complete stranger on his behalf.

Madison giggled. "Is it a date? Is John going to be your boyfriend?"

"No he is not!" Rodney was going to have a serious talk with Jeannie before she left about his niece's inappropriately adult attitude to certain things.

Not that it bothered him that she thought he might have a date with John. Not that he had any objection to anyone dating anyone, or anyone having anyone else for a boyfriend, per se. Or not much of an objection. Except it hardly seemed like an appropriate example of a sensible, safe, adult relationship to set his impressionable niece, if she thought he'd date any random person he just happened to rescue from being beaten up in a parking garage. At night. And whether they were a man or not didn't really come into it. Much.

So maybe he was having a tiny freak-out over Madison thinking about him dating a guy. But it was more that he didn't think her mind should be on anyone dating anyone at the age of six. Rather she should be happily playing dress-up with her Barbie and Ken dolls and watching her Little Mermaid DVD.

He spent the return journey ignoring both Madison and Calico's curious looks. He had learned that with little girls and new cats it was better to feign indifference.
Little girls got bored and started playing with their hair or any My Little Pony that might happen to be strategically located about the place. He'd noticed one earlier, enticingly stuffed head first into Maddie's door pocket. On the other hand, cats usually became more besotted with you the less attention you appeared to pay them.

Back at home Rodney was too busy settling his new cat in to think much. And the chaos created by his sister's family packing that last night to leave early the next morning was too distracting to have time to worry about some guy he was never going to see again.

And suddenly they were all standing by Kaleb's Prius. He'd offered a handshake to his brother-in-law, only to be engulfed by an unexpected hug and manly slap on the back.

Then it was Jeannie's turn and she seemed genuinely sad to be leaving, if her warm embrace was anything to go by. Then she whispered, "Next time I see you I want you to be happy, Mer, you hear me? I know you're doing fine now, but I want real, actual happiness next time. Think you can try for that?"

Rodney knew it was unlikey to happen. He had long ago resigned himself not to expect much in the way of happiness. He had come to expect a certain level of fulfilment in his work, but that was about it. And he guessed his smile was kind of crooked, because Jeannie's arms tightened again and she said, "Just try, okay?"

Then he was leaning in through the back window and giving Maddie a hug and a kiss. And she was telling him seriously, "John didn't want to miss your date."
She looked over his shoulder and giggled, waving shyly at someone.

Rodney pulled back and looked to see who she was waving at as Kaleb drove away. Across the way was a dented and faded red Camaro. The tall, lanky frame lounging back against it, arms folded across his body, legs crossed at the ankle, seemed totally relaxed. But Rodney could feel an intense focus directed at him. The man pushed off his car and made his way across the road. There was something familiar in his gait. And as he made his slow, lazy way towards Rodney, as if he had nothing but time, it seemed as if the world had tilted and slid out of focus. As if everything had slowed to half speed.

As he got nearer Rodney could see a livid cut and an angry bruise high up on the left cheekbone, the aviator shades he was wearing didn't hide it at all. He could see that for all the predatory grace of his walk, the man was holding his right shoulder a little stiffly and he guessed there must be other bruises. Maybe even a cracked rib hidden beneath his slightly rumpled shirt and jacket that looked suspiciously like the same clothes he had been wearing the night he'd first seen him.

Rodney held his head up, and although he couldn't see the eyes behind the dark tinted lenses, he knew that he was holding the man's gaze as he drew closer and finally stopped about five feet away.

Close up he looked even worse. There was rough stubble on his chin, his lips looked a little dry, and his face had a hungry, desperate look, like he had carried a thirst for a long time and was afraid he would never quench it. He stood there for a long moment, head tilted slightly to one side, watching Rodney like he was something completely unexpected.

Then he removed the sunglasses, hooking them into the V of his shirt. Rodney noticed that his knuckles were unmarked and he was surprised. He had been expecting them to be damaged, a little red and bruised at the very least. He didn't look like the kind of man that would take a beating without a struggle. But, clearly, he was.

Rodney had been staring at the man's hand for a second or two before he saw that he was now holding his wallet out, and Rodney noticed the gold shield clipped to it.

Huh, he was a cop. Rodney hadn't realised he'd said that out loud until the man replied, "Yeah." His voice was scratchy and dry, like he had to force the words out. "Detective Sheppard."

Rodney stared at him. He couldn't think of a thing to say.

"I just wanted to..." Detective Sheppard slipped his badge back into his jacket. "Uh thanks, for the..." he waved his hand in a little circle, his expression pained as he continued. "You know. The rescue. The other night."

Finally, Rodney's mouth started working again. "Was it drugs?"

"What? No! "Detective Sheppard sounded pretty annoyed at that suggestion.

"Aren't you undercover?"

Sheppard smiled at him a little now. "No, why would you think that?"

"Oh, you know. The scruffy clothes, the wrecked car, the suggestion of barely concealed desperation."

Rodney hadn't noticed that Sheppard's face had been particularly open or expressive while they had been talking. So the sudden look of flat cool nothing that slid across his features was kind of a shock. But he stumbled on, figuring he had said something wrong but not really knowing what. "I mean it was late, and you're a detective, meeting up with some questionable characters in an out of the way spot. It stands to reason I'd assume it was something like that. You know, related to your work. Not personal."

"No, Dr McKay, it was strictly personal. " Sheppard drawled the the last word and finished with an obnoxious smirk.

"Oh. Well. Sorry I interrupted then." Rodney didn't know why he suddenly seemed to be in the wrong in this conversation, but he figured maybe the less he knew the better. He turned towards his building, assuming the conversation was over.

"Hey!" Sheppard said as he grabbed Rodney's arm and stopped him. "I'm not sorry you stopped them."

Rodney stared down at his wrist. At the way Sheppard's hand curled round it. Rodney noticed how shockingly pale his skin looked next to Sheppard's tan. And how the heat from Sheppard's palm made him shiver just a little.

Rodney looked up. Sheppard's face had relaxed again and the desperation Rodney had noticed earlier was clear to see. It was hard to hold that intense look, but he did. "Good. I'm just sorry I didn't stop them before they hurt you."

Without knowing it, Rodney had reached up to trail a gentle finger just below the bruise on Sheppard's face, and when he suddenly saw what he was doing, he jerked his hand back. He felt his face burn hot and looked away, because it wasn't something he'd ever do to a complete stranger. And he was aware of how intimate a gesture it was. How it might look.

Rodney risked a quick look at Sheppard again, but the man seemed totally relaxed, with a small quirky smile that lifted just one side of his mouth and creased the corners of his eyes, as he said. "That little tap? It's nothing. Didn't hurt a bit."

Rodney knew it was a complete lie, but he chose not to call Sheppard on his macho, tough guy bravado, and he knew the conversation could have ended there. He have could simply turned and walked back to his apartment and never seen Sheppard again. He could have forgotten all about the way his voice had sounded when he'd asked not to be hit the face. He could have forgotten how Sheppard had just ambled towards him with that lazy tomcat walk. He could even have forgotten the feel of his hand.

But that dumb-assed smile when Sheppard lied about being hurt, that he could not forget. Because he'd seen the very same smile in the mirror a time or two. And he had always used it to conceal the things that hurt most of all, the things he hid from himself.

So he said, "Do you drink coffee?"

***

John Sheppard had drifted for a year after he was discharged from the Air Force. Sometimes when he first woke up he didn't remember that he was out of the service. He thought he was still in the desert, and that he was just dreaming of a different life, a life he'd rather have. But then he'd wake up fully and realize he wasn't exactly living any kind of dream. And he'd wish that he was still in the desert, still struggling to survive, to keep Mitch alive because there was at least some point to that.

He knew he had his father or maybe David to thank for getting him out without a dishonorable discharge. But he didn't thank them. They might have ignored the fact he hadn't wanted out. But John couldn't ignore it.

He didn't give a lot of thought to why he ended up in Las Vegas, it just happened that way. And once he was there John didn't hate it. Not completely. So he stayed and he just kind of drifted into the job.

And it was strange -- the same things that had made him a good pilot made him a good cop. Attention to detail, an ability to become completely absorbed in the job and yet keep functioning, an obsessive personality. And, as if it balanced out some universal law, it was no surprise at all that the very same things that had got John in the worst trouble as a pilot would get him just as much trouble in the Las Vegas Metro PD.

The difference was John recognized the job was pretty much a last chance for him, so he learned to reign himself in.

Most times, when he thought he was right and the Captain was talking out of his ass, he managed to keep it to himself. And when the life he was living seemed too flat, too hollow and ugly he discovered betting more money than he could afford to lose on the turn of a single card went some way to reminding him that he was still alive, mostly.

And being ex-forces had some definite advantages in the LVMPD. Every now and then some weird shit happened that led back to Edwards or Nellis or Groom Lake and the military definitely preferred dealing with someone they thought they knew. Someone they thought understood the Chain of Command, that they thought understood the way War affected some men and women. Someone who might not fight the hand-off to military jurisdiction when a pilot fresh off the front line in Afghanistan went ape-shit in a Las Vegas hotel room. Or some airmen beat the crap out of each other over a pretty girl.

Which was how come two years ago he had ended up in Alamo liaising with MPs and the local County Sheriff, an Air Force Colonel and some secret service types in suits, over an apparent burglary and a missing scientist.

The guy had gone AWOL from his super secret research Lab, and apparently there was some missing tech or ordinance as well. By the time John got there the crime scene, if that's what it even was, had been contaminated beyond all hope of getting anything useful. The scientist's neighbor who had first raised the alarm, then the Deputy who had turned up, had gone through the place poking about. Then the County sheriff, the MPs, the Colonel and the guys in suits and shades had arrived. Then some military unit had gone over the place under the guise of searching for the dangerous High Tech WOMD or whatever the fuck was missing. But John suspected they had really been sent to sanitize the place before he'd arrived.

John had never been anywhere near Black Ops when he'd been in the Air Force, but he had volunteered to fly a few Special Ops missions, so he'd been around the special forces guys a few times, and he'd seen stuff, every one in the front line had, stuff that it was better you forgot, stuff you knew to look the other way from. And whatever was going on, whatever the missing scientist had been working on, John could tell they weren't going to tell him. He was pretty sure it was something he didn't want to know.

He found himself wondering if the guy was even really missing. Wondering if it wasn't simply that someone had slipped up and forgotten that the guy had a cat his neighbor was in the habit of feeding when he was on vacation or was unable to get away from work. He was wondering if the neighbor hadn't been the sheriff's sister who had contacted her brother directly when she discovered the mess in her neighbour's house that suggested some kind of break-in and violent struggle, then maybe the whole thing would have been quietly covered up.

But something had happened in the house. There were rips and tears in the furniture and gouges and other strange marks that looked suspiciously like bites on some of the floors and a couple of the internal doors. And finally the back door looked like it had been mauled by some kind of ferocious animal. In fact, John wouldn't have been at all surprised if someone had told him the scientist had kept a cougar or a lion for a pet instead of a Persian.

Sheppard had know there was more to see in the place, but he also knew he'd never get a chance to properly investigate while the military types had their eyes on him. So he stood among the ripped up debris of the scientist's lounge, looking vaguely bemused behind his aviators as he stared out at the desert scenery. It was a blindingly simple tactic yet he was amazed at how often it worked. He'd look confused and clueless and people assumed he was the kind of guy who got by on his good looks and charm. That there really wasn't much going on in his head.

Major Davies left with the MPs. Then the secret service types, the chief suit never gave John a name but he was pretty sure he'd heard the major call him Simmons. Finally Sheriff Arlen left with his sister, Pammy, and the cat.

John stood for another five minutes letting the feel and the sounds of the house settle round him. He had spotted a few things he wanted a closer look at, but he waited to be sure that no one was going to come back unexpectedly.

When he was sure he wouldn't be interrupted John stepped back to look at the bookshelves. He could pretty much figure out what field of science the missing guy was working in from the various titles on his shelves. Seemed he was some kind of astrophysicist with a practical interest in engineering, robotics and artificial intelligence. There were a few odd objects scattered on the shelves and one photo in a cheap frame. It showed two children, an intense looking blond kid, maybe ten years old, standing beside something that spouted coils and pipes so it looked like a weird home-made still, and next to him was a much younger child, maybe his little sister judging by her similar coloring. John stared at the photo for a minute before he headed out to the kitchen to take a closer look at the back door.

When he had arrived and seen the military presence outside the alleged crime scene he guessed he wasn't going to be given much access. So he'd shoved some evidence bags and latex gloves in his pocket, hoping there would be a chance to gather evidence, provided he wasn't obvious about it.

John pulled some strands of light brown hair that had been snagged in one of the gouges in the door and bagged them, noting the date and location on the label. There was some kind of dried fluid on another area of damage, he scraped off some rough splinters that seemed to be coated into another bag. Then he got his cell phone out and photographed the door, including the areas he had taken the samples from.

While he was crouched by the door he spotted something under the breakfast bar and quickly took a photo before bagging it. He worked his way quickly through the rest of the house, remembering to grab the used toothbrush from the bathroom. The forensics guys were always sending out memos reminding them that hairbrushes and toothbrushes were great for DNA samples.

By the time he had finished it was getting late and John figured he'd forward the photos to his email account, just in case anything happened to the phone, then he'd call in and then finish for the night. He wasn't a bit surprised when he was put straight through to Captain Hendricks. He was off the case.

The story was that the missing military hardwear had been located. All that left was a missing person's report, and local deputies could liaise directly with the Military about that if the guy didn't turn up of his own accord.

John ended the call. He didn't have anything specific to go on. He didn't have anything he could take to the Captain to prove it was a whitewash. All he had was a gut feeling that told him something was off. And John always trusted his instincts because they had saved his life more times than he could count. He figured he could give himself the rest of the night to come up with something. As long as he was at his desk by nine the next morning no one would ask him any awkward questions about what he had done with his evening.

John started with the bookshelf again. Checking the books and journals that looked the most used, ones where the spines were cracked or the jacket looked worn. He noted the pages the books automatically fell open at. He looked at the odd slips of paper that marked some of the pages. Comments written on them like 'No moron- You're looking at the problem from the wrong end!' or 'wrong wrong wrong!!!' and 'a child of five could see this mistake!' all written in a surprisingly legible hand. The guy obviously had a pretty low opinion of his fellow scientists, which made John wonder how much of an asshole he actually was, but it didn't feel like enough of a motive for whatever had happened to him.

John wandered back to the guy's bedroom. It was depressingly bare and comfortless, and it spoke of someone who had probably given up on having a life. To be honest, it was enough like his own bedroom to make John feel deeply uncomfortable. He poked through the bedside drawers and that felt even sadder. Because while it was a dispiriting thing to find some other guy's pathetic porn stash, it was somehow exponentially worse to find nothing. Like the guy didn't allow himself even a moment or two of comfort in his own bed.

As he looked round the place again, it struck him that only two places in the house seemed to have any spark of interest or significance. The work area -- desk, bookshelves, haphazard piles of books and magazines -- and the kitchen where an incredibly professional-looking espresso machine stood on the kitchen worktop. There were several colourful mismatched mugs on top of it, and a row of brushed aluminium canisters next to it, containing more varieties of coffee than John had ever heard of.

John wouldn't have minded a cup or two of really good coffee, but he had no idea how to operate the damn thing.

He decided that if he intended to make a night of it, poke around in the hopes of digging up something tangible to take back to convince Captain Hendricks there was something to investigate, then he was going to need something more substantial to keep him going than a glass of water, a lone bag of chips or handfuls of dry Count Chochula, because there was no milk in the fridge, only more coffee beans! John checked out the kitchen drawers, because any detective would know that a house with no food was sure to have a pile of take-out menus somewhere near the phone.

He rang a Chinese place, they seemed a little confused about the dishes he wanted and he had to convince them citrus was fine by him, before he managed to convince them to deliver an order of hot and sour soup, special fried rice with shrimp and some dry roasted ribs, plus six cans of Coke. He figured what didn't get eaten for dinner would keep for breakfast, and there should be enough caffeine in the soda to keep him awake until he could hit a drive thru on his way back in the morning for some coffee.

When the food arrived the delivery guy handed him an extra box, and John got some kind of garbled message about the last six deliveries and a free desert offer. John figured it was some mistake but when he looked in the box and saw it was carrot cake he just smiled and accepted the order.

He seriously couldn't remember the last time he had such a good meal, normally food wasn't much of a priority for him. He even had a second slice of the cake because it was so good, moist sweet fruit contrasted with tangy frosting, and it tasted like heaven.

John had been lying on the sofa after his meal, thinking about the evidence he had picked up. He was trying to make sense of it, trying to find a pattern that fit and he must have fallen asleep. He woke with a start, unsure at first where he was. Moonlight was streaming in through the huge glass doors that let out onto the back yard. Movement beyond the edge of the garden caught his eye.

It was a rangy creature. John wasn't sure if it was a small wolf or a large coyote. He watched the strangely compelling sight as the animal flowed through the moonlit landscape. Its motion seemed deliberate and it moved to a different rhythm than the rest of the night, slower and with more intent.

The colors out beyond in the desert were washed out, with silvered grey and stark black contrasts where the light didn't penetrate. The creature seemed part quicksilver part night shadow as it slipped from light to shade and back to light again.

And all the while John watched, until the animal filled his vision. Until everything else faded and blurred. Until each step it took seemed to resonate with the rhythm of his heart beat. Each footfall a crescendo of sound thudded in his ears as his blood rushed through his body. Each beat of his heart thundered inside him as if he was hollowed out and light as air one moment then filled with weight and pressure the next. Then the world turned red.

John realized he must still be asleep, that this was a dream. And suddenly the creature was at the glass, staring in at him. Its eyes were an uncanny shade of blue. Not the pale wall-eyed blue that occurred naturally in some coyotes. They were the dark blue of a stormy sea, welling with intelligence and unutterably sad.

John had moved towards the glass door without realising what he was doing. He opened the door without thinking, and it was only as he fell back from the creature as it leapt towards him that he understood his mistake.

He landed heavily on his back. He cracked his head against the floor, leaving him stunned for a moment, so reality seeped slowly back into his consciousness. He wasn't asleep. He had just let a wild animal into the room with him. As his eyes focussed again he saw the animal was crouched over him. Deep blue eyes locked with his, watching him with an intensity that made him still and cold and maybe, for the only the third or fourth time ever in his life, really afraid.

His arms had fallen wide as he landed and he realized his right arm had ended up beneath the sofa in the small space between the springs and the floor, and his hand was curled around something smooth and cool that must have been lying there. He wanted to glance aside, to see what he was holding. To see if it would be in any way useful as a weapon to fight off a hungry wild animal, yet he knew with icy certainty that if he so much as flickered his eye, if he so much as blinked, the creature poised over him would act.

His mind seemed slow and dull and there was a deep swelling ache at the back of his head, so maybe he was really hurt already. But he forced his thoughts to clear, because he needed to know what he was holding. He focussed on whether it was something useful.

It felt unlike anything he was familiar with and as his mind seemed to sharpen he tried to recognize the shape and the feel of it. As he thought 'what are you?' there was a bizarre fizzing and popping feeling in his fingers where they curled around the object.

Slowly he withdrew his hand, and all the while he kept his eyes wide meeting the animal's gaze. Even so, he saw the creature's focus shift towards his moving arm and hand.

There was a crackling sensation in the palm of his hand and then pure light transfixed the creature above him -- and John couldn't help it, he turned too and looked at the thing he was holding.

It appeared as if he had a handful of lightning. But it was cold fire, there was no sensation of heat. There was no pain. But he felt something pushing at him, prying its way into his mind -- a word, a command. John tried to focus, to push aside the dull feeling where his head ached. He frowned, concentrating, it was just one word. Suddenly it was there.

Transform

Light flared brighter and from the corner of his eye John saw a flowing movement -- for a second it seemed that something else was crouched over him, broad and pale, and then everything was changing. Transforming. And John was simply gone.

***

It was pure luck that Detective Sheppard was found. At least that was what the report he read about it said. And he had to read the report because his memories apparently ended six weeks earlier.

He had a hazy recollection of being sent to liaise with the military on some missing equipment, a burglary at a house, some kind of attack on the home owner, and then nothing until he woke up from the medically induced coma in the University Medical Centre five days after he had been found.

He owed his life to a Navajo Tribal Police Officer, in the area because he was visiting a friend who lived near Alamo. He had been driving along the 93 when an animal, maybe a dog or possibly a wolf, had run across the road in front of his car. He had braked sharply but he thought he might have caught the animal a glancing blow. He stopped to check on the creature.

In the report the officer explained that Wolf was his spirit animal and he did not believe it was a chance encounter. As he walked back along beside the highway the officer heard a sound and, thinking that the animal was injured, he stepped into the ditch that ran parallel to the road, and found a naked body. His first thought was the wolf had been scavenging the dead body.

When the faint sounds came again he realised the body wasn't dead.

The medical report on him had been sketchy at first, the first doctor to see him in the trauma room stabilized him, noting he was severely dehydrated and had suffered a fractured arm and ankle plus a hairline skull fracture. There was also a punctured lung and internal bleeding. He was in surgery for several hours while his various injuries were drained and stitched, pinned and reset. At that point he was listed as John Doe because there had been no ID found with him.

One of the nurses on duty had called the local highway patrol. She had suspected it was a hit and run and she hadn't believed the Indian who had claimed to be a Tribal Police Officer in New Mexico. She figured he'd hit the guy, robbed him, and then had some kind of attack of conscience and brought his victim in for treatment. John was fingerprinted while he was lying on the gurney,
waiting to be taken into the operating room.

By the time the Highway Patrol officer returned to his office he'd confirmed the Indian guy was for real, so although he put the prints into the system he didn't follow it up. But John's prints had been tagged by LVMPD when he'd gone missing, and detectives Ramirez and Brown were dispatched to the hospital. Then John Doe's records were quickly altered to read Detective John Sheppard.

They never solved it though, what had happened to John.

At first the detectives were pretty gung-ho, running with the new evidence they had. Endlessly questioning the doctors about Sheppard's injuries. About the conclusions to be drawn from the fact there seemed to be three distinct patterns of injuries. An initial head injury that had happened between six weeks and two months earlier, and the detectives were working on the assumption that it had happened when Sheppard first went missing. Then a second set of injuries, tibia fractured just below the knee and more comprehensively shattered at the ankle, fractured humerous and another hairline skull fracture -- that had happened possibly four or five days before Sheppard had been found. And, finally, the last injuries that had happened shortly before he was brought in. A punctured lung, internal tearing and bleeding, and a broken wrist on the same arm as the humerous fracture, all of them consistent with some kind of impact.

The doctors were adamant that these final injuries could not have happened much earlier, because if left untreated they would have proved fatal.

Of course Ramirez immediately impounded the tribal police officer's truck and extensive samples were taken from the left front bumper, where there were clear traces of the impact he claimed had been with a wolf.

The tests proved that whatever it was the officer had hit, it wasn't Sheppard. The hair samples were some kind of animal. The lab was pretty closed mouthed about the blood samples, however. Eventually they admitted there must have been some kind of contamination, because were unable to identify what the fluid was. They did confirm it did not seem to be human.

And after that the investigation hit a dead end, again.

Brown and Ramirez had already investigated Sheppard when he first went missing. Every sordid fact about his life. Every nasty little detail that might have led to him being killed and his body dumped somewhere in the desert was uncovered. They weren't expecting much help from Nellis about the investigation that had taken Sheppard to Alamo in the first place, and the military proved to be every bit as uncooperative and misleading as they had suspected, so they had to go back further.

First they split the list of family and friends of everyone who had died in the incident in Afghanistan. But when they began to contact them, surprisingly no one seemed to hold the incident against Sheppard. It was a black mark on his military record, but as far as his fellow airmen and their families were concerned Shep should have been given a medal for what was effectively a suicide mission, flying an S&R into a war zone.

Brown discovered another angle about two days into the initial investigation when it one of Sheppard's old buddies mentioned the real reason Shep had been canned. No one would confirm it officially. It wasn't listed anywhere on his military records because he had never broken any of the actual rules. He had stuck rigidly to the non-fraternization regulations and had adhered strictly to don't-ask-don't-tell, so there had never been a question of a dishonorable discharge on those grounds .

Re-interviewing several of his former crew and fellow pilots confirmed it had been kind of an open secret, Shep was probably gay, he just never did anything about it. So while the brass couldn't use it against him openly, it had probably tipped the scales in favor of a retirement rather than reassignment.

That led the investigation closer to home, his family and his ex-wife. But that was another dead end. The father had died about six months earlier, so he was in the clear, and Sheppard didn't even know that because the brother didn't have an up-to-date address for him. So the news that John was a detective with Metro was clearly a surprise.

The brother seemed like a pretty cold fish and had taken the news about John's disappearance and the news about his alleged gayness in a controlled, passionless way. Ramirez might have taken it further because that kind of reaction was usually a red flag, but the brother was loaded and he had a rock solid alibi so they left it there.

The ex-wife was difficult to pigeon-hole too, she seemed to be genuinely concerned that John was missing and when Brown hit her with the news her ex was gay she had seemed relieved, and told him she was glad he'd finally had the courage to come out. She insisted they keep her up to date with their investigation into John's disappearance.

This led to a heated discussion in the Captain's office, because of course Sheppard had done no such thing. He hadn't come out. As far as they knew he didn't have relationships with anyone, guy lived like a hermit mostly. Ramirez figured Sheppard was as good as dead so it wasn't going to matter to him that their investigation had outed him. Brown was uneasy about it. He figured they were trashing a fellow detective's life and reputation.

The argument ended when Ramirez pointed out that finding out a guy was queer really shouldn't be that big of a deal. He reminded Brown DADT didn't exist in the LVMPD. And he mentioned that the guys who worked with Shep were grown up enough to deal with having another gay colleague, and if they weren't then they were assholes, and Shep had probably figured that out about them already.

So, they rechecked Detective Sheppard's life. And it turned out Sheppard did have one well-hidden, dangerous vice. He gambled more than he could afford to lose. So there were several people he owed money to.

The annoying part was that all the usual suspects, as far as private poker parties and other less than legitimate gambling establishments went, had rock solid alibis too. And the detectives still had nothing

When Sheppard was found alive against all the odds, they had to wait until he was conscious and able to answer their questions, and Brown and Ramirez assumed once they could interview him the case would be cleared.

But that didn't happen. Sheppard wasn't dead. But he didn't remember a goddamned thing, so the investigation was going nowhere.

It took Sheppard a long time to recover. His doctors said it was natural after such serious injuries, and that his progress wasn't slow at all, it was remarkably swift given all that had happened to him, but it didn't feel right to him.

He'd been injured before: broken bones and several concussions, he'd been shot twice and survived two crashes. But maybe he was getting older, maybe his bones were more brittle. Whatever the reason, he struggled to get back a level of fitness to return to work.

The only good thing about any of it was that Nancy got in touch, and he remembered all the reasons why he still loved his ex wife, even though he wasn't in love with her. And it was Nancy who told him about his father, and what had been left to him in the Will.

John had felt a brief moment of vertigo when she explained his father's Will. The likelihood that his father would provide for him that way had been so terribly remote, that hearing it John had felt a deep sad regret they never had the chance to speak one last time, because maybe, after all, there had been a way to patch things up between them.

But when Nancy explained the rest, the bitter understanding that even in death his father was making one more calculated act of severance, killed off the regret. Because it turned out his father had left him precisely nothing.

Money had been a trust fund set up under his mother's Will, and left to his father to administer. The cabin, John remembered them visiting sometimes when his mother was still alive, had been in her family, and had passed to his father only for the duration of his life and then it was entailed to John.

And in one final act of contempt for his missing elder son, his father had left the trust fund tied up with a new executor. He must have thought leaving John in a position where he would have to go to his ex-wife and gain her approval for any withdrawal from the fund would be a fitting and uncomfortable punishment. He must have thought it would be even more hurtful than if he had left it for David to handle.

Sheppard had a tiny frisson of pleasure at the irony of that particular move, because it had so backfired. His father always had failed to understand John, so spectacularly that it was almost funny, because Nancy was the one person in the world he actually did trust with something like that.

And then John had a frightening second of insight into himself, that maybe his father was right to leave the money in trust. That maybe John would have been so angry when he got the news that he very well might have taken that money and done something monumentally stupid, or self-destructive. Like wagering it all on one hand of poker, or buying himself a helicopter and crashing it in the desert.

The way Nancy had smiled at him and squeezed his hand as she told him she had paid off all his debts, even the illegal ones no one was supposed to know about, made it clear she thought the same. Then, while John was reeling from that, she hit him with the other thing that Brown and Ramirez had done.

John wanted to shout at anyone who would listen that it wasn't true. He wanted to punch Brown or Ramirez, or preferably both of them in the face, a lot. He wanted to hand his shield and his gun back to Captain Hendricks and go somewhere else. Somewhere that he'd never have to see another fucking person look at him like Nancy was just then, knowing that about him.

Maybe that was the real reason he found it hard to bounce back.

But in the end he realized most of the people he worked with already thought he was a weird loner with a crazy secret in his military past, and they were already expecting him to break bad one day. So, he figured anyone who was gonna hate him for being possibly gay probably already hated him anyway for being a freak, and in the end he was so bored, so totally desperate for something, anything, that meant he didn't have to spend every day alone with himself, that he decided he could stand a few more assholes giving him grief.

So he just grit his teeth through the pain in his leg that hurt so much it had actually changed how he walked. He ignored how when the sun was too bright he got a headache, and he completely forgot that he hadn't always worn a wristband on his right wrist to stop it from aching all the time.

He got himself re-qualified on his weapon and he convinced his doctor he was fit enough to work again. But he had to have a weekly session with the company shrink, and the captain wouldn't let him work solo any more, no matter how much he complained.

He ended up having Connie Farmer as his partner. She was a tiny woman who had transferred on to the squad from vice. It wasn't entirely clear to John who was being punished in their partnership. Him for being fucked up and in the closet or her for being a tiny woman who absolutely petrified every male detective on the squad, and had more unproven complaints for police brutality in her jacket than even the legendary Sergeant Malone, who was a dinosaur from the Jurassic era, when throwing a suspect down the stairs was considered a valid interrogation technique.

Inexplicably, it worked, too. Farmer was a good partner for John, she absolutely never fell for John's bullshit or his charm, and she usually ignored him if he came to work looking a little more used up and spit out than normal. Instead, she took him completely seriously and somehow that made him act serious when he was at work, and that seemed to make it easier for him to settle back into the job with everyone else.

Strangest of all, John found himself in the position of being the voice of reason in their partnership, while Connie always wanted to haul off and kick some ass.

Connie was the one who noticed the report the day he came in looking extra beat up after his encounter with Marcin Pedrowski's enforcer. Nancy had paid what he owed the guy, but from time to time Marcin liked to remind John he still wasn't off the hook for bringing cops down on his private poker club. He considered it was John's fault, even though he had been kidnapped or whatever, and had nothing to do with the visit Ramirez and Brown had paid to Pedrowski's place.

"Seen this, John?" She fluttered something in his face untill he grabbed it in self defense.

"No, what is it?"

"A concerned citizen reported an incident in a parking garage. Guy got beat up pretty bad, then drove off in an old Chevrolet."

John looked at the report a little closer -- the report didn't have any specific details like license tags so he wasn't that worried. "Oh yeah?" He aimed for laidback and unconcerned.

"Looks like an opportunity to catch some bad guys, if you ask me." Farmer smirked at him, like it was obvious to her what was going on. She raised an eyebrow and stared pointedly at the place high on his cheekbone where he could feel the heat and swelling from the punch he had taken in the face.

John shrugged and tried to hand the paper back. "Not interested."

"Well, maybe this will make it more interesting." Farmer handed him a second report. As John read through it he felt something tighten in his chest. It must be a coincidence. Just a weird set of circumstances, but it still made him pause for a second because it was the same name he'd seen in the file about his disappearance. Dr Meredith Rodney McKay. It was just a name typed on a report, though, he didn't remember it.

"And there's another thing, Shep. Within half an hour of McKay's name coming up, I got a call from Captain Hendricks. He wanted to know why he had a Major Davis shouting at him down the phone because we were investigating someone of special interest to the military."

John didn't know what to make of it. "But we're not investigating McKay, right?"

"No, but I guess they ran his details when he called in the incident, and his name is registered as a person of interest in connection with your disappearance. So they sent a couple of officers to check him out. One of the cops was an old poker buddy of yours. He recognised your license tag right off. He didn't put it in the report because he figured you didn't need any more heat, so he brought it to me this morning." She handed him a further page, looked like it was torn from a notebook. He couldn't help his smirk when he saw the numbers had been written in pink glitter ink.

"Apparently has a little girl staying with him, his niece. Smart kid too, she wrote the license tags down."

"Okay."

"If you wanted some time, to check the guy out, I can cut you some slack. We're only finishing up paperwork on the latest bodega hold-ups. And we both know we're going nowhere with the shooting in Summerlin, playing a waiting game until the wife is willing to tell us why she did it. So, unless a new case comes in there's plenty of down time."

"Well yeah, but..."

"See if it was me, Shep I'd beat down the guy's door, shove him up against the wall and give him a real hard time until he spilled."

John couldn't help the blush that flamed across his cheek. He dropped his eyes uncomfortably, because Jesus Christ sometimes Farmer talked like this stuff got her off.

"But I know you like to take your time, John. You like to check things out, maybe just watch for a while. Then you kind of amble up and flirt a little, and when they don't expect it you slide in behind their defenses."

"Farmer!"

"What?"

John was completely tongue-tied, because she normally didn't mess with him this way. Then again maybe it was him, because then she said, "I'm just saying I know you have to do this. It can't be a coincidence that you run across McKay again. So you have to find out what he knows. Because he might have the answer to what happened to you, and why. And while my way gets results, and if you want we can go in guns blazing and slap the guy around until he talks, I'm just saying you have a way with people. You get suspects to talk, and maybe your way is gonna work better on McKay. So if you need the time I'll make sure you have it."

"Oh, right... Yeah, that's... what you... Right."

"What did you think I meant?"

And now she was yanking his chain, so he just pouted a little, because he knew it annoyed her, and turned and walked out of the office without another word. He could hear her cackling behind him and he figured out what it was that terrified all the guys about Farmer, she was a fucking witch.

But she was right. He had to know what McKay knew. He had to find out if it was coincidence their paths crossed, or if it was something else. So he spent the rest of the week watching the guy from a distance.

He figured out McKay wasn't any kind of covert operative because he was totally oblivious. He was so oblivious that John got a little careless, maybe, and to his shame the kid spotted him.

He'd been off kilter anyway, he wasn't sleeping so well, and when he saw they were headed to a diner he sometimes used he felt uneasy, like McKay had somehow slipped into the fabric of his life. Then, when he sat at his usual table and the waiter, Rob, started to flirt with him, like he always did, it made John feel sad.

Rob was young and good looking and brave enough to be himself in a way John was probably never going to be. And sometimes it got to him that the closest he'd felt to anyone in a long time was a suspect he was following for his job. So he forgot what he was doing and when the kid looked right at him he smiled back at her.

He had tried to sink back into being unnoticed, he tried to keep his eyes away from the table where McKay sat. He tried not to stare at the freckle he'd noticed just above the neck of his t-shirt.

He must not have done a good job though, because as they left, the little girl leaned across and whispered in his ear. "Don't be sad, you can be friends with Uncle Mer, after I go home tomorrow."


John just sat there, he couldn't even bring himself to follow them any more. He wondered how obvious a guy had to be for a six year old to spot it. He spent the day back at his desk, kind of ashamed that he was almost hoping some poor bastard would get themselves killed to give him something to do. But all the crazys must have left town because it was pretty quiet.

He went home and he was dog tired, but he knew he wouldn't sleep. For the past week he had been disturbed by his dreams. John had spells when he had bad dreams. He'd seen too many things and he'd done too many things to not to be troubled by nightmares, but this wasn't the same at all. Maybe there were things buried deep in his memory that were resurfacing. Things about what happened to him while he was missing. Things that McKay would be able to tell him. Things he might be afraid to know now he finally had the chance to find out.

So he sort of expected to have disturbing dreams full of fear and darkness and unbearable agony. What he didn't expect was blinding joy and wild electric energy blazing through his body like cold fire.

What he didn't understand were dreams of running just for the sheer exuberant delight of moving fast and low over the ground. Racing until his heart felt like it might explode just because it was everything to him to be running side by side with his companion, his brother, his lover. What he didn't comprehend was the moment just before waking, when he knew everything, when he held the meaning in his mind, pure and sure and bright, only to feel it slip away as he came awake and realized he was alone.


John watched from his car as McKay's visitors packed the trunk and got ready to leave. He got out of his car as they were saying their goodbyes, he wanted to catch the man before he went back inside. As Sheppard leaned back against his car to wait, the little girl spotted him over her uncle's shoulder where he was leaning in through the window to give her a final hug. When she waved at him and smiled, he responded before he even thought about it. Then, suddenly, the car was driving off and McKay was turning towards him.

John couldn't honestly remember the first few minutes of conversation with Dr McKay. He stumbled through it in a confused muddle because of his eyes. John couldn't stop looking at his eyes, so blue and familiar it almost hurt to look, but it hurt worse to look away. And it felt like he was falling into this other person, like this was all so familiar and it was like McKay already knew everything about him. Then the guy said something and John was pulling back because suddenly he remembered he needed to be cautious, maybe he needed to protect himself, because McKay did seem to know him in a way that made John uncomfortable.

But that wasn't right either because McKay was turning away from him and John could not bear that. So he grabbed McKay by the wrist.

After that John could not look away and he couldn't hide what he felt any longer.

McKay seemed to falter, he blushed and he stared at John's hand on his arm so intensely that the look burned. Then, as McKay looked at him again, almost shyly, he seemed to soften and when he spoke again it was gently, and as he spoke he reached up with a finger and touched John's face just briefly, so tenderly it might have been a lover's touch. And John knew that touch, like it was already familiar, as if McKay had already touched him like that a thousand times.

It made him happy and sad at once to think this was only the first time, so he tried to hide behind his usual smile and his usual façade, the place where nothing ever really touched John Sheppard. And McKay must have seen right though him because was saying, "Do you like coffee?"

Then somehow McKay was holding on to him and pulling him in to his house.

As the door shut John had a weird sense of déjà vu. He imagined pushing McKay against a pale wall and kissing him hungry and messy, pressed against his body until he gasped and came in his pants, just from the pressure and heat and the friction between them.

McKay still wasn't letting him go as he pulled him through the house to the kitchen and the promised cup of coffee.

Sheppard wanted to stand in McKay's kitchen and drink his pretty fantastic coffee. He wanted to push him against the counter and make out with him until their lips were red and sore from too much kissing. He wanted to shake the man and make him tell everything he knows, and he so wanted McKay to touch him again with gentle fingers that he almost can't catch his breath. He wanted it to be over and he wants it to never end and he feels like his life is spooling out around him and he can't catch enough of it up in his hands and stuff it back inside himself to carry on.

"When did we meet, John?"

McKay's voice is quiet as he poured two cups of coffee and set them on the island that divided the kitchen from the dining area.

"Just now?" John answered, wondering if it was a trick question.

"My sister says I had dreams about someone called John. It feels like it's you, but it can't be, can it?"

John shrugs then shakes his head because he honestly doesn't know the answer to that.

"I don't remember you, all I remember is moonlight and running and being wild and free."

John is staring at McKay because that could be his dream too, and he finds himself saying. "I dream about that."

Then they're both staring at each other as John said, "Meredith."

And McKay said, "Rodney."

Which had John confused until he added, "One of the many and varied reasons I will always hate my parents is they named me Meredith. I use Rodney, my middle name."

So John smiled. He knows the smile is maybe ten percent obnoxious because he just can't help it, but it was mainly full of hunger as he said, "Rodney."

And it's like a final barrier between them let go. Want and desire and need flush through John and he sees the same warmth and hunger reflected back from McKay. He steps forward and he's flush against the other man and the heat from his skin is incendiary.

John rakes his hands up Rodney's chest, pushing his t-shirt up. The feel of soft skin and the hard nipples that he circles his palms across before his hands move up higher, fingers tangling in McKay's surprising thatch of chest hair. It makes him whimper deep in his throat. John lets the edges of his thumbnails continue to tease Rodney's nipples, and his mouth waters to bite them.

John's hands slide round to hold Rodney, still teasing with his thumbs, but his hands push down bending McKay back further against the kitchen island as he finally takes Rodney's mouth in a deep kiss.

John had never considered himself much of a kisser. If he's honest he never really got it. Kissing. He always felt his mouth was too hard, too flat, too awkward, but maybe it's just that he never kissed Rodney before.

Now he can feel the kiss on his lips and on his tongue. When Rodney's tongue slides along the inside of John's lower lip and when he sucks the whole of John's top lip into his hot wet mouth it's like a thousand tiny pin pricks of pleasure shiver down his body and come to rest deep and low in his belly, tightening his balls until they ache just right and his cock twitches and gets even harder. It's a fucking revelation.

And it's not like Rodney lies back and takes it. He is moving all the while. His hands undo the buttons on John's shirt until it hangs open. Then Rodney slides his hands round John's back and pulls him close, spreading his own legs a little so John's body is hard against his, right were he needs the pressure most.

Then Rodney slides his hands down John's back and inside his jeans and boxers, and John thinks that he could come just from the feel of McKay's hot capable hands on his bare ass, and the way McKay's tongue fills his mouth makes him breathless and hot and desperate for more.

And suddenly, there is more. As John tried to pull his mouth away to gasp in a few breaths, Rodney sucked on his tongue hard, tightening his lips and pulling on it until something liquefies inside John. And he's still trying to gasp something, maybe moan in protest because he knows he's about to come, when Rodney's pushy hands shift inside John's pants.

One hand is wrapped around the fleshy part of John's ass and his upper thigh, and it pulls him open just enough that Rodney can slide his other hand down the crack. There's definitely not a good angle for Rodney to push fingers inside John, and Oh God John so wants Rodney's fingers to push rudely inside him.

He's wondering vaguely if he can shift a little more so that can happen, even as his body felt flushed and pliant, reacting to the way Rodney just shoved his legs apart. Then John feels the unbelievable pleasure of something hard pressing against his hole. Rodney is using the big knuckle of his thumb to press into John. And it's enough to make John grind harder against Rodney once, twice and then he's coming.

John lies there for a few moments, boneless with pleasure as the sticky warmth of his come inside his pants feels kind good in a dirty sort of way. He feels Rodney begin to shift and he wants to clamp round him and keep him there a little longer but he's aware of being watched. Rodney is lying back against the work surface, but his eyes are wide open and he is studying John.

John swallows, the lovely weighty afterglow feeling gradually receding and he waits, wondering what was going to happen now. Because he's never done anything like this before.

He's well aware that people see how he looks and assume all kinds of things that are simply not true at all. He's well aware that since Ramirez and Brown kind of outed him, for the sake to trying to save his life or solve his murder, or whatever, most everyone in the squad has probably been assuming even more things. That the kind of things fuelled by nothing more than a vague notion of just how gay John Sheppard really is, and the one episode of Queer as Folk that they might have accidentally watched half way through before they realized exactly what was going on, are probably beyond what his limited sexual experiences can conjure up.

The truth is the wildest times John has probably ever had were likely all by himself, and even then he'd had to be careful. He never used more than his hands, just a finger, very rarely two, because military medical examinations can be incredibly through and John was always horrified that a doctor might see, might be able to guess what he'd been doing, what it meant. Plus, as an officer John might have the privilege of privacy, but the privacy of your own tent isn't really all that private.

So yeah, this is pretty much the wildest thing he's ever done. And he has the feeling Rodney knows, the way he's so intent, looking at John like he can read all this thoughts just from the expressions on his face. Like he already knows everything.

"I think we should take this to the bedroom."

When Rodney finally says that, it takes a moment for it to sink in, then John asks, "Yeah?"

Rodney pushes up on his elbows and John slides down him a little before he makes an effort to stand up on his own feet, and wow, that is the most disgusting feeling ever, right there in his pants now it's all cold and sticky and in contact with his lower belly.

"Oh definitely."

Rodney is smiling at him, a strange little smile, if John had to label it he might call it fond, but he doesn't get why Rodney would be looking at him like that.


Later, after they chucked the cat off the bed and shut her out, John is too spread out, and open so wide and so achingly desperate from Rodney's fingers inside him that he can't wait, not even for a condom. He hisses urgently, "Come on, I'm clean, I haven't had sex with anyone for three years, and I was tested last year after the whole...anyway .. just please fuck me. Just fuck me."

So Rodney just pushes into him, bare and hot and hard muttering. "Yeah me too, I'm clean.. Oh yes... that's right.. Take it all..."

And then John can't even speak. There are sounds coming out of his mouth that he had no idea he could make. His face is pushed into the pillows and Rodney just keeps holding him there, fucking him and he wonders if Rodney will ever come. John comes. And he never knew, he had no idea how utterly mind-blowing it would be to come and come with a cock pushing in, not stopping, not letting up.

John is limp and pliant after that and Rodney shoves his legs a little wider and John knows Rodney is watching as his cock pushes inside. He feels the edges of Rodney's thumbs touching him, almost delicately at the edges of his hole and if he had anything left inside him John knows that would have made him come again. His body shivers a little, all the response it can manage, and that must be enough because then Rodney is coming with a sigh and he says "John..." Very softly.

After, they lay, just slumped together while they try and recover a little. Eventually, John staggers to his feet to head for the bathroom and because he's still relaxed, his body is still stretched from Rodney's fingers and Rodney's cock, he feels a slow nasty dribble as Rodney's come slides down the back of his thigh. He can feel Rodney's eyes on him, all of him lazy and spread out on the bed, but his eyes are quick and sharp as he watches John's expression. Rodney snorts and there's that fond smile again.

Later still, they wake up from sleeping and talk. By now the cat has ventured into the room and has squeezed between them, purring. Rodney strokes her as he tells John how he was missing and how he had been pretty mad, out of his head insane, when they eventually found him again. And John tells Rodney what he knows, and what little he remembers of what happened to him.

"So it happened to us both." That's all Rodney says.

"But what happened?" John can't believe Rodney doesn't have more questions or even answers, he's a scientist after all.

"I honestly don't know, I mean I think I should know but I don't."
Rodney looks pained for a moment. "I think I lost my mind. Literally I think something is missing in here." He taps the side of his head. "And now I've met you, I think maybe its what they call 'folie a deux'"

John stares at him a moment then shakes his head. "That sounds like crap. A plot for a bad Sci-Fi movie. Aren't you supposed to be a real scientist?"

Rodney shakes his head. "Not any more. They retired me."
He thinks for a moment idly playing with the cat's fur. "It feels like I should care more about that, but I don't -- maybe that's the part of my mind that's gone."

"Well I care, whatever happened fucked me up. I was injured. Maybe you went mad, but that means you might have been the one who..." And John stops realising what he was about to say.

"I didn't hurt you John. I couldn't."

But Rodney looks stricken like he thinks maybe he did, and John trusts his gut feeling on this and says, "No I know you didn't hurt me, I know it wasn't you."

Rodney puts the cat aside and pulls John to him. They lay again pressed together, and now Rodney is petting John like he was petting the cat earlier and John finds he doesn't mind that at all. They talk about everything in quiet hesitant voices because this is something foreign to them both, but they have to tell how it's never been like this with anyone before, for either of them. John feels something that has been forever screwed down hard and tight inside himself break free.

John finds it hard to believe he can come a third time, he's too old for that. But somehow they are making love again. And it's slow and so gentle. Light touches and lips and teasing and tongues and John shivers, pushing in and in and in and just melting into a climax deep inside Rodney.

It's dark when John wakes up again. The cat is shoving its way under his hand demanding some attention, and Rodney isn't there.

John feels a moment of dread. Wonders if none of it was real, then he remembers, he doesn't have a cat. So no, it's real.

He hears a sound. He gets up when he recognizes the clandestine clanking and rummaging of a hungry person raiding the fridge in the middle of the night. John is surprised when his own stomach rumbles and he notices he's starving hungry.

They eat standing naked at the island work surface. Wolfing down cold cuts that had been destined for sandwiches, and cold left-over lasagne and moo shoo pork; for desert there's Rodney's favorite type of chocolate cake.

John says that his favorite is carrot cake and Rodney pauses for a moment and then mentions he nearly died after eating some carrot cake that had lemon juice mixed with the cream cheese frosting, because he is deathly allergic to citrus. Except no one had believed it was an accident because normally Rodney is ultra careful and his shrink got the stupid idea in his head that Rodney had tried to kill himself.

John stops eating, feeling a little sick because he knows that carrot cake is somehow his fault. He vaguely remembers tangy frosting. John heads for the sink to wash sticky chocolate filling off his hands, he can't eat any more.

Rodney turns to watch him, and asks quietly. "Hey, what is it?"

"I think that was my fault."

"Don't be ridiculous, how could it be?"

John shakes his head and walks away from the kitchen. Rodney follows a few minutes later, and sees him standing by the open patio doors. The back of Rodney's apartment looks out over its own little patch of garden, then it's desert beyond his boundary. It is dark out there, but the moon must be full because it illuminates John's skin bone pale, while his hair is inky dark. He looks like a creature from a dream, half unreal, and that makes the skin on Rodney's arms shiver and the hairs rise up on the back of his neck.

As he steps closer to John he realizes there is an eerie phosphorescent glow that seems to come from something John is holding in his palm. The object seems to flare incredibly bright as Rodney reaches for it, and in that brief second the power peaks and it burns out the miniature circuitry in the device they had used to suppress his memory. Rodney understands again.

He sees that it is an Ancient device, a metallic disc, which seems to have embedded itself in John's palm. He imagines John must be someone with a strong expression of the Ancient Gene, like Colonel O'Neill. Rodney can see words flaring brightly around the edge of the circle.

"What does it say, John?"

John turns his head and his eyes gleam a silvery reflection of the light given off by the device. There is a look of wild excitement on his face and he reaches for Rodney clasping his glowing hand tight to Rodney's.

"It says transform"

***

An alarm blares in an underground lab at Area 51. Dr Lee groans, because he recognizes the signal -- the device that got lost when Dr McKay took it off base. He knows he is going to have to wake Colonel Simmons and tell him. He knows he's going to have to admit that he disobeyed orders concerning the animal as well. And that it escaped.

He figures Simmons is going to get him fired, or maybe he'll get lucky and it will be a transfer. But whatever, Lee thinks maybe it will be worth it, because there was no way he was ever going to destroy that wolf, it had been too beautiful an animal to put down. Plus it would have been wrong, because he'd known there was somehow a connection between the animal and the missing device, he just didn't have a chance to explore all the possibilities.

***

A black wolf with huge eyes like mossy amber, and a mousy brown coyote with eyes the color of a stormy sea have holed up in a cave for the day. They sleep curled around each other. The wolf is a little smaller and more scrawny than a full grown wolf ought to be and the coyote is stockier than a regular coyote, but they seem pleased enough in each other's company. As they snooze the day away waiting for night to fall.


***

Calico sat on the island work surface delicately finishing off some turkey. She had watched her human and his mate transform from a perch she had chosen for herself on top of the high bookcase in the living room. Cats knew many things, and this particular cat knew that they would transform back from their spirit creatures at sunrise the next morning.

She was interested to see how they had fared, because she was secretly quite fond of Dr McKay already. His previous cat had clearly trained him well. John seemed a little rough around the edges but Calico was certain she could have him well trained in no time. He seemed like a quick study.

The End.






This was the request:

You are writing for: silverraven11

Their request is: John/Rodney, please. If that's not possible then:
OT4, John/Rodney/Ronon, or Rodney/Teyla. This year I would really like
an AU, something just a bit unusual. Werewolf!John or Werewolf!Rodney
(or both ;-)) would be love. First-time or established relationship.
Sex would be nice. Fun and funny, plotty romance, or dark and angsty,
it's all good. Write what genre you like, just happy endings only
please.

They would not like: Death!fic, genderswap, partner betrayal, any
pairing not listed above.


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