Artist: saldemonium
Title: Serve and Protect
Medium: manip
Pairing(s): McShep, or could be gen

Author: reddwarfer
Title: The Dark Side of the Task Force
Wordcount: ~9,700
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Summary: In the great city of Atlantis, two cops do that heroic, bad-guy stopping thing.
Notes: Contains: AU and an obvious love of the buddy cop genre. Thanks so very much to djin7 and aigoos for the marvelous beta job. Thanks, also, to the lovely saldemonium for such beautiful and inspirational art.








"If I could, I would totally fire you two assholes," Jack O'Neill growled out as he glared across his desk. John took in the all-too-familiar surroundings of the Captain's office as they, once again, were called in after a particularly satisfying bust. John's clothes had seen better days and he needed about fifty showers to get rid of the bits of plaster and drywall dust, but that would have to wait. "I believe I said no more blowing shit up, McKay. "

John glanced at his partner, whose clothes were just as singed and tattered as his, and tried not to grin when Rodney rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah," Rodney said, waving at O'Neill dismissively, causing the man's eye to twitch, which John was pretty sure was both their faults. "I recall that oh so fun conversation last week...and the week before that and...well, that's beside the point. The point is, I didn't blow up anything. The building imploded, which is completely and totally different." Rodney nodded as if to add credence to his story and belatedly tacked on a wholly insincere, "Sir."

"Why the Mayor likes you guys is beyond me." O'Neill shook his head as he eyed them with obvious distaste. John grinned at that because saving Mayor Weir a few times ingratiated them to her, and Police Chief Caldwell was completely whipped, which tied the Captain's hands. "Why can't you go work in the private sector and take this other jackass with you?" O'Neill nodded to John as he addressed Rodney.

"Seriously?" Rodney asked with his most sarcastic, shit-eating grin he could muster. John shifted uneasily in his chair. This was a touchy subject with Rodney and he tended to never give anyone a straight answer. As far as John was aware, he was the only one Rodney ever told."The Force would completely fall apart without us. Right, Sheppard?"

John beamed back at him, nodding. "That's right. We do that saving people thing."

"And blowing up...I mean catching the bad guy thing," Rodney agreed, pointing a finger at him.

O'Neill barked out a laugh."Yeah, sure, McKay. The only reason the Force'd fall apart without you is because you'd probably plant a bomb somewhere if we tried to can your sorry asses."

Rodney gave O'Neill the most innocent expression he could muster, but he only succeeded in looking as crazy as people accused him of being. "It's an honor and privilege to serve and protect this great City of Atlantis. I would never do something so plebeian as blowing up this fine building, which houses some of the greatest leaders of men."

"Cut the shit, McKay," O'Neill said, unable to stop his mouth from twitching. "One of these days, they're going to stop insuring us and then you two fuckers will be riding a desk until we can shove your asses out of here with dry cake and cheap gold watches."

There was an ongoing bet in the department, more than one actually, on which of the two of them cost the department more money, ruined the most cars, and caused the most collateral damage. There was a corollary bet on which of them would earn the most lawsuits before they were fired. John had three hundred on Rodney.

"The least you could do when contemplating our hypothetical retirement is drum up some moist cake, devil's food, maybe, with that butter cream frosting with a touch of mint." John elbowed Rodney to shut him up before they ended up debating the various textures and tastes of baked goods and got into a lengthy rant about the dangers of whack-job chefs and their love of citrus-based flavoring.

O'Neill flashed John a rare grateful look and continued, "So, the perpetual question of what to do with you...I've decided to appoint you two jokers to the newly made Community Betterment Task Force."

"We get a task force?" John asked, equal parts pleased and suspicious. "And who else is in it?"

Rodney gave him a sidelong look of healthy skepticism. "Who's in charge?"

"You two are in charge," O'Neill said with a tone that was highly amused. "You have a couple of months to get things set up the way you want and then I'll assign a few officers to work under you."

Before Rodney could say anything that would spoil O'Neill's shift in mood, John nodded and said, "Thanks, sir. We'll go get started on that." And then John dragged Rodney out of the room with promises of good coffee and maybe some of those donuts with the sprinkles.

~*~


"We're basically in charge of preventing the proliferation of evil, maniacal litterbugs by forcing them to pay their five hundred dollar fines and ensuring that the masses of mouth-breathing reprobates with shit-for-brains don't forget the city-ordinances on leash laws and noise pollution," Rodney complained bitterly around a cheese danish.

John sighed, wishing O'Neill wasn't so creative in his punishments. What was wrong with a good old fashion two weeks without pay? "Yeah, but it'll only be for a couple of months. He always calls us in for the truly weird shit and this city seems to have enough stock in it for controlling interest."

"True," Rodney said with a scowl like he always did when thinking of the city. "Fucking founders. A bunch of psychopathic government social scientist assholes, with delusions of grandeur. They're why we even get fuckers like the ones we blew up—I mean imploded—today."

The unfortunate thing about it was that McKay was right, Atlantis had started out as an experimental planned town filled with government employees, scientists, and a couple hundred hand-picked people chosen to be lab rats. John didn't know what had happened exactly, but he'd heard the same rumor-cum-urban legends as everyone else: genetic experiments, weapons research, viruses, etc. Another group of geneticists set up shop, too, and then came more genetic experiments, weapons research, viruses, etc, just like the founders but evil.

Then one day, the founders—and their foes—just up and left after what McKay likened to a boxing match between Resident Evil's Umbrella Corp and Eureka's Global Dynamics, abandoning what was left of the city to its own devices.

And then someone with the right sort of connections came along, changed the city charter, after which it grew and flourished.

The strange thing about the city, at least in John's estimation, was that no one seemed to actually be born there. Everyone he knew and even those he only knew of had moved there at some point in their lives. He absently wondered if they even needed a maternity ward at the hospital. People didn't seem to retire there, either. It was like a stopping ground during people's lives. They moved in when they were young, went to school, worked for a while, and retired elsewhere. John had never known another place like it. But, despite all the strangeness and rather ridiculous crime rate, it was home.

"That Oberoth fucker has a special place in hell waiting for him. I fucking hate cloners," John said after downing the rest of his coffee. "They always try to kill you when you stumble into their labs and see all their secret experiments."

"Maybe they just heard about you guys." John looked up and saw Ronon Dex grinning down at them.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Shut the fuck up, Dex, or I won't make you anymore toys to play with."

"You wound me, McKay," Ronon intoned. Looking them over, he said,"You guys look like shit."

"Yeah, well, a couple of people had a problem with being arrested, and I may have been forced to make a few things collapse a bit, so me and Sheppard could do the manly and heroic bad guy stopping thing."

"Thought the Captain said no more blowing shit up?" Laura Cadman piped in from behind Ronon's shoulder. "You build more bombs in a month than our entire squad dismantles from the other criminals in a year."

"The building imploded, a very subtle yet important difference. I despair of the structural integrity of most of the buildings in this city. And what do you mean other criminals?"

Laura smirked at him. "I know what you like to do at night, McKay."

"You only wish, Cadman. You're just jealous that I won't build toys for you to play with like I do with Ronon."

"I somehow find it in me to sleep at night," Laura shot back. "Hey, I thought you two had were going on a double date tonight with those two pinheads from Evidence?"

"Pinheads? They happen to be quite lovely girls who are impressed by our very manly and death-defying heroics on the job."

"They agreed to date you two, so they can't be all that bright."

John glared at both Laura and Ronon, who were laughing at them. "Hey. I'm a catch and McKay's all right."

"Just all right??" Rodney repeated, incensed, "I'll have you know that I'm a great catch! These lips were made for kissing and my arms designed for the holding and the cuddling and things and my—"

"Yeah, yeah," John said, interrupting Rodney before he could catalogue every body part he had. "You're a dish. We get the picture."

"I'd rather I didn't," Ronon grumbled. "We got to head back to the station. See you later, McKay, Sheppard." And then he left, Laura trailing after him laughing and elbowing him in the side.

The rest of their shift went relatively smoothly. The newest recruit, a fresh-faced, chirpy Aiden Ford, greeted them when they got back and shook both their hands much to John's amusement and Rodney's bewilderment for taking down Oberoth's lab. He then went on to ask if it was really true that they saved the Mayor from some crazed band of Amish-like terrorists? And did they really blow up ship filled with drug dealers? And did McKay really build robotic bombs that blew up when you looked at them funny?

Rodney, at least, found that bit amusing. John found it disturbing and vowed to find out the source of Ford's gossip before he spread the rumors injudiciously and Rodney found himself on a no-fly list again.

~*~

"This tie okay?" Rodney asked, hovering in the door of John's bathroom, completely unconcerned with the fact John was standing there in nothing but a towel and a metric ton of shaving cream on his face.

It was a testament to how often this sort of thing happened that John barely even blinked at the intrusion. Rodney walked in on him in various states of undress more times in a week than Teyla did in the entire time they'd know each other, and he and Teyla were actually roommates. It was just a case of bad luck that John opened his front door one morning and realized that Rodney had the apartment right across from him, way back before they were even partners. Later, after they got landed with each other, they somehow exchanged keys and kissed goodbye any sense of boundaries normal people had when it came to that sort of thing.

John glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes as he started to shave. Rodney had on a dark blue suit, only a hair-shade darker than the ones he wore to work, with a burgundy tie with textured stripes of the same color. John wondered if Rodney even had casual-wear for dates instead of just work clothes and work clothes he hadn't gotten stained with blood and debris yet. "It's fine."

"You didn't even look!" Rodney bitched as he edged John over an inch so he could look in the mirror. "Whatever. I don't even care. What are you wearing? Let me guess...black shirt, those pants you need to be greased just to fit yourself into them, and those black boots. The 'I'm the lead singer of a washed-up nineteen eighties emo-rock band' look."

John wanted to be offended, he really did, but the most he could manage was a snort and a shake of the head. "Shut up."

"Yeah, yeah," Rodney replied, leaving with a roll of his eyes. "Hurry up or I'm driving."

"Over my dead body, McKay," John yelled after him.

~*~

"This really wasn't what I was expecting," Flora said, looking around at the décor of the Galaxy Diner. Margie nodded her agreement as they waited for Rae to seat them. "It's very...interesting."

Rodney snorted. "Interesting is a word for it."

Grinning at him, John elbowed Rodney in the side. "Yeah, it's great."

The Galaxy Diner was the greatest place to eat in all of Atlantis. It had metallic siding on the outside with cherry red trim, and the inside was a shrine to all the best movies John had ever watched. There was miniature replica of the Delorean sticking out of the wall above the menu behind the counter. There were various Star Wars characters painted on the spots on the walls that weren't filled with different movie posters from various sci-fi movies. Of course, with Rodney, it was hate at first sight. And he kept hating every single time he went there with John (which was at least twice weekly) and had a rotating collection of rants for the occasions.

"Why do you always insist on coming here when it's your turn to pick where we take our dates," Rodney grumbled, missing the bemused glances from both Margie and Flora. If John were a betting man—and he was—he'd pick "Why Rodney Hates the Galaxy Diner Rant Number Five" aka "Physics, Sci-Fi, and why never the twain shall meet" for what they'd be treated to before the night was over.

Rodney always picked the most pretentious French joint in town, which had some name he didn't care to recall and couldn't pronounce right anyhow. Worse than that, Rodney really didn't like French foods all that much and after their dates went home, John always drove him to either the Galaxy or the Donut Hut for food afterward. John liked skipping unnecessary steps. And he firmly believed his love of sci-fi should be known to future lovers upfront. It was kind of mean to spring it on them later.

"It's cool," John replied just to make Rodney scowl at him. The booths were all metallic silver vinyl and the tops of the tables had a comet design on it. John smiled when he looked at and heard Rodney mutter about how they might as well go to Chuck E Cheese's for all the class the place had.

Only Rodney had called it a dump. "That's not nice," said John with a solemn expression.

"Ohh, oh, sorry, Sheppard," Rodney said with exaggerated concern. "Did I say dump? What I meant to say was shiny, sparkly adolescent imagination dreamland with hovel like qualities."

"What's good here?" Margie asked, looking at Rodney with a tentative smile. "The menu has all sorts of interesting choices."

"Huh?" Rodney said, looking away from John and gave her a shrug. "It's diner food –'your mileage may vary', and all that."

Margie glanced at Flora and then back to Rodney. "What are you having?"

"Me? The same thing I always have," Rodney said, tapping his fingers impatiently on the tabletop. John kicked him in the shin earning an ow, asshole muttered under Rodney's breath. "I eat the Sith Burger with Dark Side Sauce," Rodney added as if actually saying the words pained him fiercely.

"Is it good?" Margie asked smiling again.

Rodney pinned her with an incredulous look. "Why would I eat something if I didn't like it?"

"I—um." Margie looked down at the tabletop and John felt a rush of pity for her since she clearly didn't know Rodney very well and said, "Hey, I bet you'd like The Han Solo."

"What's that?" Flora asked at the same time Margie asked, mashing the words together, "What's a Hansolo?"

Rodney visibly twitched, but John stomped on his foot and said, "It's a burger with a fried egg. As for Han Solo," John added, grinning across at Rodney, "He's the most dashing, heroic scoundrel in the entire galaxy."

Flora nodded, eyes moving over the menu again. "I think I'll have a Starry Salad."

"Me too," Margie said, pushing her menu toward the edge of the table. John shared a pained grimace with Rodney. They hated the salad eaters. They usually ate four bites, proclaimed themselves full, and stared longingly at their delicious, artery-clogging Sith Burgers with long, golden crispy Saber Sticks.

When Rae came with their food, she smiled at John and Rodney and said, "How are my favorite boys?" She was older than John's mother and she always smiled when she saw them, even when Rodney's rants grew progressively louder as they went on and got quelling glares from the other customers.

"Oh," she said after she set down all their plates. "If you want to come by tomorrow for breakfast, Chef's going to try to make pancakes in the shape of the Enterprise, again."

"Great!" John beamed at Rodney. "We'll have to get up early, so we can enjoy them properly."

"Enterprise?" Margie asked and Rodney made that face again, not bothering to hide it.

Flora smiled. "Yes, from Star Trek." Just when John thought there might be some hope for her after all, she added. "We saw it in the theater, remember? Chris Pine was so adorable."

"Chris Pine?," Rodney hissed, and then he was off and running with his rant on remaking classics which John had only heard a million times, but was probably intimidating to the uninitiated. Still, he couldn't stop himself from egging Rodney on. "Didn't you say something about enjoying Karl Urban's performance?"

John watched as Rodney visible shook, red-faced and annoyed, before he launched off on a diatribe on how pretty little twinks had no place in sci-fi and what exactly was wrong with the old Trek? And since when did Spock ever want to get any play and hadn't the asshole who directed that piece of shit reboot ever watch Pon Farr?

"I need to go to the ladies room," Margie said, and Flora nodded and stood up as well. John glanced up, absently said, "Okay," and shrugged at the pack mentality with bathroom trips. The only time John ever went to a restroom with another guy was when he wanted a blow job and didn't feel like paying for dinner.

~*~

They were halfway through dessert when it occurred to John that their dates hadn't returned yet. Rae looked apologetic when she brought the check and mentioned they'd left a message for John and Rodney about catching a cab but she was too busy to bring it over.

Rodney shrugged, said, "So you wanna come over and watch a movie?"

"No way. The last time I went to your house, I stepped on a Bouncing Betty and it sprayed paint all over my second favorite pair of jeans."

"Just be grateful it wasn't real. At least I adjusted it to waist height instead of aiming for the head or you might have had to cut that travesty you call your hair. And honestly, Sheppard, you should be more careful. You just walk around without looking! And see what kind of trouble you can get yourself in?" Rodney asked, full of scorn and affection in equal measures.

John shook his head. "You're insane, you know that? Yes, yes, Rodney, I should have expected to walk across the hall to steal back my Grand Theft Auto game and find an errant bomb lying around. It's completely logical that any random person would plant World War II era explosives near the entertainment center. I know that's where I keep mine."

"Jackass." Rodney snorted and swallowed down the rest of his coffee. "At least Ronon appreciates my efforts."

"Because he's just as crazy as you are," John shot back. "Who works in the bomb squad only to want to come home to bombs booby-trapping their own home?"

Rodney chuckled. "You're just jealous because your roommate is one of those goddamned new age shrinks and thinks talking about feelings is her idea of hijinks."

Sighing, John conceded the point, but acknowledged, "At least she's hot."

"So's Ronon," Rodney said brightly, clearly scoring yet another point. "And he never asks me to do yoga. Ever."

"Fuck you," John replied cheerfully. "Asshole."

~*~

They both entered John's apartment arguing over whose turn it was to decide which movie to see on their weekly movie theater trip. Rodney always argued that John's shitty choices entitled him to get twice as many turns before letting John pick again, and John thought Rodney had no business calling John's choices shitty with the stuff Rodney forced him to sit through.

"Good evening," Teyla said from her perch on the sofa, smiling at them as they threw their jackets up on the coat rack. "How was your date?"

"Um," Rodney said looking to the side. "We don't want to bore you with the details, Teyla. So, why don't you tell us about that," Rodney twirled his hand around lamely, "stuff you do at work. Um. The kids. And the yoga and meditation stuff."

John could have kicked him because Teyla narrowed her eyes at both of them. Rodney never wanted to hear about Teyla's work because he found anything to do with the under-twenty set unworthy of his attention.

"You do not treat your dates very well, Rodney McKay," Teyla scolded. Rodney tried to protest, but Teyla was merciless. "I do not know why you bother when you do not seem to care."

"I care!" Rodney said, indignant. "I just..."

"Then explain to me what was wrong with Katie," Rodney favored her with a blank stare," April, Jonas, Amber," and another, "Harmony, Kyle?" Rodney's eyebrows shot up at that. "He was still Jennifer at the time," Rodney's confusion only intensified. "You went to his coming out party," Teyla sounded even more annoyed at Rodney and snapped, "You bought him a toaster."

Deciding to take pity on the poor bastard, John nudged Rodney and said, "The one with the dirty fingernails, the one with bad breath, the one with the really nice ass, the one with the really nice legs, the one who was basically jailbait, and the one with the really nice hands who gave really bad head."

"Ah," Rodney said, recognition coloring his tone. "Them."

Teyla, however, wasn't amused. "You are no better, John Sheppard. What about Chaya, Teer, Cam, Larrin, Mitch, and Nancy?"

John must have had a blank expression of his own because Rodney piped in before John admitted how vague his memories were of those people. "The freaky religious chick who wanted to marry you, the other freaky religious chick who wanted your babies, the closeted military dickhead who hated me, the one with the tits and the leather who got arrested, the one with the ugly hair who gave mediocre head, and the one who wanted you to run for mayor."

"So I heard you two dickheads forgot how double dating works." John turned around to see Ronon leaning in the doorway smirking at them. "You should do the world a favor and stop inflicting yourselves on other people. "

Rodney gave an indignant, "Hey!"

"Cadman had to listen to ninety minutes of those girls bitching about you two and then Cadman repeated it all for me," Ronon said and John cringed in sympathy. "You owe me."

Sighing, Rodney nodded. "Yeah. I guess I do."

Teyla shot them all with a look which explained just how distasteful she found the whole conversation and gave John an extra look which explained further that they would, indeed, have words someday soon and bid them good night before disappearing in her room.

"Brutal," Ronon said with a grin. "You're in deep shit, Sheppard."

"We can always switch, Dex," John shot back. "See how you like it."

"Nah, I like the asshole I got now," Ronon replied, punching Rodney lightly on the shoulder. "I'd kill you in a week." And then he waved as he turned and left even as John shouted, "Not what I meant!" at his retreating back.

John flopped down on the couch next to Rodney, rolled his head against the cushions, and said, "We gonna watch something or are you gonna crash?"

"Only if you put on something that doesn't require my full attention or finely tuned derision," Rodney replied, looking tired, but not enough to actually sleep. "Going to bed means wanting to wake up for work tomorrow."

Tossing on Empire, John rolled his eyes. "It's not that bad."

"You say that now, Sheppard, but just wait 'til you're actually writing someone a fine for leaving their dog's shit on the grass and then tell me how much you love your job."

Rodney was right, but John had a thing about letting Rodney know it, so he simply sat back down and watched the opening scrawl. "I have nice handwriting."

"Asshole."

~*~

The next morning, John woke up plastered against Rodney in an uncomfortable sprawl on the couch. He kicked Rodney in the shin to wake him up, walked down to the bathroom, and jumped in the shower. Today was going to suck at work, but at least he and Rodney could swing by the diner and chow down on Enterprise-shaped pancakes.

Work was scarily close to what Rodney had predicted. John thought he might just claim carpel tunnel syndrome and laze around on workman's comp just to get out of writing another goddamned ticket for yet another civil infraction. Who knew how many litterers and lazy pet owners one stupid city could have?

Even worse was dealing with Rodney, whose mood was souring by the minute. John didn't even think it was entirely work related, either. But Rodney was surprisingly tight-lipped when it came to big things that bothered him for all the time he spent bitching about almost everything under the sun.

"Hey," John said after Rodney spent the last four hours scowling at everything in sight, even the chocolate John had given him. "We're going to have dinner at my house tonight. You, me, Ronon, and Teyla. "

It was something they all did at least once a month, though their schedules prevented it from being a fixed date, and John thought it was just the thing to cheer up Rodney. They always had a good time, even Teyla, who tolerated their work-related discussion with good humor.

~*~

"I would have very much enjoyed beating him to death," Teyla said, filled with amusement and good beer. The detritus from the meal was still strewn on the table and each of them had more than their share of alcohol as they each discussed the various things that had happened to them since their last dinner. "I doubt very much that he would have slapped my ass and called me honey if knew that I was capable of such a thing."

John grinned at her. They'd met years ago at the local gym when he was recovering from an on-the-job knee injury. He was overdoing it as he was wont to do and she gave him a stern lecture on stretching and not overburdening his recovering muscles. They met regularly, going from gym buddies to buddy buddies to roommates when her apartment burned down due to some jackass's space heater. "Then I'd have to arrest you."

"No one wants to hear about your kinky, bondage fantasies, Sheppard," Rodney griped as he tried, and failed, to kick him in the shin.

Laughing, John insisted, "You're just jealous you're not involved."

Ronon snorted and opened himself another beer. "New bet's circulating around the squad. Which one of you two are going to be arrested first...I put twenty on you for solicitation."

"Hey," John said feelingly. "I'd never get caught!"

"Wrong argument, Sheppard," Rodney said, laughing. "Put me down for a hundred on Sheppard for jaywalking."

"Jaywalking?" John asked, incredulous. "You can get arrested for jaywalking?"

Rodney nodded earnestly. "Yes, well, the bet said arrested not convicted. I can take care of the the formalities after breakfast tomorrow."

"Now, who is the one indulging in a kinky, bondage fantasy, huh?" John asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You wish, Sheppard," Ronon said, laughing. "You know that Cadman routinely offers me bribes to secretly film you two when you're off duty. Don't want to know which bet she's trying to settle with that."

Teyla looked at all of them with patient amusement. "You three are all so very incorrigible."

"Damn straight," Rodney answered, pink-cheeked and pleased by it all. "Corrigibility is frowned upon at the station."

"That's because you've never actually listened to anything the Captain tells you," Ronon shot back. "And he yells loud enough so that the fuck-ups in police stations in other countries can hear him."

Filled with a terrible amount of affection for everyone in the room, John looked at them all and just laughed and laughed and didn't stop, even after Rodney poked him in the head, called him a moron, and threatened to arrest him right there for noise pollution.

~*~

"Huh," Rodney said after they left home of a woman who was complaining, yet again, about her noisy neighbors who had been remodeling and started each day before they were technically allowed. That wasn't the first time John had heard that over the past two weeks and he was getting a little antsy. It never, ever meant anything good. Sometimes it was a prelude to one summarily derisive opinion about one thing or another, but most times, it meant that their lives were going to get a lot more interesting than John usually liked.

John waited the prerequisite three seconds before he got too impatient and said, "What is it, McKay?"

"Oh!"Rodney said looking up and over at him. "Oh. Nothing. Maybe. Actually, it probably is nothing. Yes, yes, I know that I'm not often wrong. Stop looking at me like that. I promise if it's more than my overactive imagination, I'll let you know? I just want a check a thing or two out."

"Why can't you just tell me and we'll do it together?" John asked, knowing it was pointless to argue with Rodney, but since arguing with Rodney was something he needed along with air and water, he did it anyhow. "We're partners, remember?"

Rodney scowled at him. "Stop acting like I'm trying to break up the band, Sheppard. It's stupid, all right, and if I'm wrong I'd rather not have you tease me about it."

"I always tease you," John countered. "Fine, fine, but if this goes the way it normally does, and it will, I reserve the right to say 'I told you so' forever."

Laughing a bit, Rodney said, "I'd expect nothing less, asshole."

After that, John hoped Rodney would stay pleasantly acerbic, but his subdued mood returned quickly and John was left wondering what the hell was going on with him. It was only after he got home that evening and Rodney had actually gone back to his own apartment that John spared a glance at his Boston College wall calendar and saw the date.

Shit.

Rodney would be like this for another two days, then he'd show up drunk as fucking hell in John's room. A day after that, John would pretend to not see Rodney's tears or hear his words, and then Rodney pass out on his bed and spend following day puking his guts out in John's bathroom until he could find his way to the kitchen for coffee, aspirin, and Teyla. After those two spoke, Rodney would head out alone, refusing company for a few hours, and come back as if nothing was ever wrong and the whole thing started over again the following year.

~*~

John sat at his desk, groaning. He didn't get much sleep the night before and he hated to admit it was only because he stayed up way too late worrying about Rodney. He deftly ducked out of Teyla's clutches when he got up that morning looking like shit by running out the door and grabbing Rodney for work, but that meant he sacrificed his two pre-coffee coffees, and fuck, he'd been working with Rodney too long if he picked up all his bad habits.

"Poor baby," Rodney had said to him when he whined about it as they were pulling up to the station. "That sounds terrible." Rodney's patronizing tone made his belly squirm a little. "You go on up and let them know we're here, and I'll quickly duck around the corner and grab you the biggest coffee I can find, okay?"

"You're a god among men, McKay," John had replied and smiled when Rodney patted his hand and condescendingly told him, "Yes, I know, but I manage."


"Where's your wife, Sheppard?" John looked up and saw Sumner, the jackass, staring down at him with a smirk on his face, and flanking his sides were Everett and Ellis. Dickheads, the lot of them. "Or are you the wife?"

"Fuck off," John bit out, not in the mood. Though, to be fair, he was never in the mood for Sumner.

Sumner glared at him, clearly smelling blood in the water, said, "I don't know how he hasn't shot you yet. But that's not his style, is it. He just gets everyone around him killed, instead."

John was on his feet before he had a second to process the comment. "Shut the fuck up, Sumner."

"Isn't that what happened?," Sumner pressed. "You trust him to watch your back when he wasn't even able to protect his own family? Got his own sister killed."

"Fuck you," John ground out at Sumner, now splayed on the floor, and gripping his face,. It was only when Ford grabbed John's arm to hold him back that he noticed the throbbing of his fist.

No one was supposed to know about that. It was supposed to be sealed and that fucker just blurted out Rodney's business to the whole squad room. When John found out who spilled this, he was going to kill them.

"What the hell is going on here?" O'Neill's voice boomed out, and John tore his attention away from Sumner.

He gritted his teeth and bit out a terse explanation and Sumner was uncharacteristically quiet. John figured it was because he'd be in bigger trouble than John if he admitted to getting into Rodney's sealed juvenile file. No one was supposed to know about Henry Wallace. No one was supposed to know that Jeannie was murdered in front of Rodney after he refused to help the man. No one was supposed to know what led to Rodney dropping out of his top notch university. No was supposed to know the reason Rodney moved to Atlantis and joined the Academy as soon as he was old enough. No one needed to know, either.

"Go home, Sheppard," O'Neill said, more kindly than he expected. "Take a few days and come back with your head on straight. I'll stick Ford with McKay for the day. Have McKay break him in a little."

John swallowed thickly. "Yes, sir. Thanks." Lorne, a decent cop who worked with the techies (who hated them for how they loved to dump the worst fucking crime scenes on their laps) offered to give him a ride since Rodney hadn't returned yet with the coffee. He would have waited, but he was too raw at the moment to have to explain anything just then.

~*~

The sky was already dark and John was well into his third beer by the time Rodney opened the sliding door to the balcony and sat down next to him as he snagged a beer for himself. Their legs dangled over the edge, pressed between the metal bars which acted as a railing.

After a few minutes, John heard Rodney open another beer and he looked down at his own and watched the tiny foamy bubbles curl up the sides of the glass.

"That kid," Rodney said after awhile. "Ford. He's surprisingly not-too-incompetent. Though I was surprised to have him foisted on me suddenly." John heard the question Rodney was asking, but he didn't know how to get his mouth open to explain.

Rodney shifted, their thighs pressed together, swallowed another mouthful of beer and looked out at the night sky. It was on a night eerily similar to this one that Rodney told him in a quiet, hesitant tone about the night he and his sister were kidnapped by an unstable college professor, the way she was murdered in front of him for refusing to create a computer virus, and how he managed to get away after. He had told John about how everything changed for him, how he couldn't go back to his old life, how he promised her as she died that he'd never let this happen to anyone else and that was when John knew that Rodney was always going to be his partner, always going to have his back.

"I figured I'd do you a favor, give you a break from me," John replied, knowing how much Rodney loved it when he was flippant.

Rodney sighed a long-suffering sigh and nudged him with an elbow. "You know, I'm not ready to break another partner in just when I finally got you the way I want you." Rodney blushed after he said that and John grinned. "You know, because, um...my jokes...my references...I just..." he trailed off momentarily, then turned so he could see John's face and said, "Ford thought Axel Foley was a car part," followed by, "You can't leave me to fend with someone who makes me feel so old. A car part, for fuck's sake, John, a car part."

That startled a laugh out of John, which earned him another elbow and the patented my god, are you a donkey on crack? look from Rodney, which only made him laugh harder.

"So you gonna tell me what happened today?" Rodney asked after the laughter died down.

John closed his eyes. He had hoped Rodney would have forgotten, but he knew better than to expect anything less. "There's nothing much to say."

"What the fuck, Sheppard," Rodney growled out angrily, shoving to his feet. "Sumner looks like he got in a boxing match with the Incredible fucking Hulk."

Standing up to take the empties to the kitchen, John mumbled, "Just let it go, Rodney."

"No, I won't let it go," Rodney tugged at his arm as soon as dumped the bottles in the sink. "You're gonna tell me what the fuck set you off!"

"He wouldn't shut the fuck up!" John yelled back, furious with Rodney for no other reason than he was there and wouldn't let John avoid this shit.

Rodney gave him an incredulous look. "He never shuts the fuck up. He's an asshole. What was so different this time?"

Getting in Rodney's face, John shouted, "He wouldn't shut the fuck up about you."

"John..." Rodney said, and so gently that it pissed John off even more, because Rodney really didn't get it.

"He wouldn't shut the fuck up about you and he has no fucking right. No fucking right at all. You're fucking mine and he has no goddamned right." John heaved, throat tight, and his entire body just burned.

Rodney didn't say anything, just cupped the back of his head and pressed their foreheads together. "It's okay, John."

"It's not," John argued. "It's not okay." He wasn't okay. He couldn't take back what he said because it was true. He'd known it for years without really knowing it and here Rodney, the master of the tactless, if you want sympathy, look between shit and syphilis in the dictionary was standing there trying to comfort him.

"Hey," Rodney said, and John forced himself to look Rodney in the eyes. "I said it was, and how often am I wrong?"

John smiled, even though it hurt, and whispered back, "All the time." And before Rodney could disagree, he darted in quickly and kissed him awkwardly on the lips.

He knew he should have done this before now, maybe years and years ago, but Rodney was his partner, his best friend, and John hadn't been prepared to stop pretending that Rodney wasn't his everything, too.

Rodney didn't seem to sense John's hesitation, because he surged forward, kissed him back with none of the awkwardness John felt, hot, lush kisses on his mouth, pushing his lips apart and licking at him with his tongue. His brain slowly quieted under the unrelenting force that was Rodney McKay, and all that was left was want and need.

"You stupid fucker," Rodney breathed against his mouth, hands moving insistently under John's disheveled shirt. "I thought the plan was to ignore that we're in love with each other for a few more years."

John huffed out a laugh. "I live to fuck up your plans. You know that."

"Yeah," Rodney agreed, and tugged John by the belt loops to his room. "If the plan's a wash, let's say we fuck it up as only we know how."

"Blow shit up, y'mean?" John grinned, as he tossed his shirt off the rest of the way, John thought it was one of Rodney's better ideas. If they were doing this now, admitting all this shit now, the least they could do is finally fuck after all those years of acting as if they hadn't wanted this.

Rodney was already naked and splayed on his bed by the time he bent down to unlace his shoes. John could hear him rolling his eyes. "You wish. Are you planning on fucking me some time tonight?"

Rolling his eyes, John muttered, "Bossy much..." and finally pushed down his pants and boxers and kicked them into the corner. "Wouldn't want to keep you waiting..."

"Damn straight," Rodney agreed, "now get your ass over here," and he punctuated this with his grabby, mine, mine, mine gesture with his hands.

John knelt on the bed and Rodney motioned him closer, gripping John's thighs when he tried to lie down. So John crawled up the length of the bed, of Rodney, until Rodney stopped tugging. His knees were bracketing Rodney's chest, and finally he got it. Jesus fuck.

Grabbing his ass, Rodney pulled him forward, forcing him to grip the headboard for balance. His cock brushed against wet, wet lips once and then he felt another tug, Rodney pulled his hips forward, guiding John to fuck his mouth. All John could hear over the pounding of his heart in his ears was hot, wet slurping which sounded so fucking obscene, and he had to stop himself from coming so he could fully enjoy this.

He never fucked someone's mouth from this position, kneeling above their face, shoving his cock in, over and over, watching it disappear into that sinful mouth. John didn't ever want to stop, but all too soon, Rodney was pushing at his hips again, moving with him as he was guided on his back. John had all of five seconds to marvel that Rodney kept blowing him as he was maneuvering John around when his bottle of lube and a condom packet was dropped on his stomach. Rodney got on his knees, gripped the headboard, and said, "Do you need a written invitation or something? A diagram maybe? Come on, fuck me. And sometime tonight would be good."

John moved faster than he expected, especially after the unfinished cock sucking which did a good job in liquifying his bones. He planned to go slow, take his time, because Rodney deserved slow, deserved his time, but the want was thrumming under his skin and Rodney was moaning, pushing against his questing fingers, and mumbling something about how not fucking him would be held against him in the court of Detective Rodney McKay.

Under the litany of Rodney's demands, John slicked himself up and shoved himself inside without being gentle in the least, which was exactly what they both wanted. Rodney shoved back against him fucking John as much as John was fucking him.

"Damn it, John," Rodney's voice was rough, breathy, "I'm not going to break, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me." Rodney looked over his shoulder, pinning him with a wanton expression John had never seen on him before, and said it again, in case John missed it, "Fuck me.."

John tightened his hold on Rodney's hips and slammed in even harder, deeper. Sweat slicked their skin causing wet, smacking sounds to echo out into the room. Rodney finally stopped talking altogether and devolved into moaning every time John's cock nailed Rodney's prostate.

"God," John mumbled, thought I fucking love you, and felt completely wrecked when Rodney came, slumping forward, without John even having to touch his cock. He lasted a few more blissful minutes before his body lit up, coming without permission and far too soon.

He pulled out and stared. Rodney had let go of the headboard and was now resting his head on his arms, but Rodney was still on his knees, legs wide enough apart so John could see Rodney's cock and balls thick and wet between them. John spread Rodney's cheeks with his hands, fascinated by the way his come was leaking out of Rodney's ass.

"If you gave something to me, I'm going to fucking kill you," Rodney mumbled into the pillow. "Moron."

John nodded, absently replied, "Yeah, I gave it to you. Gave it to you good."

That's when the ass he'd been admiring started to shake and John noticed three things in quick succession: he saw the condom, unopened, at his knee, Rodney's ass was shaking because he was laughing at John, and everything spoken in the last two minutes came rushing to him with sudden clarity and John blushed hotly as he realized what he'd said.

Rodney, still laughing, replied, "You're hopeless. Though, seriously, I will kill you."

"Sure," John said back, still fascinated with the scene before him. He pushed his fingers inside again, this time enjoying the way Rodney felt, the way his come and the lube slicked the way. "Let's do it again. I'll remember the condom this time."

Moaning, Rodney breathed out, "Sure. We'll do this til you get it right."

~*~

John only had one more day of enforced "vacation" before he could go back to work. Mostly, he spent it remembering how good Rodney felt around his dick. The rest of the time he spent alphabetizing his CD collection and tossing out clothes he wore in his early twenties from the back of his closet.

When the phone rang, startling him, he froze. No one should be calling him and Rodney had his own ring tone—The Imperial March—so it wasn't him. John almost didn't want to pick it up, unable to shake the sensation that something was wrong.

"Sheppard," he bit out tersely, hoping it was just a telemarketer or something like that.

Only it was O'Neill instead. "Did your partner decide to keep your sorry ass company instead of coming in today?"

"What?" John felt his stomach drop because he'd been the one telling Rodney to get out of bed after John had received a sinfully good blow job and told Rodney not skive off the job just for him. "He went to work today. Two hours ago."

"Oh, shit," O'Neill cursed. "Try calling him, stop at his place, and if you can't reach him, come in and we'll figure out where he's off to."

John didn't even let O'Neill finish before he hung up and raced over to Rodney's place, finding it empty. He poked around to see if there was a note in the kitchen or living room and then opened the door to Rodney's disaster of a bedroom.

His large bed was unmade and the desk was covered with colorful bits of paper in a plastic zip-lock bag. On closer inspection, he saw they were some sort of foreign candy wrappers. But what didn't make any sense was that they were of an imported Swiss candy called Jols, which were made with oranges. Rodney was so militant about his allergy that John hadn't even had any citrus, whatsoever, in years.

Mostly to feel like he was doing something, he rang Rodney's cellphone, which went straight to voice mail. John glowered at his phone before shoving it in his pocket. There was only one other place Rodney might be that day. He drove over to the city park where Rodney had planted a tree in his Jeannie's memory. She wasn't buried here and Rodney planned on never returning to their hometown, so this was the only way he could keep her memory alive and close.

John was out of the car as soon as he had it parked and ran over to where her tree was only to find Rodney not there. He cursed silently and was about to head back to his car when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. It was one of those fucking wrappers, like the ones Rodney had in his room.

He took a tissue out of his pocket and picked up the wrapper with it. Something was prodding him at the back of his brain. Something he couldn't quite place. John ran back to his car and floored it to the station.

"Any word," O'Neill said by way of greeting, face falling into a frown when John shook his head in response.

John was about to walk to his desk when he caught the pictures posted on the on-going case board. He and Rodney had been taken off the Oberoth case after the minor implosion of part of that building, and then shunted over to their "task force" so he'd not seen the most recent findings. One of the crime scene photos of an office in the building had a now-familiar wrapper. That stupid fucking imported candy.

He detoured over to Rodney's desk instead of his own, turned the computer on, and poked around at the papers to see if anything gave so much as a hint to where Rodney would have gone. Once the computer was booted, he checked around Rodney's logs and saw that he had received a list of addresses of people in Atlantis who'd recently ordered those damned candies. There was only one order, but it was to a P.O. Box. John slumped in the chair, head in his hands, and tried to recall if there was anything unusual that happened during their patrols. They hadn't gone off on their own, so whatever Rodney had noticed, John had been right next to him. He closed his eyes and all he could see that bright candy wrapping fluttering in the wind, bustling down a sidewalk—John's eye's shot open and he got to his feet.

Abruptly furious with Rodney, with himself, he tore out of the squad room, not even thinking beyond getting to the last place Rodney'd said that familiar huh.

"Finally," said the same woman they'd visited a few days prior. "I called the station twice about the noise."

John's heart thudded in his chest as he nodded to her. "Yes, ma'am. I'll take care of it. If you could go back inside, now." The woman was annoyed, but she complied and tromped back to her home, grumbling the whole way about what her taxes did and did not pay for these days.

The street was empty of passing cars and the houses almost looked exactly the same, the result of a developer's vision, instead of individual home builders. All of the lawns were perfectly manicured save one: the house which was being remodeled. There were four large bags of trash sitting out in front of the overgrown lawn and one, he noticed as he got nearer, had those wrappers pressed against the clear plastic. John's gut twisted as he detoured up the driveway and toward the home itself. There was various planks of wood and other construction materials out back.

He walked around the building and peered in through a window. Inside, John could see chemicals, boxes, and old signs all with Oberoth Laboratories insignia marking them. "Fuck," he cursed to himself as he pulled out his radio and called for back up. He rambled out the address and went toward the door, ignoring the order to wait.

Slipping inside, John noticed the smell of the place: chemicals and sawdust. The boxes and contents of the rooms seemed to be random with no pattern he could discern. He quickly and quietly made his way through the rooms on the first floor and made to go up the stairs to the second when he heard voices coming from the basement. One of them was so familiar it hurt. Rodney was yelling at someone, a female someone from the sound of it, and he wasn't at all happy.

"Are you fucking insane?" Rodney yelled, voice high pitched and furious. "Do you even know what the hell you're doing with that?"

"I'm finishing my father's work," a woman stated clearly. "You destroyed his building, and you destroyed his body, but you have not destroyed everything."

Rodney sounded indignant. "The hell I am. I'm going to arrest you and throw your crazy ass in jail."

When John reached the bottom of the stairs, he sneaked a glance around the corner and saw a woman with medium length brown hair standing in front of Rodney, who was strapped to chair, blood in a sticky mess down the side of his head.

There was a banging from upstairs, but John didn't think back up had time to arrive yet, so he ducked into next room over and waited while the woman made her way upstairs. Obviously, she was expecting someone, which made John more than a little worried.

As soon as she was at the top of the stairs, John darted out and over to Rodney, whose eyes lit up at the sight of him. John hushed him before he could speak and set to getting him loose. If there was another player about to join the party, John wanted Rodney at his side.

"Hey, buddy," John said quietly, "wanna tell me what's going on?"

Rodney glanced at the doorway and said back in a hushed tone. "She's Oberoth's daughter. Fran, I think. I came here today on a hunch and was blindsided by a bat to the head. Which, ow, by the way. I must have been followed. She wanted to inject me with something her father was working on. Since I was the one who destroyed all her lab rats, she wanted me to take their place."

"I think you need to step away from him right now, John Sheppard," Fran said from behind him. John turned and looked at Rodney, flickered his eyes down and back up again. Rodney caught the movement and surreptitiously grabbed John's sidearm from its holster.

John straightened and stepped away only to have his arm twisted behind his back and something metal and sharp pressed against his throat. "Now, now, we don't want anyone to get hurt, do we?"

"Shut up," said the man from behind him. "Fran, hurry up so we can get out of here."

"I'd love to shut up, but we have procedure to follow in situations like these is all," John said calmly, trying to assess if he could fight the man behind him without getting hurt. The answer, frustratingly, was no.

Rodney was glaring at either him or the man holding him, possibly both, shaking his head minutely, wordlessly telling him to shut up. John ignored him.

"And what is that?" The man asked, but he sounded as if was paying more attention to Fran than John or Rodney.

Grinning manically, John said, "Shoot the hostage."

He saw the moment Rodney processed the words. "You did not, you fucking asshole. You did not quote fucking Speed at me. A fucking Keanu Reeves movie!"

The man twisted to Rodney, distracted by the sudden tirade and loosened his grip enough, so when Rodney raised the gun, yelling, "I'll show you shoot the fucking hostage," John was able to duck off to the side when Rodney shot the asshole in the head.

Fran screamed, and ran toward Rodney with a scalpel in one hand and a syringe in another. John pulled his gun from his ankle holster and shot her before she could hurt him.

Rodney glared at him, reaching a hand down to help him up. "I should fucking shoot you for that."

"Only after I shoot you for getting yourself in this mess to begin with," John countered, pissed again, now that he thought about it. "Asshole. I fucking told you so. You owe me at least ten years of fucking blow jobs before you can even try to get killed on the job."

There was a sudden burst of activity from upstairs which heralded the backup they needed about five minutes ago. "Rain check on those blow jobs until after my head stops throbbing."

John wrapped his arm around Rodney's shoulder, replied, "Sure, I'll let you get back to me. With interest, of course."

"What the fucking hell," O'Neill yelled as he entered the room and took in the scene. "You two get into more trouble than the entire force combined. Wait for fucking backup and you wouldn't even get in these messes. I guess I should be grateful you left the building intact this time."

Snorting, Rodney leaned against John, and said, "I'm getting too old for this shit."

John sighed, leading Rodney out of the room and up to the waiting ambulance that Rodney wasn't going to want to take unless John offered to bribe him with a few blow jobs of his own. "You and me both, buddy."


The End.