The Twenty Year Thaw by denynothing1, Part 2/2

[denynothing1.livejournal.com]

The Twenty Year Thaw

Author: denynothing1

Rating: On the soft side of explicit.
AU, McKay/Sheppard
Word count: 17,500 I fail at flashfic.
AN: Seriously fluffy crack herein. Or cracked-out fluff. I can't decide.
Thanks to haphazardmethod and cofax7 for beta. They both deserve a medal for making the characterizations here much better than they were originally. As my ski bunny, beta, I absolve cofax of all skiing/snowboarding errors. She did her best to keep me honest, but I still left in some bits I made up to serve the story.
Disclaimer: For fun, not profit.




It wasn't often that Rodney took advantage of the shower in the men's locker room, since a day spent on the phone or in front of a computer didn't exactly work him into enough of a sweat to need one. As it was, he begged off going in with John and Ronon, claiming he had to check in with Elizabeth. After waiting to be sure John had finished and was no doubt back in the bar at the pool tables, hustling schoolchildren for quarters, Rodney enjoyed a long, hot and blissfully isolated shower. He thought for a moment about finishing with a blast of cold water, just in case, then rolled his eyes at himself. He wasn't nineteen anymore. Which meant he was perfectly capable of controlling his baser feelings and not allowing them to control him, thank you very much.

Self-indulgence had cost him dearly once. That wasn't going to happen again. About to dress in his spare set of sweats for the necessarily quick, freezing cold walk to his condo, he abruptly changed his mind. The resort was hushed, battened down for the coming storm. He'd prepared as well as he could, but he knew the next couple days could get hairy, and he also knew he wouldn’t be getting much sleep, or a chance to relax. The shower had done wonders for the joint aches that, together with a feeling of pride and one spectacular bruise on his hip, were his only tangible reward for running John's ridiculous race, but he knew they'd get worse. There was also a downside to not being nineteen anymore.

He wrapped his towel more firmly around his waist and headed out the back door of the locker room. Atlantis Spa was going to be the pride and joy of Pegasus once Elizabeth finally finished remodeling it. At least the new sauna was operational and would probably be empty now. Most of the guests and staff who were planning to ride out the storm would be at dinner and everyone else had gone back to town.

When he reached the heavy door, he noted that its tiny porthole of a window was almost opaque with condensation. He glanced at the controls. Someone had left the temperature way too high. Trust the people who didn't pay the bills to be so careless. He stomped into the dim, fragrant darkness, then froze.

"Rodney, you're letting all the steam out."

Somewhere, some deity, in whom he absolutely, positively did not believe, really hated him.

John was lying on the back bench. Completely nude of course. As Rodney started to back out with a strangled, "Oh, um…" John sat up and flipped a towel over his lap.

"It doesn't work with the door open, Rodney. Come in and shut the damn door."

Blankly, he shut the door behind him and walked two steps to the bench closest to it. John didn't lie back down, but just sat there, towel still over his lap. Rodney wasn't even going to analyze that. He left his own towel on, too.

John leaned back and half-closed his eyes and Rodney found himself reviewing the last spread sheet he'd looked at in a desperate attempt not to conjure up the brief glimpse he'd gotten of all six feet two inches of Sheppard naked. He shook his head, got up and poured some water on the hot stones piled in the center of the room. Fresh steam clouded his view of John, who was lounging like a leopard following a tasty snack. And oh, Rodney's brain truly was mush if all it could come up with today where John was concerned was dog and cat metaphors.

As steam continued to billow up, John leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. His hair had finally met its match and was laying mostly flat, making him look younger and more vulnerable. To his surprise, Rodney missed the cockscomb, and didn’t exactly welcome this reminder of John Sheppard, twenty year-old downhill phenom and love of Rodney's life. Well, as much of one as a person could be, after a three night stand.

"So what do you think?" John said.

Rodney swallowed. "A-- about?"

"The race, McKay. We figure we could sell it as a triathlon-type deal or a relay. Maybe both. We could get some pros in, or, I don't know, ex-pros -- between us, we probably have the guys still hanging around the North American and European circuits covered -- and we could do a charity run, maybe, for publicity--"

Showers were good for organizing one's thoughts, even warm ones. Over the last fifteen minutes, he'd let his mind wander over Sheppard, sure, but also Sheppard's and Ronon's race. Much to his delight, he'd solved its biggest problem in a flash of inspiration. He snorted. "Now I know why you came to me."

"What?"

"Oh yes, I can just see a bunch of too cool for school pro skiers and board riders hopping around in the snow while they change boots in the middle of a race. How will they handle all those groupies, once they get a load of that?"

John scowled. "Don't tell me you didn't have fun out there, McKay, I saw you. So your feet got a little wet--"

"A little? I still can't feel my toes! It's a good thing I'm as fast as I am, or frostbite would have set in!"

To his surprise, instead of yelling back at him, John licked his lips and looked down at Rodney's bare feet. "Are you-- You're not--"

"No, you simpleton, I'm kidding. Well, I'm kidding about the frostbite, but not the fact that if Zelenka's video had survived my new nickname was going to be Dances in Socks."

John looked mulish. "Well I had fun. And by the way, you owe me a hundred bucks."

"You can take it off my bill."

"Bill for what?"

"The revolutionary McKay Convertible Ski Slash Board Boot that I am going to design. Not to mention the detachable board bindings to go with it. No need to thank me, and yes, it is more than you deserve. God, I really am a genius."

"The McKay Convertible… Okay. And this revolutionary boot is going to be designed by you and what engineering team?"

"Oh, please. I have a degree in engineering. I also have an enormous brain, I have Zelenka, and he has a workshop. Why would I need an engineering team?"

Abruptly, John leaned back against the wall. Three hushed breaths later, almost meditatively, he said, "Thanks, Rodney." He didn't smile, but the vertical line between his brows cleared as he looked intently at Rodney with… gratitude? Humor? …Pleasure? God, why was Rodney so bad at reading expressions? He blamed the steam.

"I um-- Okay, yes, it's an excellent concept," Rodney said, deciding to ignore the implications of that look the same way he was ignoring the towel business. "The race, I mean. Obviously all your focus is on going fast, so you need someone who can work out the nitty gritty, Point A to Point B details. Because those so clearly aren't your strong suit--" And he almost choked, as he realized he had said something entirely too similar for comfort, to John, twenty years ago, at a drunken party in an Olympic Village, which had led to… something he did not want to bring up.

"What would we do without you, McKay," John said dryly. How nice for him, sitting there, relaxed and apparently flashback-free.

Rodney cleared his throat and said, cautiously, "So, do you-- are you going to franchise the idea, or try to build a circuit or--" He paused as John's hand came up to absently scratch his belly, then rub up his chest through the sweat pouring off his skin.

"I don't know. I'm-- I'm getting a little tired of moving around. You know how it is."

"No. No, actually I don't," Rodney snapped.

"Hmm." John lifted the edge of the towel to wipe his face, then looked at Rodney speculatively. "You got a degree?"

"Yes. I--" Did John really want to know this? From the look on his face, he did. "I went back to school after I left the circuit. I-- I got a respectable job and then I… missed the mountains. So. Eventually I found my way here."

"How long have you been here?"

"Seven years."

John smiled, the first real smile he'd given Rodney since he walked in the door. "Yeah, I figured it had been a while. The way people talk about you around here it's like you're part of the place."

"People… Oh, no, no. You can't believe everything you hear, you know. I'm a tough boss, but I'm quite fair. Which god knows, considering the amount of whining I have to put up with--"

"Relax, McKay. They like you. They really like you. Well." John looked thoughtful in a way that was clearly feigned. "Most of them do."

"Oh, good god, do not even tell me you've been talking to Cadman. The woman is certifiable."

John slouched back against the wall again, but now he just looked tired. He rubbed his shoulder and said, "I'm glad you enjoyed the race. I knew if we could convince you-- well. You know. You're the smartest guy I know about… a lot of things. And, um. Yeah. Thanks."

Rodney had the sudden and ridiculous urge to walk across the sauna and, in the most asexual way possible, give John a hug. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you-- your shoulder, when I ran into you?"

"Huh? No, you barely touched me. This is-- Christ, I can't even remember where I got this. Vail, maybe. The weird thing is, it hurts more as I start to loosen up. It goes away eventually."

Okay, Rodney thought, they were now officially getting into a weird area, when a casual statement like that sounded like the best metaphor for his personal life he'd ever heard. "Um, I think the masseuse might still be here," he said hesitantly.

John's head had been down as he rubbed his shoulder; now he looked up through the damp hair hanging over his eyes. His lips twisted in a half-smirk, half-smile. "Thanks. I can deal."

Rodney involuntarily smiled back, then felt his mouth go slack as he stared at John's bright eyes and the sweat rolling down his flushed cheeks.

He abruptly got up and poured another cupful of water over the rocks. "Don't stay in here too long, John. And don't fall asleep, okay?"

John blinked slowly at him, then gave a little shrug. He stretched back out on the bench, closed his eyes and nodded.

Rodney resolutely walked to the locker room, changed clothes and headed to his condo to wait for the storm. And if he called the masseuse, the spa attendant and room service on the way and directed them to do a number of things that he thought would make John's night easier, well. No one had to know about that.


***~*~***


The storm lasted three days.

Rodney spent the first day in his office, though there wasn't nearly as much to do as he'd thought there might be. His preparations were solid and his staff trained for what to expect.

The second night, they lost power from the main line. That was the first time he'd seen John since the sauna. He'd been passing through the bar, which was operating by candlelight to conserve the generator, and had waved distractedly at John and Ronon, who were seated by the fire with a cheerful mix of guests and instructors.

"Hey Rodney, I'm telling 'em about the time you missed a gate at Saalbach, climbed back up and went through, then still won because nobody else could handle the course," John called out.

"Oh? And did you also tell them about the 300 pound swordfish I caught in Lake Champlain?" Rodney snorted, to general laughter. As he kept walking, heading for the kitchens to see if Elizabeth needed any help, his breath caught. That race had not only happened the way John described, it had happened in 1991. Long after John Sheppard had stopped paying any attention to anything Rodney was doing. Or so he had assumed. That was… something he would think about later, he told himself determinedly.

The third day, they got the power back on, but snow and wind were still screaming over the mountain. Rodney was at the point of suggesting that every stir-crazed idiot in the lodge climb up to the roof and jump off into a snow drift, because they were all driving him nuts. The only reason he didn't suggest it was that he knew at least half of them would do it, with Sheppard and Dex leading the way.

"You!" he barked at Zelenka, who was creating a Rube Goldberg device on top of the bar using swizel sticks, a string of Christmas lights, a ping pong ball and a margarita glass. "We're going to the shop. Now!"

"What for?"

"I'll tell you when we get there! And you!" he yelled at Dex, who was sitting by the fire, idly strumming a battered guitar and listening to Keller, the Ski Patrol EMT, read… was that Little Women? "Where's Sheppard?"

"Don't know. He and Teyla went somewhere."

"Oh. Well, you and Zelenka come with me. We're going to invent something revolutionary."

"I will bring beer," Radek said.

Which is how they all -- including Keller -- ended up in Zelenka's shop, and spent an enjoyable twenty minutes eviscerating an old pair of ski boots and Ronon's fifth-best board boots.

Sheppard and Teyla wandered into the shop about the time Rodney was using a hunting knife to flay open the second board boot. He looked up to see them laughing, heads together, and almost flayed his thumb. "Something funny?" he asked.

"John was just telling me of the time he and some friends taught a pig to ski."

"John is just full of stories these days," Rodney muttered.

"What you got here, Rodney?" John peered down at the work table.

"Stand back, I am about to make history. And change your life."

John was still looking down at the boot carcass on the table, but Rodney could see him lick his lips. "You seem to make a habit of that."

"Yes, well. Zelenka!" He felt himself flush and hoped nobody in the room noticed. With an imperious snap of his fingers, he barked, "Hinge!"

Rodney was pleased with the way his vision took shape. Okay, maybe not the part where one half of the McKay Convertible Ski/Board Boot was pink and the other half purple, but Keller claimed she'd buy a pair only if it came in those colors, so maybe they were on to something.

The final product was a crude prototype, but still close to what Rodney had imagined. It had the hard, fixed angle of a ski boot until a pin on each side was released. Then a hinge allowed the board boot top to move freely, so the rider could control his board. Most importantly, nobody would have to hop around in the snow to get into the damned things.

John was drafted for the first test run, and stood easily on top of a snowboard laid across a set of rollers. In the outlandish boots, bending his knees and shifting his weight, he was more attractive than any guinea pig had a right to be. He clapped Zelenka on the shoulder, flirted with Keller and laughed with Teyla, and Rodney found himself feeling… happy. Even if John hadn't really said much to him except, "Hey, Rodney, if the ski director thing gets old, I hear Project Runway calling your name."

Ronon strolled over as Rodney was stowing the tools. "Hey." His voice was a quieter rumble than usual. "This might work. Good job, McKay."

"Hmm, yes," Rodney said. "Never underestimate the inspirational power of having to run through the snow in your socks."

"So." Ronon's voice dropped even more. "You know if she's seeing anyone?"

"Who, Teyla?"

"Keller."

"I-- Keller?" Rodney looked over to where Keller was coaxing one boot off John so she could try it on. "Keller? Why would I know-- Do I look like a gossip columnist to you? I have no idea. Anyway, I thought you and Sheppar--" He abruptly snapped his lips closed.

"Me and Sheppard what?"

He kept his mouth tightly shut for all of two seconds, then burst out, "You know! You hang out together, you travel together--" He stopped in confusion as Ronon looked down at him with an enormous grin. He didn't laugh, which Rodney counted as a kindness.

"No, McKay, we're not-- you know."

"Oh." Rodney put his head down and pretended the information didn't matter.

"For one thing, I don't swing that way."

"Oh, I'm--" Oh, god. "I didn't mean--"

"Relax, McKay, I don't mind. And Sheppard…"

"Sh- Sheppard?"

"Yeah, well, Sheppard swings… every way, I think. He just doesn't… swing very often."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's weird. Eh, maybe he's just really picky. Or you know, he is pretty old."

"Oh, that is not even funny."

Ronon walked back over to the group around the board and reached out to steady Keller, who was now wearing both boots and swinging back and forth, holding John's hand. John was smiling, no doubt completely oblivious to what that did to Rodney.

He absently picked plastic shavings and foam insulation off the work bench, then glanced over at the group again. This time John's smile was directed only at him. "Thanks, McKay," he said, in a quiet voice. Rodney was pretty sure he kept smiling, even when Rodney abruptly announced that, unlike some people, he had work to do, and walked, in a perfectly composed way, back to his office.

He sat in front of the satellite image on his computer and contemplated the mindless, muddled, twisting storm clouds with an uncomfortable, kindred feeling. The screen might as well be labeled "McKay's Stupid Head, February 7, 2008." He shook himself and, with an annoyed snort, opened a spreadsheet on top of the satellite image. After three minutes of staring at it, without comprehending a single thing on the page, he snapped the laptop shut and rifled through his desk for scrap paper.

Most of his design work was done on the computer these days, but sometimes, he liked doing things the old way, where he could see the whole concept at a glance. The note paper he finally pulled from the back of a drawer had a frog at the top, with a little speech balloon that said, "Have a hoppy day!"

He picked up his drafting pen and deliberately wrote, "John," at the top of the page. After several seconds of consideration, he added, "Sheppard," and underlined both words twice. Underneath, he wrote, "Plan of Attack," and then the number one. He bent over the page, and began to write furiously.


***~*~***


The day after the storm was refreshingly clear. When the sun came up it would reveal slopes covered in deep, tempting powder. The hordes would be coming up the mountain any moment now, and Rodney's first order of business was to take care of the potential avalanche risk at the top of the uppermost runs.

"You ready?" he said to Lorne as they met at the ski shop.

"Let's do it." Lorne had the case of charges under one arm, the last thing, besides Rodney and himself, to go into the waiting helicopter.

"Hey McKay, wait up!"

Rodney turned to find Ronon and his snowboard advancing on them. "Oh no. Don't even think about it."

"You seriously think I'm going to pass up a chance to be the first one down through all that powder?"

"Dex, there is not enough insurance in the world--"

"Oh, untwist a little, McKay. I'm not gonna sue anyone. Once you set off those things, it'll be fine. You can drop me at the top and I'll be at the bottom before you even land."

Rodney peered behind Ronon. "Where's Sheppard? The two of you together could no doubt set off an avalanche all on your own, but at least I wouldn't have to worry about you being alone."

"You kidding? He's got clients booked up the wazoo. Come on, McKay. I'll be fine."

Rodney took in Ronon's glowing face. Sometimes, because of his size, it was easy to forget how young he was. And Rodney was not a twisted up-- whatever, no matter what anyone might think.

"You have your transponder?"

Ronon rolled his eyes and nodded.

"Okay, but if you don't come down off that mountain in one piece, I'll confine you to the bunny hill for the rest of the season."

"Deal," Ronon yelled and brushed past McKay to jog toward the chopper.

"If you tell anyone about this, you're on oil change duty for every vehicle on this place," Rodney growled at Lorne.

"I don't know why that's such a threat, I have to do that anyway," Lorne retorted. But he was smiling as he climbed into he pilot's seat, making Rodney wonder if his reputation as the biggest, meanest boss this side of the Rockies was about to undergo a change. Rodney blamed John Sheppard. It seemed the thing to do.


***~*~***


Yes, Rodney, thought. It was probably best to blame John Sheppard for everything. He couldn't remember why that was, but somehow he knew it to be true. He was freezing cold, his hair was soaking wet and he couldn't feel his feet. He opened his eyes to the eerie blue of packed snow overhead, then cursed as a frigid drop of water plopped down and hit his cheek. As he reached up to wipe it away, the last few minutes he'd been conscious came flooding back.

He remembered… The flight to the top of the mountain. The stunning view of the snow-covered range encompassed by the Athosian reservation laid out before them. The teeth rattling explosions as the charges he dropped so precisely took down one delicate, deadly cornice after another.

He'd been doing this for years, and the method to laying the charges was no mystery. It was all physics. The mass of powder, accelerated just so, multiplied to create unimaginable force. They had finished quickly, just as the sun rose full. The snow was as tamed and settled as he could manage.

They'd hovered a few feet over the top of the mountain to drop off Ronon. He remembered Ronon's excited smile as he'd practically dived over the side. They weren't going to leave him, of course. They'd follow at a safe distance, so the vibrations of the chopper wouldn’t cause its own set of problems.

He remembered Lorne radioing the all clear back to base and the notification that they were heading in. He remembered the flicker of concern on Lorne's face at the first, unexpected, shuddering hiccup of the rotor overhead, Lorne's emphatic, "May Day! May Day!" into the radio and he remembered… nothing after that.

God damn you, Sheppard, he thought, as he gazed at the blue ice overhead. You come back and taunt me to make a move (at least, I think that's what you've been doing) and I act like a grownup because I am not going through that with you again. And just when I decide what the hell… because yes, I have decided what the hell, why not, I deserve another chance at your beautiful mouth and your clever hands and your annoyingly fit ass, and then I go and die in a helicopter crash. Your timing is lousy as usual. Why the hell didn’t you come to Pegasus last year, dammit?

"Hey, McKay, you awake?"

Great, and now he was hallucinating. "Oh, just leave me alone and let me sleep," he mumbled.

"McKay." The hallucination was shaking his shoulder.

He opened one eye and thought, huh, that's a detailed hallucination and I wish I had all that hair. I'd die a hell of a lot warmer.

"McKay, come on. I need you to help me splint Lorne's leg. He's in a lot of pain."

"What?"

"Get up, McKay. I know you hit your head pretty hard, but you've been mostly conscious for the last ten minutes, so I think you're okay and no way in hell am I letting you sleep."

Rodney blinked, then lifted up enough to prop himself on his elbows. He was lying in a respectably-sized snow cave, not in an air pocket under a hundred feet snow, as he'd first thought. Golden sunlight glanced through the opening six feet from him. If he'd had his wits about him, he would have realized that was the only reason he'd been able to see at all. Lorne was lying perpendicular to him, a grimace on his face as Ronon lined up broken tree boughs alongside his right leg.

"Good god," Rodney said to Ronon, as he scrambled to his feet. "Did you-- You rescued us?"

"I haven't rescued anyone yet, McKay."

"You rescued us, McKay. Believe it or not." Lorne's voice was thready and he sounded really, really annoyed.

"What? I don't remember--"

"Yeah, 'cause you hit your head pretty hard. I landed the chopper--"

"You landed-- I thought we crashed!"

"Nah, I set it down." Lorne waved his hand as if landing a malfunctioning helicopter about to smash into the side of a mountain was an everyday occurence for him. "We thought everything was okay, but then the damned thing started to roll. I kept trying to hold it steady, and you finally pushed me out and jumped after me. The whole thing went ass over teakettle ten seconds later. It's lying in a heap in some trees about a quarter mile down the slope."

"I pushed you?"

"Well yeah. Sorta dragged and pushed. And you were yelling a lot. I wanted to stay with her, but-- Thanks, by the way, even if I did break my damn leg on the way down."

"And you…?" He turned to Ronon.

"Saw you go down. Pulled you down here and dug in to get us out of the wind. Patrol should be here soon."

"Right," Rodney said, then, "Oh my god, let me do that." He knelt down next to Lorne. "Do they not teach first aid at snowboard camp?"

The two of them spent an unpleasant ten minutes binding the splint to Lorne's lower leg, which was bent at a nasty angle. When they were done, Rodney stomped outside the snow cave and shielded his eyes against the glare. He gave a shudder at the only part of the helicopter he could see, a twisted rotor blade about a hundred feet down the slope.

"Know where we are?" Ronon ducked out of the cave and stood next to him.

"Of course! Well. I know the general direction, and besides, it isn't nearly as necessary for me to know where we are as for search and rescue to pick up our transponders. And if they don't get here soon and we have to find our own way down, I am going to hand Keller her head for making us go through disaster drills that were obviously meaningless exercises!"

"Sheppard always says the louder you get, the less sure you are of what you're saying."

"Do you two talk about anything besides me?"

Ronon just smirked.

After a few more minutes spent stamping their feet to stay warm, Rodney crawled back into the cave to check on Lorne. "You okay, Evan?"

Lorne blinked up at him and grimaced. "Yeah, I'm okay. I wish we'd grabbed the med kit with the pain killers in it from the chopper, but I guess we were kind of busy surviving and all. I'll live." He closed his eyes again; Rodney could tell despite his stoic response that he was in a good deal of pain.

"Dammit," Rodney said under his breath.

He was contemplating climbing down the slope to see if he could find the medical kit in the debris field, when Ronon roared, "McKay!"

"What? What? What's wrong?"

Ronon ducked his head into the cave entrance. "Dogs."

Rodney scrambled out into the open. His breath was so loud in his own ears, at first he could hear nothing else, but then, faintly, the high-pitched, full-throated yapping of a scent hound pack came floating up the mountain. He'd know that sound anywhere. They were safe. "Teyla!" He yelled. "Up here!" he shook Ronon's shoulder. "Yell!"

They yelled loud enough to shake loose snow off the branches of the surrounding trees, then yelled even louder as the sound of the dog pack was joined by the roar of snowmobiles.

He had to spend an annoying minute fending off the enthusiastic greeting of the dogs , then sighed with relief as three snowmobiles converged on them, carrying Teyla, Keller and Teyla's dog team leader, Jinto. To Rodney's surprise, he realized the black-suited figure seated behind Teyla was John.

"Lorne!" He ducked into the cave. "Get ready, we're going to get you out." He scrambled out of the cave, then let out a yelp. A shiny thermal blanket came down over his head, then wrapped so tightly around him he could hardly breath. He pushed his head up out of its crackling folds and stared down at Sheppard, who was holding the blanket tight with one hand and digging in a pack with the other. "What are you--? Oh, thank you."

Rodney accepted the bottle of water gratefully. He drank the whole thing as he watched Sheppard help to load Lorne onto the sled behind one of the snowmobiles. It was big enough to carry three bodies. God only knew what the searchers had expected to find.

"Rodney, are you okay?" Once they got Evan situated, Teyla actually put her arms around him. He looked over at John as he stood mutely by Ronon, then back down into Teyla's worried face.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I hit my head, I think."

"No guessing about that, McKay," Ronon said. "You were out cold."

Keller bustled over from where she had been tending to Lorne. "You need to be checked for a concussion, Rodney," she said. She snapped on a pen light and he gave a long-suffering sigh as she dazzled his eyes with it. "Okay, for now. I'll check again when we get down to the med station."

"And then you need to see a doctor, Rodney," Teyla chimed in. "And you as well, Ronon, even if you are not hurt. You need to be seen for frostbite at the very least."

"What I really need is a beer."

"All the beer," Rodney replied, with another glance at John. "All the beer in the world is yours. Canadian beer. I insist."

Ronon smirked. "Told you it was a good idea to bring me along." He clapped John on the shoulder. "Come on, Sheppard. Let's get out of here."

Rodney winced at John's imperceptible flinch. John's face was composed, but his eyes were terrifying, full of pain and fear. He looked as if the search had ended badly, instead of relatively well. Flashback, Rodney suspected, and felt the overwhelming urge to walk over and comfort him, though he wasn't exactly sure how. "Hey, we're alive," he wanted to say. If he were really brave, he'd say, "You won't get rid of me so easily this time."

But apparently Rodney's bravery only extended to saving people during helicopter crashes. He was hustled onto the back of a snowmobile and carried back down the mountain before he could get the words out.


***~*~***


Rodney shut the door to his condo with a weary sigh. It felt nearly as cold inside as it did out, as he always turned the thermostat down as low as it could go when he wasn't here. No matter, it would warm up enough for him to change and get into bed. They'd fed him and Ronon like conquering heroes up at the resort restaurant. John and Teyla had disappeared to meet clients. Rodney had brushed off Elizabeth's protests and checked in with the staff on what turned out to be an extraordinarily busy day for business, even with a quarter of the mountain off limits until all the pieces of the morning's adventure had been picked up.

He'd worked a couple hours, which had helped settle him, and now all that was needed to put this day behind him was to set the alarm clock and try to get some sleep. Keller had insisted, before she accompanied Lorne down to the hospital, that the price of letting Rodney stay behind was that he woke himself up every two hours, just to be sure he could come awake.

He slept for a few hours in his borrowed t-shirt and sweats, too exhausted to change. He was half-expecting either Elizabeth or Teyla to check on him, so the knock on the door later in the evening came as no surprise.

"Teyla, I told you-- Oh."

John stomped his boots on Rodney's doormat, then brushed past him.

"Come in, why don't you," Rodney said blankly to the empty doorway, then shut the door and turned to face John. Who wasn't there. "Sheppard?"

John came walking back into the living room, having obviously rifled Rodney's hall closet for a blanket and pillow. "I'm staying overnight," he announced. He threw the bedding on the sofa, then walked over to examine the gas fireplace. "Jesus, Rodney, it's freezing in here. Does this thing even work?"

"It works, but I hardly ever--" With a whoosh, the fire ignited, and danced cheerily -- mockingly, Rodney thought -- over the ceramic logs. "Use it," he said.

John looked up at him, an odd, speculative look on his face. This was the last thing Rodney needed, another go-round about… whatever.

"Look," he said, as John shrugged off his jacket and started to walk toward him. "I don't need a nursemaid. Go away-- mnph."

The only thing gentle about the kiss was that John used his hand to cradle Rodney's head and keep it from knocking against the door. Rodney automatically shut his eyes. He breathed, sort of, through his nose as the tip of John's tongue brushed inside Rodney's lips and his thankfully warm other hand up under Rodney's shirt. All Rodney could do was hum in surprise. He started to see stars and felt his knees begin to buckle as John made an impatient sound, then licked at Rodney's tongue and curled his own around it.

As Rodney really did start to slide to the floor, and oh, wasn't that just the perfect end to all this, him on the ground again, John lifted his mouth. He was breathing hard and his eyes were closed. When he finally opened them, they were foggy with the same worry and hurt they'd shown up on the mountain, plus… oh god, desire so strong, Rodney's knees finally gave up.

"Are you hurt somewhere else?" John gasped as he grabbed Rodney around the waist and pulled him up. "Did I hurt you?" He started to run his fingers through Rodney's hair.

"No, no, you didn't hurt me! You almost gave me a heart attack, but you didn't--"

"Sit down," John said, and dragged him to the couch. "Jesus, McKay, if you ever do anything like that to me again--"

"I don't want to sit down," Rodney said, as he sat. "And I didn't do anything! The helicopter crashed. Not my fault! I want to go to- to-- Look, what is this? You don't even acknowledge I exist for twenty years and then you practically smother me up on the mountain and then, you show up here acting like-- what are you doing?

John was kneeling in front of him, pulling off his socks. "Checking for frostbite, what does it look like I'm doing?"

"Keller already did that. I'm fine, just-- Oh, god." Rodney fell back against the sofa as John's big hands enveloped one bare foot and started to rub and squeeze. His feet really were fine, but they'd been cold all day and had never truly warmed up. Now they were rapidly warming. In fact, every part of him was rapidly warming.

He looked down at John's bent head, then reached out tentatively to touch the spiky strands that had been tempting him for weeks. So soft. Just as soft as he remembered. "Are you really--" he choked. "Do you really want--"

John just butted his head up against Rodney's hand, then looked up and smiled. This time Rodney was somewhat prepared as John swooped up and whispered against his mouth, "Yeah, Rodney. I really want."

Rodney tightened his grip in John's hair and pulled him in. He pushed his tongue into John's mouth, sliding deep over and over again. He was so preoccupied with the heady taste and slick feel that he mindlessly moved exactly where John's hands guided him. He lifted his hips and felt his sweats being pulled down. He barely had time to realize that he was so hard it hurt when John broke the kiss and bent down to rub and swirl his tongue around the tip of Rodney's cock. Then he fit his lips around it and slowly slid down.

"Oh god," Rodney gasped. The muscles in his ass clenched and his hips bucked involuntarily. "I'm not-- wait, wait--"

"Hmm, no," John muttered, pulling off. He sat back and suddenly grinned as he caught Rodney's astonished gaze. He leaned back in and ran his tongue up the length of Rodney's cock. "Mmmhmm, no frostbite here." He was breathing hard. "But wait, I gotta check--" And he ran his tongue back down and then over Rodney's balls, pushing just hard enough, licking, and-- was that his hand? God, yes, John's fingers, a little rough, sliding behind Rodney's balls, pressing up, and Rodney gave a frustrated sound as he tried to spread his legs with borrowed sweat pants rucked down around his knees.

And then it didn't matter as John opened his mouth and swallowed him down again. He was humming, then sucking so hard; like he was starving for it. Starving for Rodney, and if Rodney'd had two neurons to rub together a that point, he would have tried to analyze that, because John starving for him was-- oh dear god. Rodney keened helplessly and no, no good; neurons all gone. John got in two or three more hard, greedy sucks, before Rodney gave a warning, "Unnngh," and tried to push John's head out of the way.

He made another strangled sound, then his hips jerked up spastically as he came and came with one hand buried in John's hair and the other cupping the back of his neck. His chin dropped to his chest and he took a couple deep breaths before he loosened his grip and hoped he hadn't done any damage. He floated for a moment, completely boneless and not entirely sure what had just happened.

As his brain started to knit itself back together, he realized three things: his head hurt like hell, John's head was resting on Rodney's thigh, and he was making a pained, frustrated noise that hurt Rodney's heart.

"Come up here," Rodney said. "Come up, up, now." His arms were pretty well useless, but he managed to get John onto the couch next to him, and to take John's hot, rigid cock in his hand. John had gotten as far as getting his jeans unbuttoned. Rodney would do the rest.

He shifted so he was facing John and took a chance to look into his eyes. Those usually distant eyes now filled with pleasure; such a naked look, Rodney almost wished he'd close them. "It's okay," he crooned, feeling a little silly, but still loving the way John shuddered as Rodney's fist glided up his cock in one luxurious pull. "Come on, John."

"Hnh." John threw his head back.

Rodney, never one to miss an obvious cue -- well, almost never -- leaned over and whispered in his ear, "John, my god, do you know, do you know how many times I thought of you just like this? Just like this, hard and hot and thick in my hand? In my mouth, god, in my ass--" and that was it.

John arched his back and hot, sticky liquid spurted so hard it spattered up Rodney's t-shirt and then dripped over his hand. He used it to lubricate a couple more glides of his hand, gentling John down as his harsh breathing slowed and his body relaxed.

Rodney released John's cock reluctantly when he made an inarticulate sound of discomfort. Sensitive. He was sensitive after, Rodney remembered. He smiled as John's head dropped forward and came to rest on Rodney's shoulder.

After a minute, John said, "Jesus, Rodney, look at your t-shirt."

Rodney's eyes opened and looked down. "Huh. That's okay. It's not my mine."

Once they started laughing, it was hard to stop. Rodney's head really ached now. It was getting to be blistering hot in front of the fire and the idea of climbing the stairs to bed held even more appeal than kissing John again.

Well, almost more appeal. John's response was gratifyingly pliant. His head dropped back and he let Rodney kiss everything he'd wanted to kiss for four, long weeks and occasionally (but only occasionally, because he wasn't completely pathetic) for twenty years before that. Even John's stubbled cheeks felt good under Rodney's lips.

"Why did you-- how did you-- I thought you hated me," Rodney heard himself say against the soft skin below John's ear.

"What?" John pushed him away slightly and blinked up at him.

"You never-- Oh, never mind. I don't care anymore." He leaned forward to kiss John's open mouth.

"Wait," John said, though it sounded more like, "Worgh." He kissed Rodney back, hard, then pulled back. "Why would I hate you?"

"You never came back. In Calgary. To the, um-- to see. Me. Can we--"

"McKay, for god's sake, I yelled for you after the race and by the way, you never tried to get in touch with me either. Was your dialing finger broken?"

"You… yelled for me? What?"

John's face reddened, and it wasn't from the heat of the fire. He licked his lips. "Didn't you see me after the race? The footage was all over the damned place. I yelled, 'McKay, I did it,' and Jesus Rodney, you're supposed to be the genius, and you never noticed--"

"McKay? You said 'McKay, I did it?' Not 'Okay, I did it?'" Rodney gaped at him. "You got saddled with quite possibly the stupidest nickname in all of sports because of me?"

John flopped back on the couch and let out a long-suffering sigh.

"Oh." Rodney stared at him for a moment, and then started to grin. "That's actually kind of-- agh!"

He stared up at John, who had tackled him backward into the sofa pillows. "I was twenty years old and I was an idiot, okay, McKay? And you never-- I never saw you around again after that, and I-- I wanted to, but they wouldn't leave me alone. They interviewed me so much I lost my voice, for fuck's sake--"

"I don't see why. All you ever said was, 'Yeah, it was great.' 'How did it go up there, Kid?' 'Yeah, it was great.' Would it have killed you to talk about how you analyzed the course so well? With my expert help, by the way-- ow!"

"Not the point, Rodney." John took a deep breath. "So yeah, I couldn't get away but you never tried to see me, either--"

"I had three races to prepare for! And I did try! But it was… well, I was, I don't know what I was, and you were all anybody talked about and I lost all three of those damned races, and I thought you probably wouldn't want to see me again, and-- oh my god, this is the most ridiculous conversation after sex I've ever had in my life."

John stared at him for a moment, then smiled slowly. "Ditto." He dropped his head onto Rodney's shoulder.

"Anyway." Rodney absently rubbed his hand through John's hair. It was damp at the back of his neck. "That's the past and this, right now is-- um. Really--"

"Yeah, it was great."

Rodney pushed him onto the floor. Which annoyingly didn't have the desired effect of stopping John's evil snorts of laughter.

"Okay." Rodney said. And sat up.

"Okay… what?"

Rodney pulled up his sweats and lifted himself off the couch. "Okay, I've got to take some ibuprofen and go to bed, and you've got to--" He bit his lip.

"Go to bed with you?"

Rodney swallowed. "I've got to wake up every two hours, Keller said, and you must be exhausted--"

"Oh, I'll wake you up."

"You-- oh."

"Yeah, I think we should have sex in a bed," John mused. "Just to, you know, see if it works for us now."

"Well. That sounds like an excellent… plan. Congratulations, you have learned how to think ahead."

John grinned and hauled himself up, then groaned. "Oh my god, remind me never to blow you while I'm on my knees. I'm going to need an hour in the whirlpool tomorrow."

"Says the man who still thinks nothing of throwing himself down a mountain like a twenty year-old."

"Says the man who threw himself out of a helicopter this morning."

"Yes, well, the only place I want to throw myself now is bed."

"You really are a genius, McKay."

John was leaning over the controls by the fireplace; long legs, wiry body, hair going in every direction and the thought that had been hovering just outside Rodney's consciousness hit full force. He dropped the blanket he'd been bundling up. "Oh my God."

"What?" John turned in alarm. "What, is your head--"

"No, I just realized you're really here. It took you twenty years, but you're actually here."

John bit his lip. "It's good right? I know it's kind of sudden, but I-- I just… saw your name in Skiing one day and decided I had to give it a shot."

"Sudden? Sudden? Hello, twenty years! And you've been here almost a month. You could have said something over the last couple weeks. It's not like I was going anywhere."

"Yeah well, I was kind of… working up to the explanation part of it. At least I got you out of that damned office."

"I thought I was going to have to convince you. I drew up a plan."

"What?"

"I had it all worked out. I-- oh."

John was suddenly wrapped around him, arms tight, lips against his hair. "I like my way better," he whispered. "Take a leap over the edge. See what happens."

Rodney thought of his beautifully annotated plan, carefully folded and hidden away in his desk. John leaned in to kiss him and Rodney made a note to feed the plan into the shredder when he got to the office in the morning.

He closed his eyes. And leaped.