Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was a bad sign that the first thing he did when he entered any big city, even a relatively small big city, was look for a particular type of bar. A gathering place, something that seemed familiar to him and accepting of his type. There was usually one in every big town, and New York and LA had a few, three or four, enough of them to leave him feeling torn and strange, strained with the energies of the place.

Colorado Springs had the Air Force Academy, a hell of a lot of mega-churches, and one seedy little shit hole built into the end unit of a strip mall beside a Chinese restaurant. At least if the place was a dive, John could get takeout and take it back to the hotel with him — he'd done that a few times.

Tomorrow he'd have to pretend to be normal and ordinary, and that took focus and concentration. This might be his only chance to wind down a little before he immersed himself in it all and shut off that part of himself and became 'one of the guys'. Right now though, he was fresh in from Antarctica and hungry for contact and bad beer. He glanced up at the neon sign that flickered a little with the rather cheesy name of Kudos in vibrant red, and entered, looking for the 'right' entrance.

The bar was dingy, and badly lit which was all to the good, and for all its appearance as a dive, there were people there and that was what mattered.

The bouncer on the inner door only gave a preliminary nod to keeping out the riff-raff, holding up a card silently and waiting for a reply. If John had been holding up a flashlight, he probably could've answered just as fast, because they looked pretty thin and cheap.

"Three stars over a filled glass," he drawled. At least it proved there was a community of his type here.

"Enjoy your evening." The best things about that was it was less about the hookup and the looking hot and hitting on people, and more a cover for business deals and casual conversations that people, normal people, had out in the open all the time.

Well, there were still hookups, but really it was about meeting Otherkind for whatever reason you wanted, business or pleasure. He ducked in through the doorway and heard it close behind him.

Huh, not many here. The room was pretty small. He tried not to Look, but some wore their identity fresh out on their skin in this room. Others passed for ordinary human, and were except for an ability or two tucked away in their bloodlines or through other means. These places were usually run by someone with a vested interest in neutrality and he wondered who it was here.

This place was pretty clean looking and his Othersight could make out some decent warding and prohibitions against violence and killings. Even someone with experience would hesitate about attacking someone here, which was a pretty good indication that their host was someone with a good touch of power. There was a woman by the bar with a bit of a tail, and a man in the corner with a crawling face who was probably 'letting his hair down' so to speak. The rest of them looked… normal, and it made him itch to Look at them closely and See what he was sharing the room with, other than some psychics. But John started into the place, right up to the bar.

The guy behind the bar looked like he had vampire or demon heredity from the length of his incisors, either that or he needed a much better dentist. He also looked pleased for the excuse to move away from another guy propping up the bar.

No one, regardless of the scene, liked to get stuck with the drunk who wanted to tell stories.

"What can I get for you, newcomer?"

"Beer," John said. Maybe when he knew there wasn't someone who liked to pick a fight he'd hit something stronger. Every now and then he'd come across someone who wanted to try and give him a smack down because they'd "heard" of him.

That was a stupid reason to pick a fight. If you heard of a guy, wouldn't you leave him alone and pick on the kid who was all starry eyed with wonder? But it was a pride thing, and John knew how that went. "Got a brand preference, or is whatever swill we have on tap good enough for you?"

"Tap," John said. He'd try it once at least. "Any tips for a newcomer to the area?"

The bartender snorted. "Enjoy the religious? I've been told they taste delicious. We've had a few newcomers lately. It's strange."

"Yeah?" That was unusual, because their kind were few and far between. He ignored the other comment, knowing it was just a tossed out comment to see if he were spookable. "Transferring into the base?"

"I suppose they are. If there was a plan to overthrow the military, I wish someone had told me." He grinned, and pulled John a mug of draft. "I would have put out signs."

Behind them, the door opened again, and closed.

John glanced around and leaned on the bar. The man who entered looked ordinary enough, but he attracted his attention, only not because he was Looking at his true nature. It took the mystery out of things. He had one night before he was tucked back into military protocols and at least half of his intent was to enjoy himself.

The man who entered stood out because he looked extremely normal, which was the eye-catching thing. Most everyone in there was at least dressed up, but he had a flannel shirt, slacks and a jacket, and didn't look like he was even trying. He breezed up to the bar, and pulled out the stool beside John's. "I want the most disgustingly sweet and fancy thing you have the supplies to make. With hard liquor."

John watched the man, giving a lazy smile. If he was the type to be interested, the lazy smile usually attracted attention and if that didn't work, then this might. "Make that on me," he drawled, glancing at the bartender.

The bartender snorted, and turned away. "Right, let me get the blender out. One hard liquor girly drink coming up."

The newest newcomer — which made John not quite the newest newcomer to that particular place — leaned his elbows on the bar. "Are you in the habit of buying for strangers in strange places?"

"As it happens, pretty much," John replied with a faint smirk. "Best way to get to know someone."

The other man sighed. "Uh-hmn. And what are you here looking for?"

"Nothing much," John answered. "I was thinking hot sex, but that's just a thought." He grinned a little. No point wasting time, because he wanted to burn that itch out of his system before he reported for duty.

If the guy had had his drink in hand already, he probably would have choked on it. As it was, he just stared at John. "Well, aren't you Captain Blatant? What's your fancy, then? I'd avoid the demon in the corner, unless you're into a slow death."

"Major Blatant actually and this is the only sort of place I can be," John said still smirking a little. "I was pretty much looking at you… if you're interested in that sort of thing."

"Are you kidding? I just walked in the door, and you —" He stared at John, bright blue eyes looking gold-rimmed for a second. "I might be interested. Might. What's your name?"

"John," he said. He didn't immediately offer the Sheppard part of it. "I've learned not to waste time." He had an instinct for trouble and an instinct for being lucky. Often the two were inextricably combined. "What's your name?"

"Rodney." There, that was a normal enough name. Rodney, instead of any of the thousand fancy names that sounded like wanna be fantasy novel names. The guy looked like maybe he was a magician type, or mageborn. Seemed the kind, sharp, intelligent, detail orientated and not focused on his own physicality but definitely liking a bit of control. A little soft at the edges of his face, so probably a maker of things rather than someone who used his magic at ground zero out against the nasties. "So, are you a serial killer for a living, or do you have a job besides picking men up in strange bars?"

John smirked again, liking the openness of the other guy. "I have a job. Pilot." He didn't specify what type. "Just moved out here. I try to keep the whole killing thing to a minimum."

There was definitely something about this Rodney that was attracting him, and he wasn't sure what it was. He wasn't classically good looking, but he wanted him. John had learned to never ask why and to seldom say no if opportunity knocked.

"Oh, good. I'm a scientist, and my work is far too important to have it interrupted because someone's stuffed me in a car trunk."

"You can't use some of your… whatever to check?" John asked mildly amused. Rodney's attitude was refreshing, nothing complex and everything out there. "We can have the drinks first."

"Do I have to have a whatever?" The bartender came back with a drink that looked more like a milkshake, complete with cherry on top. He looked a little smirky, and Rodney bared his teeth in a smile right back at him. "Very nice."

"To get in, pretty much," John was focused on him. "Scientist huh? Studying anything interesting?"

"Mm, can't say. But yes, I generally only study things that interest me. Planes are fairly interesting, what with their defiance of gravity." He took a sip from the straw, and slouched a little. "That's nice."

"Sugar fiend huh?" John smiled a little. He needed that if he walked between worlds, into Hell or wherever, but alcohol was close enough to sugar for his normal metabolism. His frequent trips there and magic use burned the surplus stores off of his body. Holland had always bitched at him for eating full fat everything and still not being able to hold weight.

"Sugar is a victimless sin," Rodney sighed. "And good. Chocolate, too. The really good stuff. I might as well enjoy food."

"Nothing wrong with good food," John commented. "Can't beat a good steak if you ask me."

Rodney's eyes tinged a little gold around the edges again, which was interesting. "Huh. I keep expecting you to be a vampire. No, steak's good. Cheetos are better."

He couldn't say that was a sign of anything in particular; he'd known magicians and demons that had that, a little sign of the difference in them all, flares of black, red or green. Gold and blue looked good together though. "Cheetos? Okay, you are missing out on a decent steak then… with real fries, onion rings and the works."

"If you're new to the area, we could possibly try a few places to find a good one. I'm sort of stuck not passing through town, which is disheartening."

"Sounds like a plan," John smiled. He did have talent for making friends, if not for keeping them. "So, the stuff you can talk about… is there anything?"

Rodney looked thoughtful, and took another sip of his drink. "Well, government work tends to be secretive in nature, so not really. I was out in Area 51 before this."

"Cool. So, alien conspiracy stuff huh?" John half joked.

"It was great. All the boring work one man could handle." He lifted his drink in a toast. "So, are you Air Force, by chance? I only ask because of the two bases and the school in town."

"Yeah," John answered. "Pretty much." He knocked back some of his drink as well. They were attracting some interest.

That was never one hundred percent good. Interest in general, interest from some of the people in that bar, when he was taking his chances.

Rodney looked sideways, and sucked hard at his booze milkshake. "So, you want to blow this joint, since neither of us are here for the business aspect?"

"Sure." John said easily, imagining the taste of that sweet alcohol on Rodney's lips. "I've only got a motel room."

"Huh. I've got a motel room, too. Want to go out to the parking lot and work out whose is less seedy? I can't get the heat to turn off in mine. And it rattles. It's great. Ambiance of a blacksmith's shop, all in my tiny hotel room." He gave the drink another good steady slurp, and slipped off the stool.

"Sounds one step up from mine," John said. "Besides, I can't be a serial killer luring you back to a lair if I go to yours."

"Could be that you don't want to do your horrible deed in your own hotel room, thus linking it to your government credit card." He didn't sound serious at all, and he was smirking like he was pleased with his own logical train. "Which would make that officially stupider than the guy who bought his girlfriend breast implants. C'mon, the demon in the corner's watching us and I'd rather not be on display."

"Mm." He liked them smart and clever and Rodney seemed to be both. "Lead on." He mused idly as he pushed himself to standing as to what sex might be like. He couldn't call it part of his ability but he sensed that it would be good. Perhaps even memorable.

He was still itching to peek at what Rodney's true nature was, but he wanted that to unfold slowly. Looking with Othersight sometimes felt like cheating.

"Did you drive here?" Rodney asked, conversationally as they headed out.

John shook his head. "Came out with the intention of having a few drinks if nothing else," he said. "Haven't been here long enough to get a car."

"Hello, rental?" Rodney lifted his eyebrows at John. "You walked? Seriously? Come here, I have a car. It goes 'vroom'. Don't tell me you flew, I don't want to know."

John chuckled. "I wish. Like I said, only got in couple hours ago. Like to get a feel for a place."

"Hell of a way to get a feel for a place," Rodney murmured, pulling keys out of his pocket. He pressed a button and the rental car beeped, lights flashing. "I used to walk everywhere. You get tired of it after a while."

"I'll let you know when that happens," John replied. "I guess you don't get this happening too often, huh?"

"Uh, actually, no." Rodney sounded a little sheepish, popping open the driver side door and gesturing that John could get in.

"But you have done this before? Been with another man?" John asked with a smile. If Rodney hadn't then he could teach him, there was an appeal to that too.

"Oh, no, I've done this before. The uh, the sex part, not the meet someone at a bar and leave part." He slipped into the driver's side, grinning. "Sodomy, one of the oldest and occasionally most enjoyable of laws to break."

"That's good," John answered as he got in and shut the door. The way he itched for contact after Antarctica, Rodney was going to be lucky to get to that motel room at all.

Rodney turned the engine on, and threw the car into reverse as he settled in, buckling his seatbelt. He pulled out the parking lot at a decent speed. "So, I take it you don't follow DADT."

"There's a reason I was in Antarctica before I was recalled," John answered. "Handy to have around, but an embarrassment." He wasn't embarrassed. Who was there to disappoint? No one.

"Antarctica? Really?" Rodney glanced over at him, and he was crossing lanes to turn left. "What did you do there?"

"Flew out to the snow, flew back again." John grinned a little. "It was…quiet."

And there weren't a whole lot of demons or other-beasts, or those meddling with powers going out there for him to deal with and he'd welcomed the rest… to start with.

After a while, he'd started to go out of his head with boredom, and now he had the feeling he was going to be in the thick of it again.

"Huh. That sounds boring. I mean, intensely, inherently boring."

"Pretty much," John answered raising an eyebrow. "Might help explain my behavior a little though."

"All that white, all that vastness, nothing to do…" Rodney sighed, and glanced at the intersection before he made another turn. John could see a motel up ahead. "I sympathize."

He'd practiced his skills. There was nothing much else to do at the end of the day. "The flying was good. It was quiet."

"Mmm, I bet." Rodney shook his head a little, and drifted over a lane. "I'm just up here. Uh, I brought my cat with me, but he's taken to sleeping in the tub."

"I'll make a point of not sleeping in the tub," John said dryly. Cats were good. He understood cats, they understood him. Sometimes he wondered if they could see the tracks of other worlds in his energies, as they were so adept at sliding through them themselves. "You're going to be lucky to make it in the door, hope you know that."

Rodney choked a little, and just grinned. "Yeah? That a promise?"

"Sorta promise I like to keep," John drawled and he didn't remember being this hungry for someone since he was a teenager. It was as if, to a part of him, there was a scent or taste that he was finding irresistible, like a moth careening towards a bright flame.

It was novel for John, and John wasn't a man to avoid throwing himself at the bright interesting flame. Rodney seemed so normal, pulling into a parking space and turning the car off while he unbuckled his seat belt. For a moment he considered whether Rodney was some sort of incubus-kin to have this sort of effect, but he'd met enough of them to know what they felt like. A musty aftertaste in the mouth as if the lush ripe fruit they were offering was rotting inside.

Then Rodney leaned in to kiss him, over the center console, reaching to slide fingers behind John's head.

No, it was something hot and bright, no aftertaste that signaled an elaborate trap. He wanted him, and his arms were reaching and the kiss pushing to become something more as he leaned in. The energy practically crackled between their skin.

Rodney pulled back first, licking his lips. "So, want to take this inside where it's warmer and naked won't get us both imprisoned?"

"Mmm." John wasn't too worried. The reason he could be this reckless was because he had a powerful charm that he'd had for years which encouraged someone to see him as someone different should they catch sight of him. He'd had opportunity to test it often enough and it had fooled pretty much everyone. Who said magicians were good for nothing? He'd paid a heavy enough price for it.

Completely worth it.

Rodney moved, and popped the car door open, and what was there for John to do but follow him? He headed towards the steps after he locked the door, his footsteps lighter than his body type implied.

He did pretty much tackle Rodney in through the door once it was open; he was hard and wanting and really, unexpectedly happy to let Rodney dictate terms of this sort of encounter which hardly ever happened. At least never first off.

"Ooof, hmmm." Rodney closed the door, without using a hand, and John knew he'd been right — that there was more to him than met the eyes if he'd been in that bar. He was almost as tall as John, and he pulled John down onto the bed, pushing his coat off. "Inconvenient outerwear!"

"Very inconvenient," John agreed, shrugging it off, and getting grabby in a fun happy way. He leaned in to nuzzle and taste at Rodney's neck, his hands showing his degree of practice at getting clothes off.

Rodney's shirt was easy to remove, almost as easy as his jacket. Flannel was soft, and it unbuttoned quickly, revealing smooth pale skin, while Rodney was trying to pull John's polo shirt up over his head.

John was scarred all over the damn place and he didn't try to hide it. He had tattoos that meant little to those who didn't do the sort of things he did. His body was a walking arsenal against Otherkind, honed over the years and people just never even knew. Not unless they were staring death in the face and suddenly he was there as an unlikely savior. Right now he didn't care what Rodney thought of them, as long as he got more of him.

Rodney seemed, at worst, a little distracted by the tattoos. John's chest was clean, but his back wasn't, and his forearms weren't, and further down his body, he had more marks, but his chest was just good old scars. "You've seen interesting times." He looked at the tattoos on John's left arm, and then glanced to the right one. "Uhm, not a serial killer then."

John had a moment's pause as he reoriented himself. There was maybe one person in a million that would recognize those tattoos for what they were. "Told you I wasn't," he murmured, distracted by tasting Rodney's skin again.

"Huh, well, this could work." Rodney tilted his head back, and pulled them both further up onto the mattress, trying to push John's shoes off with his own feet. Somewhere, he'd lost his sneakers.

It was definitely going to work. John managed to get the shoes loose and they dropped to the floor, even as he devoured the taste of Rodney with enough hunger that the other man might be forgiven for suspecting him of being some dark creature.

"Mm… you taste good," he murmured against his skin, conscious that he was hard, and pressing against him.

"Antarctica, huh?" Rodney was grinning with his voice, and his hands started to push John's pants down. "Damn, you're eager. Oh, right there feels good."

"It's a long way from anywhere," John murmured. "Let's just say there wasn't a lot in the way of options there." He mouthed at the spot, kissing it with fervent vigor.

"No, I imagine not." Rodney stretched his legs, and finally got John's underwear off with two seeking hands. "Here, help me get my pants off and we can enjoy nakedness."

Easily done and it was good to be wrapped up in this to the point of pulling clothes off and just going for it. There was something to be said for good, quick, intense sex.

Naked happened swiftly enough that under other circumstances it might be called magic. "I want you."

"I hope you have lube and a condom." Rodney exhaled a little unsteady, pressing his hard cock up against John's lower belly, against the crease where leg met torso.

"Always," John smirked a little as he reached between to stroked Rodney's erection. "Told you I was hopeful."

So what, he was fast and easy sometimes. That was the way he had to take human contact. It didn't usually last long, so he sort of had to throw himself at it bodily and hope the sensation lasted a while.

"Pants pocket?" Rodney asked, and okay, yeah. His pants were on the floor. That meant getting up.

"Yeah," he answered, reluctant to move and pull away from that heat.

Rodney stretched a little, and John heard his pants moving back up onto the bed, the dragging sound of fabric on fabric while Rodney squirmed a little. "Uhm, sorry, I'm rusty at this."

"Just as long as everything still works," John answered. "Got a preference?"

It was unusual for him to ask, but he wanted everything from this one night stand that he could get.

It didn't actually shock him when the little tube of lube and the three condoms floated unsteadily into Rodney's hand. "Anything. I prefer to try to out-stamina people, if it helps."

Out-stamina…huh. The thought of a long hard fuck was suddenly appealing. Quite often it was over too soon and left him feeling like it wasn't worth it. Besides, the way he was right now he'd probably come the moment he pushed into someone and that would spoil it.

"You fuck me then," he said. "The first time." He smirked a little because he wanted it clear he could usually go for more than one encounter.

"You keep making these great promises," Rodney murmured, shifting, pressing a knee against John's side, and shifting to turn John onto his back. "I'm going to have to hold you to them."

"Never go back on a promise," John answered, rolling easily and taking in the view. "I'm hoping this stamina lives up to expectations

Rodney's arms and shoulders looked powerful, good, useful muscle as he pushed himself up over top of John. "I'm going to make sure it will." Naked skin on naked skin, with the heater buzzing along as background noise — wasn't bad at all. John liked it, the seeping warmth, the fact that Rodney leaned down to kiss him again, pressing mouth against mouth like he thought it was the best thing ever before he pulled away to lick John's right nipple.

"Mmm," John knew how to make himself look hot, to move so things rubbed in the right places, when to push and when to yield to pressure. He could… and had once rather famously seduced a succubus.

It didn't seem like Rodney was going to need that kind of deep seduction. There was power in him, sure, but he wasn't resisting, wasn't looking to resist. He stroked his hands over John's chest, looking at his body, seemingly admiring his scars before he wrapped one hand around John's dick to stroke it upright.

That made him huff with pleasure and push a little up at him. "Rodney…" he said, and his voice was a little rough with desire as he tried out the name. He wanted to offer something, to lie there and suck his cock, to reach and stroke him to hardness.

"Hold on, we're just getting to the interesting part…" Rodney slipped a tiny dollop of lube over John's cock, to make the stroking easier, slow and steady while he reached his other hand to stroke John's balls, and then lower. He stopped, getting more lube for the other hand, and John wanted to complain.

"You know, I thought you'd be heading right for it, no waiting," John said although it felt good to be slick there.

"A little foreplay has never done me any harm," Rodney mused. Fingers were prying between his ass cheeks, two slicked fingers, and Rodney was trying to edge his knees up under John's hips.

"I don't want to come too soon…" John replied, exhaling as fingers slid in. Better. "Unless you think you can make me get it up twice."

"I might be able to?" Rodney was moving his fingers slow, and the burn was nice. Nice and easing up towards a want. Rodney spread John's hips a little, got his ass up onto Rodney's knees, and seemed to like that position. Whenever he was done fingering John's ass, he'd have easy access.

"Okay, I'm up for that," John answered and moistened his lips at the thought of being pushed that hard, into a sore intensity that sometimes came with a back-to-back climax. "For that, I'll give you a wild time."

"After you recover." Rodney lifted his eyebrows at John, and slowly slid a third finger in beside the other two. He started to stretch them, pressing and twisting them slowly.

A bit of pain and that was spice enough. Rodney seemed to know a lot for someone who looked like a geek on the surface. But then he wouldn't do this for just anyone. There must be something special about him and he didn't know what it was exactly, just that he didn't respond like this to just anyone. "Mmm, that's good."

"Good. Tell me when you feel ready." He was still stroking him, stroking his dick, stroking his insides.

"About six months ago?" John said with a half smile. "I want to feel it… hard."

It got him a quiet laugh, and Rodney started to work his fingers slowly out of John. "Six months ago, huh? I had no idea I was that good looking."

"Do you want me to flatter your ego when you've got your fingers in my ass?" John asked.

"It couldn't hurt." Rodney lifted his eyebrows, and it was a ridiculous expression, but he was moving his fingers out, reaching for the condom.

"You've got good muscles and…." John smiled a little. "There's something about you that is irresistible."

He was still opening the condom when he flexed his arms. "If I make a 'gunshow' joke, I'm going to laugh so hard that I'll fall off the bed."

"I don't want that. I promise to take this very seriously," John said, watching hopefully.

"There's enough time in life for sex not to be direly serious." Rodney started to roll the condom down the length of his dick, fingers of his other hand sliding along the length of John's dick. "All right."

"Go for it, I'm ready," John promised, more than eager now.

Rodney looked down, and moved his free hand to help guide his dick. He squirmed, shifting in a little, and then John felt the pressure against his asshole. Yeah, this was going to be good.

"Not fragile," John pointed out, in case Rodney had missed that.

"Oh, I remember." Rodney inched the head of his dick into John, then put both hands on John's hips. Nice strong grip, holding him still while he pushed in. It was a slow motion, but steady and unyielding.

Yeah, that felt good, was good. He liked that feeling. Loved it. His exhale pushed outwards along with his push against him. "Mmm."

Rodney clutched hard at John's hips, once he'd pushed all the way in. "Oh, so tight. Mmm, hold on."

John clutched back. "Not going anywhere," he said breathlessly. He was nice and solidly rooted in John's ass, and when Rodney started to move, he proved that he knew what he was doing. Slow, steady, and moving his hands down John's thighs to pull his legs up onto his shoulder. It was just as well he was limber. "Mm. You sure you can keep this up?"

Slow, steady motions, sliding his cock in and out of John's ass. It was a good, slow burn. "Oh yeah."

"Great." Because he really was about to lose it unless he really made an effort to hold back.

Maybe he didn't have to. Rodney reached down, wrapped fingers firmly around John's dick, and thrust his hips up hard against John's ass.

That was enough to have him clenching and shuddering with the need to come. "Rodney!"

"Then come," Rodney grinned, stroking his other hand over John's calf. "I want to see you."

Another thrust and that was enough to have him let go. It had been longer than he would've liked since he came from someone else's hand. It was enough to make him gasp out and clench around Rodney.

He felt Rodney's thigh muscles flex, a smooth motion, and the stroking of his dick turned a little stuttered, but he didn't think Rodney had come. He had come on his hand, a thumb rubbing firmly against the underside of John's dick.

"Mmm." The result was that he was relaxed now, flexible. For a brief glimpse, a blur of his Sight, Rodney was above him coated in light.

He didn't focus on it, couldn't, because Rodney was shifting, getting onto his knees, holding John's legs on his shoulders, still dick deep in John's ass. "Tell me when you can't take it anymore."

"Oh, you are sure of yourself," John answered. "Are you deliberately trying to make it a challenge?"

"I'm going to try to fuck you hard again." Rodney started to move his hips fast, short stabs that were aimed at his prostate. "Try. Logically, if I can get you hard again, we can change positions. At least once."

"If that's what you, uhn, want." John replied relaxing into it, riding each jolt as a burst of pain and pleasure. "Mm."

Rodney's breathing was perfect, like a metronome, fast and measured, and John looked up at him, taking in the lines of his face, and his bright blue eyes, watching John's stomach and John's shoulders and everything that was probably turning him on harder. It was nice to roll around in the hay with a guy who didn't mind having semen on his hand and kept going like good and dirty wasn't a problem. It made him wonder again what the deal was with him, but it was hard to concentrate with him hitting his prostate. Could be a charm or spell for stamina, unless he was a half-breed.

Rodney hadn't been kidding about stamina. John disappeared into sensation as it went on and on. Steady, steady and fast and pounding. His balls twitched, twinged, and his dick was coming to life again. He was going to have a bruise on his right hip and in the morning he was going to sit in chairs tentatively, well-pounded. But he was getting hard, and it felt amazing.

He held on a long time, an incredibly long time, but eventually he had to find the breath to say. "Rodney… need…"

Something, anything, and whatever he wanted.

Two more thrusts, and Rodney stopped, eased back, holding still.

"You weren't kidding," John said shifting a little, sweating with the effort. "You…want to finish off or, me finish you off?"

Rodney eased out of him, fingers a little unsteady against John's hips. "I think we should swap."

God, he felt empty then, but the prospect felt good. Lube then, and he needed to loosen Rodney. "Got the … lube."

"Right here." Rodney palmed it over to him, letting John's legs down, and he leaned down to kiss John first.

His legs were a little stiff, but that didn't hold him up. He smiled as he squeezed some out and quested for Rodney's ass and slid slick fingers up the crack before going any further.

Rodney laughed against John's mouth. "Waste no time." His fingers flexed against John's ribs.

"Mmm, why would I?" John said. "You do it this way much?" Seemed like he was good at topping, maybe he had to go careful with him. He slipped fingers in, using all his skill.

They were close, and Rodney shifted, laid on his side to make it so he wasn't laying on top of John. "Sometimes. Half and half, I'd say."

He didn't mind the weight. "Mm, flexible." Fingers, moving, twisting and stroking. He was damn good at this and he knew it, but for the first time it wasn't just a means to an end. He'd already gotten off. He could have just left, waved a hand and said, 'Thanks, but I'm all fucked out,' but he wanted to stay and fuck Rodney, play with his ass, watch the way his face twisted up.

Something told him that Rodney didn't get that sort of attention that often. Oh, it wasn't all altruistic, in fact he'd known people who would've fallen over laughing at the thought of him being altruistic. His ex would've said he was good in bed, excellent but it was more about his own ego and agenda than anything else.

Not as true as she would've believed. He had manners; he knew how to repay favors. He knew how to use his body as a form of currency for things that could not be bought any other way. This, on the other hand, was pleasure and indulgence, and he could afford to be generous. He could afford to indulge every once in a while, and Rodney seemed to be into it. He moved against John's hand, and then turned, shifting to get onto his hands and knees to make it really easy for John.

He toyed with him, until he heard him react, coaxing moans from him and only then moving to position. "Ready?"

"Yeah." He finally sounded a little unsteady, and that was nice. Not that steady metronome the whole time, then.

John liked to think he was more able to be more than a ripple in his feeling. "Mm. Good." He was careful, pushing hard but evenly and waiting, then moving, then waiting and moving again.

His back bowed, and while he couldn't see Rodney's face like that, he could hear him. He could hear the emotions, the strain in Rodney's breath. "Yes, yes…" His ass was tight, and when John looked down he could enjoy the easy sight of dick sliding in and out, the head of his cock coming up against the edge of his hole and then sliding back in.

Thank God he'd come once already. He was able to keep going until he sensed Rodney was on the verge. His hand was reaching around Rodney to tease him as well.

Steady and hard, smooth and enjoyable. Rodney was bouncing back to him finally, moving his ass between John's dick and the hand playing with his own. That's what he wanted — reaction, losing control. He wanted that, and it pushed him to greater efforts. He worked at it, pushed where he was going.

And he got it. He finally got it, and Rodney was losing control, rocking hard, and moving harder, close to coming, then. Almost there, and he was doing that. He used everything he had pushing Rodney to climax, pumping with his hand, with his cock, and moving with his whole body until he came.

He was exhausted by the time that Rodney came, by the time that Rodney groaned and hung his head down between his shoulders, panting. "Yeah, that. Wow."

"Pretty much," John answered pulling away and half collapsing. It meant he didn't have the strength to do his usual flit and run just then. Few hours, then he might vanish off into the night.

He'd see.

Rodney stretched out on his stomach, and exhaled, folding his arms under him. He had a nice body, and holistically, John could see what he saw in the guy. "Did you come again?"

"Yeah. Makes it two to one," John answered relaxing next to him. "Gonna feel that."

Rodney was smiling when he drawled, "Sorry. Do you want a shower?"

"Yeah, in a bit," John lay back and smiled. "You know, you might be as good as you think you are. Nearly."

He was still smirking, and it made John think that he might puff up his chest like a bird if he'd been sitting differently. "If we run into each other again, we should give it another go."

"Wouldn't say no to that." John answered and was surprised to realize he actually meant it. But friends of his were killed with amazing regularity, either by war or by Otherkind. He stroked absently at Rodney's skin.

Rodney closed his eyes, and kept smiling.

It wasn't a one hundred percent sure thing, and John had known that when he'd rolled up to Cheyenne Mountain, and started the agonizing process of getting a visitor's pass. Pictures were taken, fingerprints, the usual questions about distinguishing marks, and though he was sure it was in his file, the guy checking him in took the time to photograph his tattoos meticulously.

Then Major John Sheppard, US Air Force, was cleared to enter what he'd already figured was a top level base.

He wondered if they were just cataloging the tattoos to see if he was some sort of gang-banger, because he sincerely doubted the Air Force would have a damn clue what they were about. It wasn't like he could explain that they were how he could force demons out, prevent them getting in, fight them all with the ink on his body if he was caught without his other weaponry.

He was shown to a room where there was a dozen or so other people waiting, but not all of them looked military. Every now and then a new person would be shown in.

It was a little strange that they were being brought in, kept in one room, and John wondered why. Why him, why those other people, why all corralled together.

"Oh, lovely. Little plastic chairs. Mmhm, if they put on a power point presentation, I'm going back to Area 51."

Nearly startled, he glanced up recognizing that voice. Rodney? Here? But he was a scientist.

"I was given to understand we didn't have a bloody choice," another unfamiliar but lilting Scottish voice said. The man standing next to Rodney seemed to be acquainted with him at least marginally.

'Yes, well, I've been given to understand that I always have a choice, even if I have to take it from someone." He looked different than he had the night before — good suit, dark shirt, and the other man was, well. Dressed up to his civilian, first day on the job nines, John guessed. He'd personally taken the effort to bring his shoes up to dress standards. "Oh, this just got interesting."

"How…" The other man glanced at him and said, "Oh, someone you know?" He shouldn't have picked that up merely from Rodney's comment. Huh.

He gave a flip salute. "Hi, Dr. McKay."

"Sheppard!" Rodney moved towards the empty chair to John's right. "Sheppard, this is Doctor Carson Beckett. Carson, this is Major John Sheppard. I think I know what we're doing here now, and this just got intensely less interesting for me."

"Care to share the theory, Rodney?" Carson said with a familiar sounding exasperated good humor. "Pleasure to meet you, Major. Rodney has the annoying habit of keeping theories to himself."

Rodney waved a hand, and leaned into John to whisper. "Take a 'Look' around."

John raised his eyebrows and then allowed his Sight to come in. He was one of the rare ones, he'd been born with it and it had made his life hell, up to the point his parents worked out what was happening and then things got a whole lot worse.

The room lit up for him like a rainbow. "Holy… shit."

"What?" Carson asked the both of them.

"Tada." Rodney leaned back, and added, "The Lieutenant in the corner's a little worrisome to me. I never thought you'd end up in on this, Carson."

"In on what?" Carson asked, sounding genuinely bemused and John looked to focus on the Lieutenant and see what he was exactly. John focused, recognizing the signs of a skillfully raised illusory shield over the features of the Lieutenant. He Looked harder and there it was. The half rotting, distorted visage of a demon lurking under the skin.

And he knew that John had pierced his disguise. This could get a little tricky.

Rodney leaned back in the chair. "Carson, stay put. I'm going to go talk to the stupid officer in charge of this very bad idea." Rodney stood up slowly, still looking at the room, and he edged towards the door. "Captain, when is this show getting on the road? I think having everyone sit here is a… poor decision."

"Why am I staying put?" Carson asked, sounding confused, even as John sized up the demon, and the demon sized him up right back at him. He smiled at John, with feral teeth showing, and John noticed Carson glance over at the man with a faint frown appearing.

"They'll be here shortly sir," the Captain replied.

"Not soon enough," John muttered. Soldier demon. He could exorcise the bastard on the fly if he had to.

"Right, shortly still isn't fast enough. I'm going to warn you that this place is going to get rowdy in a minute."

And Rodney turned away from the Captain, and moved towards the middle of the room. "Good afternoon. I'm sure we're all anxious for this interviewing process to start, but there's a demon in the room. Lieutenant Barnes there is possessed, and I'm not going to stand here and pretend I don't see it. I'm sure some of you have seen it — well, this whole room is full of us. Why play the secret game?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Rodney," Carson hissed. "Are you crazy?"

"He's not crazy," John stood up with his characteristic nonchalance. "Anyone want to deal with this guy?"

No point putting forward the effort if this was some sort of set up. But the Captain had paled and hit an emergency button at Rodney's words, so maybe it really wasn't a set up after all.

One of the women stood up, eyeing the Lieutenant warily. She was a Lieutenant, too, and she was definitely squared away, moving unsteadily towards him. "I, uh. Can I get backup, I uh…"

And then the Lieutenant moved, standing up and snarling, and everyone got to their feet. Apparently it wasn't on until there were noises to back it up. Rodney moved in, apparently intent on providing the physical restraint.

"I know you're hot shit, McKay, but stay back," John snarled moving forward. No one was doing anything, well, nothing useful. The damn thing would be up the wall before they acted. "You want something, demon?"

"Sheppard…" The reverb in the voice was unmistakable, painful to the ears in a way that human voices never could be. "He sends His regards. Another thing against you, trespasser, that will give Him delight in your endless torture. He wants you for His own."

"Yeah, whatever." No one acted, so he did. Pulled off his jacket, pulled up his sleeves. "Anyone here got anything hidden, this is going to get a little embarrassing right now," he warned the room.

The focus, the activation of the tattoo glyphs was inherent now and the air seemed to ripple around them.

He didn't expect Rodney to grab his fists and shove them down and away from each other. He'd gotten brighter the closer he got to John, and his hands were glowing when he touched John. "I'm a rude asshole, but this isn't how I want to get to know everyone, Sheppard. Put your body away. Demon, tell 'Him' this is not the place to play."

"Oh, quite the contrary," the demon hissed. "This is just the beginning. You go into our domain now and you think we will not contest that? When even the Snake Lords cannot stem our conquering ways? "

"What is going on?" Carson asked in a hushed whisper.

"Chosen," the possessed man gave a mock bow towards Carson. "Marked by Blood." He gave a chilling laugh. "Never was there one so unsuited, so ignorant of a destiny."

Rodney cocked his head to one side, and then reached fingers out to grasp the Lieutenant around the throat, pushing him up against the wall hard. "Sheppard, send this bastard back to Hell. Thanks. I don't feel up to this today."

"My pleasure." John pressed one of the symbols engraved on the back of his dog tags to the man's forehead, the exorcism flowing from his mouth like second nature. The demon screamed and yelled but really, he'd dealt with worse, and it helped having someone hold him. Piece of cake.

He could work with a little backup now and again, John decided, because the demon surged back, and the man went limp. Rodney seemed reluctant to let go of his neck, but he did, easing him to the ground. "Huh, he's lying. Samael's left Hell. Other people are running the show. You must have quite the fanclub."

"You'd be amazed," John said dryly. "I think I've pissed off pretty much everyone down there, up to and including the big guys."

Carson had come over, focused on the unconscious man and it was then that John saw something definitive about the Scotsman that indicated some sort of variant of the Sight, or power. A flare when it came to him examining something.

"He'll be okay," Carson said. "Though I suspect he'll sleep for a few hours."

"I suspect he'll have nightmares for years," Rodney murmured, turning his back to them for the moment to survey the rest of the room. "Lieutenant, thank you for the offer. I'm sure we'll all get to know each other, or not, as things go, and…."

And there were people in the doorway, and Rodney stood up a little straighter. "Which one of you thought putting a random mixture of supernaturally inclined people into a room without screening for demonic entities was a good idea?"

"Well, y'know, that would be entirely dependent on us having a reliable screening process, wouldn't it," an older man replied. "Daniel, I told you it was a stupid idea."

"Yes, yes, stupid idea, I've got that, Jack," a younger man replied. "Sorry, why don't you come through to the briefing room? Although you have to admit, it did help achieve what you wanted."

"I'd rather manage that without the critical security risk, Daniel," Jack answered.

"Do you know how much worse this could have been than a demon?" Rodney groused, moving protectively towards Carson to escort him towards the briefing room. "No, no, you probably don't. C'mon, I think this is the first job interview where everyone in this room knows more than the interviewers."

"And that is why we need to talk with you all together, rather then individually," the one called Daniel said. "This way please."

John moved. This was intriguing to him — the military knowing about the Otherkind? Demons, and all of that? Pretty damn weird, because government generally turned its head the other way when the world got strange.

They filed out, Rodney sticking close to the scientist who'd come in with him, and the woman who'd first edgily volunteered to do the exorcism stuck close to them, as if she'd picked who among the strangers she was most comfortable associating with. It was subtle, but that was the world they lived in, where a hunch could save a life. They moved into the briefing room, and took up spots at the wide table. There was an extra chair, and John figured they hadn't expected the exorcism.

"So, uh… let me explain why you're all here," the man called Daniel said even as he sat down. "You've all signed the non disclosure forms, but more than that, I suspect a lot of you have been living with this secret for some time."

"Oh, for crying out loud, Daniel," Jack sat down. "Look, I don't have time for lengthy explanations. You guys know about crazy things like demons, and supernatural beings, right?"

There was a reluctant spate of nodding around the table.

"Good. Because we're about to throw aliens into the mix," Jack said.

Rodney leaned back in his chair. "Some of us were pulled from Area 51 — how is this different than the information we had there?" That, John figured, probably took a little wind out of their sails, while there were at least a few of the soldiers around the table who looked mildly stunned.

Aliens, huh?

He resisted the urge to mutter cool.

"Okay, here's the thing. A while back we found and worked out how to activate an artifact which we call the Stargate," Daniel said. "And, as its name suggests, it is essentially a wormhole created between different gates on different worlds in the galaxy that allow near instantaneous travel. So we started taking trips out into the…uh…"

"Final frontier," Jack supplied.

"Yes, thank you, Jack, and there we discovered a big problem." Daniel pushed his glasses up his nose. "There are good aliens and bad aliens but most of all, out there the supernatural is open and visible. Demons rule worlds; creatures of myth terrorize everywhere, whole planets. Everywhere, except here."

John gave a little snort to himself at that. The door opened behind them, and a blonde woman stepped in with the hurried step of someone who was running a little behind.

"Are you going to share your no doubt banal explanation of why you think that is, Doctor Jackson?" Rodney seemed to be baiting, and baiting hard, and John sort of felt warmed to that. He was expecting the trite line of something about God's doing, or God's hand.

"Our research shows that, well, to borrow a biological metaphor, the humans here had started to develop as the equivalent of antibodies," Dr. Jackson answered. "We have resistance, we have the ability to force them out, to kill them."

Rodney craned his head to peer at his companion, and cocked an eyebrow. "I'm not a medical doctor, but I think that's a mixed metaphor."

"To put it another way, Doctor McKay, people like all of you fight back. For whatever reason, there hasn't been a war waged out there in the rest of the galaxy the way it has been here. It's very likely that the Aliens changed the genetic code that allows people like you to do… what you do."

"If they did, it was a bloody long time ago," John heard Rodney's friend say. "The stability of the human genome has persisted for some time. But… uh, there are differences with those who have certain abilities. Who were born with them at least."

John frowned a little even as Jack spoke. "The point is, kids, that we're out there now in a war and we find that we don't personally know the tactics of fighting them, but we apparently have a planet of highly trained specialists."

"And we would like to interview each of you, because we know that fitting you into teams and learning your exact specialties will take time. We're going to order lunch in, so uh, if everyone can just get comfortable and bide with us while we in-process each of you and work out, uh…what you would be best suited to doing." That was the blonde woman — Major Carter, from her rank and her nametag.

"Lunch with monsters, Carson. I bet you're thrilled."

"We'll be going alphabetically," the woman said, as if volume could overcome McKay's voice, "so if I could see Doctor Carson Beckett and Specialist Ronon Dex."

"I'm still not sure what the bloody hell anyone is talking about," Carson muttered as he got up. "Maybe they want me for my genetics research. Back soon."

John leaned back as Carson and a large man stood, all muscles and attitude. "He's a were," he said, as an aside to McKay.

"Yes and no." Rodney sat back, squinting at the man as he left. The two men who'd been running the presentation were lingering, looking at them and they seemed as uncomfortable as everyone else did.

"You should all, uh, mingle, talk, uh, we'll be interviewing. You're all on duty, so don't, uh…eat each other while we're gone. We need you."

They headed off, leaving them there to 'mingle'. John smirked a little. "So, you didn't want me revealing you," he said to McKay.

"No, I don't. I don't think the guy who's of The People would have liked it either, or the half-breed vampire over there."

"We do have names," she remarked, when Rodney pointed to her. She had hair almost the same color as her skin, darker than caramel — not what John was used to in a Dhampir. And she was Marine, of all things, a Captain. She was probably going to hit Lt. Colonel before John did, too. "You should perhaps learn them."

"Fine. I'm Doctor Rodney McKay and you are…?"

"Captain Teyla Emmagen," she replied with a smile. There was just the hint of pointed incisors there.

"Major John Sheppard," he said by way of introduction

"Good, all right, Captain Emmagen. We're introduced. I'm sure you, like everyone else in the room, is just dying to work together to go fight demons on other planets."

The woman from before leaned forward, elbows on the table. A Marine Lieutenant, now that people weren't moving and John could read names, place the uniforms. Cadman. "Actually, I think it's pretty cool. Even if I'm completely outclassed. My family are hunters, but it's been a while. More of a demon trap and rock salt style then the uh… combat exorcism you did, Major Sheppard."

"Rock salt?" A warrant officer at the end of the table leaned forward. "What did you put it in?"

"Sawed off shotgun, just like my daddy used to."

And that seemed to break the ice. It was almost a relief, and Rodney sat back, quiet, while the rest of them finally started to talk a little — stilted, nothing particularly personal, but it was the gun-show version of supernatural creatures. Most everyone was military, and if they could talk in those terms, then at least it was better than silence, John figured.

"So," Cadman said after a while. "I've heard your name, Sheppard. Around. Never knew you were a flyboy, though."

John shrugged. "You sure you've got the right man?"

"It's not like old-style wizards grow on trees," Rodney murmured. "You have a reputation in our circles. Or at least, you have the reputation of having a reputation."

"Oh, a reputation?" John raised an eyebrow. "Really? Why don't you tell me about my… reputation." He wasn't exactly an old style wizard, unless he meant someone with it born into his blood.

"Hunters say you've walked Hell and back," Cadman said pointedly.

"Taken on the Triumvirate of Hell," Rodney added.

"Cast out many demons," Teyla added, her smile almost demure. "And possibly laid to rest many of my father's kin. If you are the same Sheppard as the stories."

"All we have are stories." Rodney rubbed at his jaw on the right side, and stood up. "I'll be back. I'm going to see about lunch."

Most of it was true, but it suited him to be underestimated. "Yeah, don't believe everything you hear."

It was a deflection, but Cadman grinned. "We'll let you prove yourself before we put you up on a pedestal. Don't you think this is cool, though? Aliens and demons to hunt."

"I wonder if they're Roswell grays, or you know. Alien aliens, with the head in the head and the Geiger design?" the Warrant at the end of the table grinned.

It started another spate of conversation, and John was content to watch and try to guess what the rest of them were. It was almost a shame that he hadn't revealed them all. Almost.

"Captain Emmagen?" A young Air Force officer opened the door, and Carson and Specialist Dex were escorted back into the room. "If you would follow me."

Teyla left and Carson sat down looking bemused. "I'm still not a lot the wiser for all that," he said to John. "I don't really know what this is about."

"You're the seventh son of a seventh son," Dex told him, sitting down heavily into his chair. "It means they think they can use you. You're more than you thought."

"So?" Carson looked at them, "Well if you believe the family stories, seventh of a seventh of a seventh, but why is that important? That's just numbers."

John sat up a little, and paid attention. "Seventh Sons are… important," he said. There were demons that would wade through martyrs' blood to get their hands on Carson.

"Just at a very basic level, there are old, dangerous rituals which would need your blood as a rare ingredient." Teyla was looking at Carson sympathetically. "You are some type of healer…?"

"Well, aye, I was a doctor. Still am, but I found it… difficult to work with patients in the long term," Carson said. "Although I was an excellent diagnostician. A knack for it. They have just called me a 'sensitive', but whatever that demon thing was spouting had them worried."

And it should have, but it wasn't as if Carson was going to draw any more of an unnecessary risk than John would.

The door opened again, and Rodney slipped back in. "Right, Lunch has been arranged for."

"Always a good thing," John agreed. "Hey, did you know about Carson here being a Seventh Son?"

"Uh…" Rodney glanced at Carson, while he sat down between Carson and John. "Actually, I did."

"Why didn't you tell me? I feel a wee bit of an idiot, as everyone else seems to have a clue here, and I don't," Carson said. "Whatever I'm meant to have, I don't have it. Just a knack."

"Because I didn't want to scare you, and you're a good friend."

John had half a thought that the guy was probably Rodney's only friend, if his attitude was turned on all the time. "Sometimes, that's all that manifests. Sometimes, other events make you stronger."

"Can't say I've noticed," Carson said. "I would've thought Major Sheppard here would be the one to watch. Aside from you, Rodney, of course. "

He smiled a little, but John was wondering how true his random phrases were. Some people had that happen as well, where they revealed knowledge subconsciously.

"What makes you think I'm anything but knowledgeable?" Rodney bristled a little. "You know how much I need to know things."

"Aye, true enough," Carson shrugged. "You know a lot though. I assumed you'd had experience."

"We all have secrets," John said, "Some are more powerful than others."

"And sometimes the very powerful fall." And if John had been a tiny bit more egotistical, he would have taken that as a threat. As it was, he'd had the guy's dick in his ass, and vice versa, and he was just getting a feeling for Rodney's… unique personality.

Daniel felt he needed the moral support when it came to interviewing Dr Rodney McKay. The man's reputation had preceded him and frankly when it came to technical details, he needed Sam. He was the one with the ability that they were classifying as a Sensitive, but Sam had that technical mindset as well.

"Dr McKay, how would you classify your abilities?"

The funny thing was that he qualified for the Stargate Program completely separate of his Sensitive abilities. And he looked unhappy that he was there at all, talking about it. He folded his arms over his chest, and exhaled slowly.

"I don't. Can I see how you're all breaking this down?"

"At the moment we are working on three classifications. Warrior, Magician and Sensitive. This encompasses half breed types, for example," Daniel explained. "Warriors being fighters, Magicians being knowledge users, with certain abilities to affect reality, and sensitives being those who have more subtle, innate abilities."

"Given those very restrictive categories, you're going to have to put me down as a 'Magician', though it's very innate for me." He leaned forward a little, peering at the columns, and then briefly at Sam. And Sam's breasts.

It was a good thing Jack wasn't in the room.

"Are you aware of any genetic differences you might have?" Daniel asked, after clearing his throat.

McKay was being elusive, he had to give him that. "Yes. Yes, I am. I'm infertile."

"How do you reconcile your abilities and your interest in science?" Sam asked and Daniel tried to focus and open himself up to pick up more information about the man.

He'd always been aware of things like that, of the differences. He didn't have the easy 'sight' that he suspected some of them did, but he could try to absorb holistic pieces that would tell him more about them.

"Why do you think that would be problematic?" McKay asked back. "That demons and the atomic bomb somehow fail to go hand in hand?"

"Traditionally science and religion have been in opposition," Sam said, tilting her head.

He opened his mind and the information that came flooding back was a sense of something vast there, a white horizon.

"Traditionally, people have been morons. If it's been done and said forever and ever, it still doesn't make it a good idea." He moved, and the white horizon moved with him, because it was him. "If I were exceedingly religious, I'd be forced to point out that science is our way of interpreting the Logos."

"Ah, the Logos." That made sense. It fit with the impression he had of intense curiosity, and bright thoughts.

Sam beamed. "I agree. That's just what I have said when I was helping to calculate the equations. And Magic follows different laws but it can be balanced in the same way, if you can understand the rules."

Uh oh, Jack wasn't going to like this at all, not the interest that sparked in Dr McKay. "Magic — what kind of magic have you run into? What demons? I'm curious, because I can fill in some holes for you. I'd like to do that — if I'm going to be here, I don't want to see another incident like what happened earlier."

"I've been developing a theory of magic based on quantum equations and chaos theory maths," Sam said her eyes lighting up.

"Guys, guys…" Daniel waved at them. "Obviously you two are going to need a long talk. Dr McKay, are you interested in joining Stargate Command? And potentially working as part of a field team?"

He lifted his eyebrows at Daniel, and sat back in the chair. "Yes, with one condition. Sometimes, you're just going to have to take what I know at face value."

"I think we're always going to have to do that with a lot of information," Daniel said. "You're not going to reveal yourself are you? Can you see what others are?"

"Yes. You're trying to Look at me, and it doesn't work very well, I've been told." McKay glanced over at Carter again. "So, when can I start being useful?"

"Pretty much immediately, once we've got you set up here," Daniel said.

"Okay. Then let's get going, because you need to ward every human in that room — half of them have no blocking protection, and the other half are doing it wrong. Now, can I go?"

"You can. We're assigning teams later, so… you'll get to meet your teammates," Daniel said. They were only aiming for two teams of 'specialists' at the moment, but he was pretty sure McKay would be on one of them. It was fortunate that Sam was a 'Magician' for their team, he was a Sensitive, and Teal'c was their Warrior. And Jack… Jack was the leader. Sometimes not having a bit of all of this was an advantage. Occam's razor. Sometimes a madman threatening a town was just a madman, no demonic possession needed.

"I hope you're paying attention to cultural sensitivities for some of these non-humans when you put the teams together." And then Rodney was leaving. Probably to go eat lunch with the rest of them.

Taking his endless white horizon with him.

Carson wasn't sure how his life had become so odd recently. He'd thought he'd put that all behind him, although he was quietly relieved to be told his nervous breakdown after ER duty hadn't actually been a nervous breakdown at all. And here he was, discovering that Rodney was some sort of supernatural guru.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked again.

They'd broken away from the group a little, because Rodney had said it was giving him a headache. Dex — a werewolf-type man, according to the conversation they'd had with the people running the show — was sitting to the other side with the two pretty Marine women, talking casually and laughing. Everyone had broken into little clusters, and Sheppard had been taken off for his interview. "You would have thought I was insane."

"Well…" Carson had to admit that was true. "Maybe just a wee bit. How long have you been doing all this?"

Rodney rummaged around in the bag of Cheetos that had come with his roast beef sandwich. Some people had other sorts of chips, and Carson had a feeling that Rodney had checked boxes to find exactly what he wanted first. "A very long time. My whole life, actually."

Carson knew strangely that he was telling the truth in that. "So you've been battling demons and things before?"

"I like not to do it, but I've done it," Rodney shrugged, licking two fingers before getting himself another Cheeto or two from the bag.

"Can you tell me about it?" Carson said. "I'd like to know what this was about."

"Well, some of the myths you've heard in life are true. God, for instance, exists. Not that he involves himself in anything but creating new things. So all of these structures he put into place run themselves. Adam and Eve, and Cain and Abel, though that happened so very long ago that it doesn't apply to us as humans."

"Just as well I've been a Christian all my life then," Carson answered. "Huh, how do you know all this?"

Rodney shrugged. "Well, Christianity has one aspect of it right and several more aspects of it wrong. All three of the big monotheistic religions have pieces of the puzzle, and no one's really sharing. If they did, they'd break down their own belief systems, and that would be too easy for them. There are different Hells, for example. God created other gods, so some of those are real. Creation is wide, expansive. Wider than you could imagine."

"So… The odds are there will be different gods on different worlds yes? Different demons?" Carson asked. "Will what works here work there?"

Rodney rubbed at his temple. "No, no, there's Him. The creator. Period. Let there be light." Rodney snapped his fingers. "He presumably enjoyed that part, and carried on building worlds over and over and over and over, with different types of life forms. But it's all him. There's one set of rules."

"So a catholic exorcism works even across the galaxy?" Carson asked, a little stunned by the implications of that.

"You could say the same words in English. You could say the same words in French, Spanish, Italian, pig Latin, alien language, anything. The words carry the effort." Rodney tilted the bag, pouring Cheeto dirt into his hand. "Mmmph. I guess we have to think about moving out here and settling in. I don't think this mission will be up in a week or two."

Carson nodded slowly. "I'm sorry, Rodney, I have no idea what use I would be to anyone on this mission. Now, you have knowledge, and if what I hear is correct then The People have enhanced physical abilities. What on earth could a… sensitive do?"

"Sense things. If you feel something in a hunch manner, that's still ten times better than someone who doesn't." Rodney smirked, and put a hand out, his shirt-sleeve riding up. "Try it on me. Touch my wrist, and tell me what you feel."

"What sort of thing?" Carson asked, reaching over a little hesitantly, finger hesitating above skin.

"Anything," Rodney shrugged. "Anything at all could be more useful than not knowing nothing. I bet we can pitch in and train you."

"Okay…" He would probably feel nothing. He touched his fingers to Rodney's skin and tried not to feel ridiculous. It didn't help.

"It's not working."

"Maybe I need to be injured for it to work." Rodney frowned for a moment, then picked up his sandwich with his other hand. "I'm not going to stab myself with a fork for you."

Carson grinned a little and was about to say something when he had a sudden… sense. "You had sex last night!"

Rodney groaned, and fumbled his sandwich for a moment. "You pick that up, of all things?"

"You did?" Carson blinked. "Bloody hell, and you didn't say a thing."

The next groan was slightly less theatrical, but Carson still felt shocked. After all, his motel room was right beside Rodney's, and he hadn't heard a bloody thing! "What was I supposed to do, Carson? Knock on your door and say, 'Hey, I trolled a bar last night because I was lonely and desperate'?"

"Well… you could've knocked on my door before you went trolling a bar," Carson answered and then half realized what he said.

Rodney caught it, staring at Carson. It was a funny picture, Rodney with his arm still held out like Carson was taking his pulse, sandwich still in hand. "You're not joking, are you…? We, wow, we have to work on timing."

"You mean, you're interested?" Yes, his sense told him, yes he was interested. Why couldn't he see that before?

Was it because he hadn't been trying to see anything? He was reluctant to let go of Rodney's wrist, wondering what else he could sense out, like poking about in the dark. "What? Yes, but you're also my best friend so I was sort of weighing the pros and cons in my head."

"Aye, well." Carson shrugged a little. "I'm not used to people being interested. Uh… how do I pick more things up?"

"Close your eyes and focus on your senses." Rodney took another bite of his sandwich, and started to chew. Carson closed his eyes. He could smell the lunch-smells in the room, still taste chips and turkey in his teeth, the back of his tongue, he could feel Rodney's pulse under his thumb, always a little fast. Rodney complained that Carson gave him white coat syndrome, and Carson pointed out that he just had high blood pressure.

Flash image of… Sheppard eyes closed and pushed back and wow, he knew who the sex had been with, but then he decided he was interested in the high blood pressure. He let himself sink deeper and deep and it was strange… It was like swimming underwater and seeing a great light.

And then the connection was gone and Rodney was holding his shoulders, pushing back upright in his chair. "Whoa, whoa, hi. Are you okay?"

"Wha?" Carson blinked. "What just happened?" He'd never had anything like that happen before, unless he counted the whole nervous breakdown thing.

"Too deep, too far. You probably need to recover. What did you see?" Rodney was looking at his eyes, bright blue eyes and oh, oh, bloody hell. There was gold in the middle, just for a moment, hot gold instead of black.

"Depths and… light. Oldness. Something…" Carson shook his head. "I thought I was going crazy before. Before I moved to research. They… they told me I was having a nervous breakdown. Took me away."

"What did you sense? Then, I mean. What did you feel? Or do you remember at all."

"Not a lot… they started giving me drugs. Saying there were seizures," Carson said. "Only there was no evidence they were. I remember…I remember touching a patient in the ER and seeing exactly what had happened. Knowing where all the damage was, then it didn't stop. It started rolling back all the information piling it on. But… it was a delusion or something."

"No." Rodney's mouth twitched into a smile. "No, you were seeing everything about your patient. You didn't have a breakdown, and you've probably blocked what you can do as a defense. I think we can help you work out how to control this."

"It's…" Carson didn't know what to say. "All this time I've believed I couldn't cope under pressure and now I find it was something very different indeed." The relief was incredible. It was a terrible thing to feel that way when he had set his heart on being a hands on physician.

Rodney pulled back for a minute, but it was just to grab his chair and scoot in closer. "No, you have a skill. Do you know how many people in this room have been institutionalized, taken drugs, tried to fight what they were? The half-breeds, the ones of the People are the lucky ones — they were raised with an acceptance of what they were. They were never told to be normal, to stop that nonsense."

"Didn't you ever… I mean, did anything like this happen to you?" Carson asked. He found it hard to believe.

Rodney ripped off some of the bread from his lunch remnants and passed it to Carson. "No, but my experiences are different."

"And you don't like to talk about them," Carson stated, rather than asked. "They are taking a long time with Major Sheppard."

"Major Sheppard probably has a lot to say. He probably has a very sensational rap sheet. He's also the last one they took in, so I know that the 'alphabetical order' plan is a lie."

"I think I worked that out when they didn't take Cadman in with me," Carson grinned. "She's a lovely wee lass."

"I'm pretty sure she wouldn't want to be called 'wee'. She's built, for one." Rodney glanced over his shoulder at the others. "So. You seem to be taking this very well."

"Well, I can accept that I was either nuts, or that there might just be things out there I don't understand," Carson answered. "I'm seizing on the not insane option."

It seemed like the best possible option he'd had in a long time.

John had to give it to them. Daniel was one of the most astute… Sensitives, as they seemed to be labeling them now, that he had come across. Well, the ones that were still alive, at least. Carter seemed to have a magician's way, but not like him. He was awkward, he knew that. He didn't neatly slot into any one of the categories, he just sort of crossed boundaries. He had some aspects of a sensitive, like the Sight, he had a shit load of Magic, and a hell of a lot of a Warrior too. And a few other things that probably didn't fit anywhere. If they wanted to label him they probably ought to make a whole new section.

There were a few of them that didn't belong in any of the categories and it grated to try to sit there and have them categorize him. But they seemed to trust him.

"What I'm wondering about was your tattoos," Daniel finally said. "I know they were grandfathered in when you enlisted, and again when you went OCS. But what are they?"

John smirked a little. "The built in equivalent of a Do It Yourself demon and monster fighting kit," he said leaning back. "Gotta be able to use them, not just have them. That's a different set of skills."

"All right." Daniel leaned back, and glanced at Sam. "Can you — do you know what you were going to do in the other room? Do you know why Doctor McKay stopped you?"

Huh. So they hadn't been as stupid as John had thought — security cameras had definitely been watching that melee, waiting to see if it went out of control even if they hadn't anticipated when it started. "I'm interested in the mechanics of how you make it work," Carter added, leaning forward a little.

"It's not the sort of thing I do as a trick," John answered. "It was a … it's difficult to explain. It forces the truth of reality to be exposed. Very useful if a Demon is body hopping or likely to try to. The side effects of it would've made any half-breed visible, and there would've been effects on others. Wouldn't normally do it, but if the soldier demon jumped into someone with a gun, we could've had carnage."

"Okay." Daniel rubbed at the corner of his mouth. "How do you make it work, though? If I had those same tattoos on my arms, for instance…"

"Your ability might not be the right type to make it work. You've got to have something hard and focused. You guys tend to be more open, more diffuse. Means you pick up more." John grimaced a little. "The ones that you're calling Sensitives tend to be like a large cloud of power or energy. Lit up like a goddamn beacon and spreading out all around you. But your magicians are like… a blade. Focused in but hard. Good for different things. I'm not exactly typical. There are about… three people I know who can make the Gates work without a lengthy ritual."

"So these are… gates?" Daniel was making notes, like he was going to personally go look this up. "How would you classify some of the people you met in the other room? I'm — we're working with what we managed to stitch together, and we're, well, obviously more than happy to utilize people like you, McKay, Dex, Emmagen, and Cadman, who know more about this than we do."

"Classifying huh? You're going to run out of labels pretty quick. I haven't used the Sight on McKay, only enough to know he's one of the good guys. I can tell you he's got power though." John shrugged a little. "Dex is one of The People. He's a 'Were', if you're using Hunter slang, but they're not uncontrollable beasts… those would be demons got mixed up with the Were origins. He could take on several squads of Marines without breaking a sweat. Emmagen, she's a Dhampir, a half-breed vampire with reflexes and strength like you wouldn't believe. Cadman… Hunter kids tend to have a touch of something, otherwise they don't survive. She's probably got a touch of the Luck. Beckett…" He shook his head. "Seventh Son, huh?"

"Seventh son of a etc, etc." Daniel squinted. "I'm wondering if you had thoughts on how we could put you all into a… we want at least one dedicated team, and the rest scattered into other units. The Colonel looked over your file and wants to propose that you… could lead a squad."

He raised his eyebrows a little. "Depends what the remit is for the group. If you're doing diplomacy, send Sensitives. If you're trading in wards and protection, then send Magicians. If you have strike teams, then send your Warriors. If you want a specialist team or two, you need a team with a representative of each. Minimum." He narrowed his eyes at Daniel a moment. "Your team — you're a sensitive, she's your Magician and I'm assuming you've got a Warrior and a leader. It's a solid number. If you want a highest powered team, out of the people you've got out there right now, its McKay as a magician, Beckett as a sensitive, either Emmagen or Dex as a warrior, and myself as… an all-a-rounder. Beckett's the uncertain one, but if he's a seventh son, he needs to be with the highest degree of protection you've got."

"Then should he be sent out at all?" Daniel pressed a little.

John chewed on his lip a little. Difficult question, very difficult. Logic said no, but his gut said yes, and if you wanted to live, you always listened to your gut. "Yes. There are some disturbing prophecies about Seventh Sons, and I'm not saying it is Beckett, but that doesn't matter. It's what the other side believes that's the case. A Seventh Son will open doors out there like you wouldn't believe. If they're really openly living with all this stuff, you have in Beckett the mortal equivalent of an angel or prophet. Even if he just stands there and does nothing, that's an advantage you can't afford to pass up."

"We haven't run into any angels, but if we do, we'll put that on your team, too. Frontloading," Daniel smiled, and looked at Carter again.

"If you could look over our teaming plans, and tell us whether or not these look like good choices. You're the last one in here. McKay mentioned we should try to be aware of cultural sensitivities in some of these people."

"Coming from McKay, that's pretty rich, but." Daniel was still looking at him, and it was almost maddening. "Don't look too hard," he said. "You might see something unpleasant."

He looked over the team plan, intrigued to see that they hadn't done a bad job. He made a brief scribble and swapped two around to stop bloodshed. Some of the Eastern European Otherkind had some really long running blood feuds. They'd either end up fucking or fighting and, either way, that wasn't good for teamwork. He frowned a little when he saw a couple of names and shifted two more around that he knew had beefs with each other if the names were who he thought they were. The second team didn't look too bad either. "Heh, always wondered what Lorne did as a day job," he murmured pushing the team sheets back to them.

"Lorne was recommended for this program based on his military prowess," Carter murmured, glancing down at the sheets.

"So, would you be willing to lead a team, Major Sheppard? Dealing with Aliens and demons out there in the galaxy? It's going to take weeks to train and get all of you working as cohesive units. We have some planets we're on friendly terms with who're willing to allow us to use them as jump points for training."

"Might be interesting to do it as a real job. Get it set up so we can kick ass on our home soil as well," John said. "I'm in. And Lorne's holding out on you, he's pretty good at divination."

Carter exhaled. "Huh. Well, if you're in, then we'll go announce the teams to the group and we can get everyone moved out here. Welcome to Stargate Command, Major Sheppard."

He nodded at her and at Dr Jackson. This was a big move, a hell of a big move and they weren't going to be able to do this without repercussions, he knew that. But maybe for once there would be support there — no more trying to stitch himself up and pretend everything was okay. No lack of sleep at night and working all day. Proper supplies. With the US military behind it, he was sure he wouldn't be running out of dragonfire any time soon. If they could bring in some of the secret religious military orders, then they really would be on to something big.

Everything was moving so strangely.

They'd announced the teams, and it was just as Rodney had suspected. Put together one front-loaded team, and a second slightly less front loaded team, and then scattered the rest of them. He supposed that it was the best way to do it, so every team going out of Stargate Command had someone who could sense if the villagers they were dealing with were all that they seemed.

He still expected high fatality rates and for it to be a complete fiasco, of course.

And he was part of the front loaded team with Major Sheppard as their commander. Well, he had to admit the man wasn't completely incompetent, but really.

"So, team meeting, guys," John said in an annoyingly chipper tone of voice and Carson was sitting there looking anxious again.

The Dhampir was on their team, too, and there were certain advantages to that. Strength, speed. Not quite the lucky coin of metaphorical tender that Carson was, but useful. She was all smiles, calmly looking at the three of them.

He wished Carson didn't look so anxious.

"Woo. Why are we having a team meeting?"

"Well, I thought it would be useful if we didn't accidentally piss each other off," John said. "By team meeting, I mean getting a drink and relaxing. "

"I think I need more than a drink to relax," Carson said looking around at them all.

"I could very much use a drink right now," Teyla volunteered, sitting up.

"Mmm. I can be the designated driver," Rodney offered, putting one hand up slightly.

"Let's hit a… sympathetic bar," John said and it seemed a fair few people were heading out in that general direction anyway, so Rodney let the others focus on small talk while he dealt with more important things.

"Ohh, indoctrinate poor Carson early. If we head there now, we can get a booth." Rodney shrugged his suit jacket back on while he stood up.

A lot of the journey to the bar, which despite its dive like nature was a favorite spot, was spent introducing Carson to the whole concept of the place. He'd been amazed, fascinated and concerned that such places existed. The one thing that preyed on his mind was that he wouldn't be able to get in through the test.

"I really don't know," he said as they descended down to where the bouncer was waiting with his pack of cards.

"Open your mind. You can touch the card if you have to, but you aren't allowed to try to tip it and peek," Rodney advised, nudging his shoulder while Teyla took the lead. She glanced at the card, and declared it a flying lizard before she stepped past the man.

Of course she had control of herself.

Sheppard grinned. "Just relax, doc, nothing to it. Two spheres beneath a moon."

"Bloody Hell," Carson said looking at the man and stepping forward. "Sorry lad, not done this before." He took a deep breath and touched the card. "A…snowflake and two swans?" he said sounding surprise. "Well, they could be geese I suppose."

"Go on."

He pulled up a new card for Rodney. He opened his power up for a moment; hit the card and some of the man with it. "Bleeding sun. You should get that ulcer looked at — I can smell the death on you."

"He has an ulcer?" Carson paused not quite through the door. "How did you pick that up? I want to learn that."

Of course he did.

Rodney shut it down, and smiled widely at Carson. "It's not the ulcer, it's the blood I picked up on. I can shut mine on and off. If I was open all the time, I'd have a worse attitude than I do now." He shadowed Carson into the inner part of 'Kudos'.

"Oh really?" Carson grinned obviously on a bit of a high from getting it right. It was normal for him but to Carson this was all new, he forgot that sometimes.

"There you are," John said. "C'mon, we've got drinks and Teyla's staking a claim on a table over there."

"What did you order?" Rodney kept herding Carson forward, and made sure he got into the inside of the booth, between Rodney and the wall.

"For you? Something incredible sweet and… froofy," Sheppard said with a devilish grin. "Carson, you just get beer at the moment?"

"Beer is fine, lad," Carson replied.

"Rodney, you want to set some privacy wards or do you want me to?" John asked.

"No, by all means. Go for it, be impressive," he smiled waving a hand at the empty space between them, and the rest of the bar. Teyla looked comfortable enough sitting at John's other side. It looked like she was drinking some kind of lager.

John shrugged a little and muttered a little under his breath. It was as neat a set of wards as Rodney had seen, made to look easy.

"Now we can talk," John said. "If we're going to be their front line team we need to figure what we need to deal with as soon as possible."

"I don't know where to start," Rodney admitted, sliding the straw through the milk shake of hard liquor. "We need to work out how we can complement each other."

"Okay, what experience do any of you have of what we would call combat situations? Supernatural or demonic combat," John asked.

"I keep telling you all, I've bloody well got nothing," Carson said shrugging a little. "I'm pretty sure if there's one of us with a big neon sign of liability to be stuck on them, it's me."

"I have many years of fighting vampires. I started when I was very young," Teyla replied. "It is well known that only Dhampirs can kill true vampires."

Rodney glanced slowly between them, and wondered just how much of himself to unfurl. "I don't get into combat situations very often. I prefer to pretend I'm Switzerland."

"That's going to be difficult if we're on a team heading into difficult situations," John said looking at him. "Are you going to be able to do something? I don't want one of my team, any of you killed."

"Okay, uh. I have had a long-standing position of personal neutrality," Rodney offered, sharing that much. "So maybe Switzerland is the wrong analogy. Think America before Pearl Harbor. I have a lot of power. I just don't want to use it."

"You know, I haven't Looked at you really," John said. "I got the impression you didn't want that."

"Many of us do not like to be reminded of our Other natures," Teyla said calmly.

"I've put a lot of work into getting where I am now with my natural intelligence and ability." He shrugged. "You can look. Doctor Jackson tried before and couldn't get far."

"Not the sort of thing I'm going to push in a public place," John replied with a grin. "Maybe someplace private. Okay, so, Dr. Beckett…"

"Call me Carson."

"Carson is our one that needs the most training." John said. "All of us are going to need some physical training and I'm thinking Teyla is our expert there."

"I have a touchy back," Rodney warned. "Just to put that out there. You're going to do horrible things to us, aren't you?" He could tell that she was looking forward to it, almost glowing with the anticipation of besting them.

"Oh, yes." She smiled at them all. "Even Major Sheppard here could enhance his skills considerably."

"Thank you," John said dryly. "I take that to mean you will be kicking my ass literally."

Teyla smiled again. "It will be educational."

"Whom do we have who can train Carson?" he asked.

"I can train Carson to use his abilities." Rodney took a swig of his drink, and then fished out the cherry that was stuck in the foam.

"You have experience?" John looked impressed. "Okay, look I've worked with people before. Good friends and… it's dangerous out there. I've lost way too many. I don't want to lose a new team if I can help it. Kinda like the idea of some back up. But you also have to know we are going to attract trouble one way or another. There are some big names out there who don't like me."

"Carson is going to attract trouble," Rodney shrugged. "Teyla is going to attract trouble. I'm bound to run into someone I've pissed off somewhere. We're going to make a great lead team."

"We sound like a bunch of lightning conductors," John said. "So… okay, we're okay with it. Aliens, huh? Anyone come across them before?"

Rodney stuck his straw briefly into the air. "And Carson. In a passing way. Those 'Roswell Grays'? Are real. And I've been able to study a computer model of the Stargate. I'm looking forward to that part of things."

"Aye, the Asgard. I've been doing some genetic research on them," Carson admitted. "I've been with Rodney at Area 51. His team has been making extraordinary advances in science."

John nodded. "Hmm… interesting that the runic systems can work as well for demons. I wonder if that means other races out there also had defenses."

"It's the words, not so much the language," Rodney shrugged. "I tried to explain that to them in the interview. Though the runes can gather the concepts together much more tightly than, say, English can. Sometimes there are better languages for the words. The power of a name in its native language." The power of saying a name, of revealing and binding with a name. Rodney closed his eyes for a moment, before peering down at his mudslide.

"The Word of God," Carson said and he seemed to be looking at Rodney when he said that. It was a little alarming that, even untrained, Carson seemed to be hitting near the mark more accidentally than people who had practiced over the years. "I suppose that is at the root of most religions, but some religions built very specific means of dealing with demons into it… delegated power. They could really do with some priests on board from the sound of it."

"There were a couple there. At least one shaman I recognized," John said. "People find what works for them and use it." He took a mouthful of his beer.

"I'd leave the normal Chaplains out of it. They're more likely to fall to their knees and start praying than they are to fight back." Rodney scraped the fluff down from the sides of his glass, and glanced over at Teyla. "What are your preferred techniques?"

"I find stick fighting to be curiously effective against Vampires," Teyla replied calmly. "With their sensitivity to wood, they suffer from the strikes greatly, although I always carry sanctified knives and I have recently adapted to a katana blade which I find allows me to keep my advantage of speed. Planning is paramount however if facing more than one of these creatures."

"When you get a chance." John looked somber a moment. "Sometimes you don't get that option."

"You're really helping my confidence here, you know that?" Carson said looking at them both with wide eyes.

"I'm tempted to take you to Lux, in LA," Rodney grinned, nudging Carson's shoulder. "We've got, what, two weeks before we're supposed to be back here and report for duty?"

"Yeah," John said. "To finish up projects or move or whatever, only I'm pretty much moved apart from finding a place."

"Oh lord, finding a place to live…" Carson shrugged. "Looks like another apartment is in my future."

John shook his head. "Carson, if word gets out about what you are… We need to be pretty close to you if that happens."

Rodney glanced over at Carson. "We could always do cheap communal living," Rodney pointed out.

"You three may pursue inexpensive multi-room housing. I believe I will get an apartment," Teyla told them demurely, for someone who'd just polished off an ale.

"That might be an idea," John replied. "Only one set of wards to set up. And we need to get Carson a tattoo. You, too, Rodney unless you've taken steps against possession. First thing we need to do is to make sure we don't have to worry about possession."

"Nothing is going to possess me," Rodney murmured, picking up his glass. "Actually, I do need to go to LA to wrap a couple things up. If you want me to go magical item shopping while I'm there, I'll accept requests and a list."

Teyla started to smile again. "I will take you up on that offer, Doctor McKay."

"Yeah, that would be cool," John said. "I need to get some dragonfire and then see what you guys can do about replicating it. That would make a very effective weapon for all teams."

"A tattoo. My mother would have a pink fit," Carson commented glumly.

"And if Carson will let us borrow a bit of his blood…" John said, glancing at the doctor.

"What?" Carson startled up. "What do you want my blood for?"

"I'm sure Rodney will find it useful." John said innocently.

"It's better than cash in a barter system," Rodney volunteered. "John, if I go take care of the shopping list, will you stick with Carson and get him moved out here? It shouldn't take me more than a couple of days out there if I leave tomorrow morning."

"Sure," John said drawling a little. "You want us to look for somewhere local? You okay with anything we pick?"

"As long as I have a bedroom and space to put books. Also, my television will be inherently better than yours, so please wait to arrange the living room around its breathtaking perfection." He shifted, starting to stand up. "I'll get everyone another round."

"Yeah, enough work stuff," John said lazily, and Rodney was pretty sure he was looking at his ass as he got up. And possibly Carson too, but John did it much more blatantly.

He was moving in with the both of them, like a horrible situation comedy from the eighties. Three makes for really, really gay company? That was probably not one of his better ideas, but if he could keep things casual enough and focused at work, the rest would follow suit. He was used to living alone, and there were problems that went with not being alone.

He wondered if he could talk Carson into watching Ellis while he was gone. Rodney waited for the bartender to get the next round ready, and walked it back to the booth.

"…not garlic then?" Carson was asking.

"I find it somewhat refreshing," Teyla answered with a smile.

"I'm feeling somewhat disillusioned," Carson commented even as John chuckled a little.

Rodney could tell it was going to be a night full of ever more ludicrous stories and fortunately he had a few to share that wouldn't reveal too much about him. And maybe later on… he might just give in to the gleam in John's eye. Just a little.

Carson had a stinking hangover and he wondered why he put himself through this sort of torment. Admittedly he always got over them quickly, but right now Rodney and John were making his head pound as they talked over his groans.

"So, get him tattooed, and if you can get his stuff over here, I'd appreciate it. It shouldn't take me more than a couple of days to get back. This is my cell phone number, and I'll leave him the rental car."

"How are you going to get to LA?" Carson asked blearily.

"If I plan to be back in two days, isn't it obvious that I plan on flying? Seriously, do you think I'm going to drive from out here in Colorado to California?" Rodney snorted, and Carson felt him pat his head. "Hey, do you mind taking care of Ellis?"

"Ellis? Your cat? Did you bring him out here?" Carson asked, clutching his coffee for dear life.

"Yeah. I had a feeling we'd be staying out here, so I figured I should bring him." John, of all people, was scraping together a workman like breakfast on the burner of Carson's coffee pot, and paper plates. It smelled rather decent — scrambled eggs, sausage. "Dragonfire might be problematic to find. Did you look at the list Teyla gave me?"

"Yeah… workable," John commented. "You got any idea what sort of thing is out there? Are we needing some serious ammunition?"

"I'm pretending that we're walking into an area that's never had any kind of resistance," Rodney declared. He was looking at Carson, though, mouth pulling down thoughtfully. "Do you have anything I can draw your blood with?"

"Oh crap, I forgot about that," Carson said waving over towards his bag. "I've got some hypos in there."

"I'm going to be the most suspicious businessman ever." Rodney stood up to get the bag, but he deferred to Carson for the rummaging through it part of things.

"Well, obviously there are sample tubes," he said, pulling out the hypo. "Is my blood really that valuable?"

"Like gold," Rodney told him, extending Carson's other arm for him. "If you let me do this to you, there's a fifty percent chance I'm going to scar you."

"I think I can do it to myself," Carson said, hastily taking control of the hypodermic. There was a fifty percent chance that Rodney was exaggerating, but. "I've done it before."

"I can help if you need it," John offered.

"Finish making breakfast," Rodney groused. "I can't believe that was your idea before takeout and me getting donuts. No, just a quick fry up on the coffee element."

"I'll be all right," Carson said, focusing on tying off his arm. "After some food."

"Well eat some of this…" John said bringing it over. "And you, Rodney. If you want."

"Won't say no to food." Rodney was still eyeing him, watching him take the blood. Two tubes, or three? Three would be a good number, Carson supposed, in case someone wanted two for an item.

He knew how to find a vein, how to slip it in and he had it tapped. Three. He could split it up if he wanted. "This enough for you?"

"That's going to be plenty. Is there anything else you think we should get for Carson other than the tattoo?" Rodney was watching him work. "We want you protected."

"He has some of his own defenses if he learns to use them," John said with a shrug as he dumped the food in front of them. "Eat while it's hot. Otherwise, a high level amulet would be good."

"Mm. I'll see how it goes if I can find one. So, you've both got my cell phone number if something comes up. I called the moving company to get my place packed up at oh god o'clock last night to piss them off."

"We'll go looking today," John promised. "The SGC apparently has lists of suitable properties."

"Well there can't be many wanting the larger properties," Carson said handing the vials over.

"If three of us apply for one of them, it at least saves us money." Rodney took the vials, and carefully wrapped them in the damned oddest-looking piece of fabric. It was old and embroidered at the edges, with what looked like words.

"What does that say?" Carson asked curiously even as he had a mouthful of scrambled egg. Not bad.

"It's the Tetragrammaton." Rodney tucked the edges in around the vials, until it was carefully wrapped. "All of this makes my skin crawl sometimes. In case you're starting to nurse an inferiority complex about this, Carson."

"I started nursing mine a long time ago. It's all grown up now." He'd thought he'd had a mental breakdown. He'd been on heavy-duty medication for some time; of course he had an inferiority complex. It was just weird.

It was still shock-like that this was all real, and that Rodney was slipping vials of his blood into the inside pocket of his jacket, zipping it shut. It got a laugh out of Rodney while he sipped his coffee and stuck most of a sausage in his mouth. "Mmmph, I should probably get going or I'm going to miss my flight."

"You want a lift to the airport?" John asked and Carson considered he should've thought of that

Rodney stuffed some of the scrambled eggs into his mouth. "No, called a taxi."

"Well, you watch out for yourself," Carson said and had another one of those feelings that maybe John and Rodney had been close the previous night.

Maybe he was wrong. He hoped he had an opportunity to talk with Rodney about it, to find out if he even had a chance, if it was worth even pursuing. Carson wasn't a man to throw himself at a brick wall; there was no sense in that. "Thanks."

Rodney hesitated, and then leaned in and pressed a peck of a kiss on his cheek before he headed for the door. "I'll drop Ellis off and then I'll be gone. I want Carson in one piece when I come back, Sheppard!"

"Hey, trust me," John answered with a smirk. "See you soon. If we're not here when you get back, I'll be getting Carson tattooed."

"Right." And then Rodney shut the door, leaving Carson sitting there, feeling stunned.

"This is…" Carson sighed. "Really, I am beginning to wonder if I have actually gone insane."

"I used to wonder that, too." John sat down, opposite of Rodney's now empty chair, and hunched over his own plate of strange looking scrambled eggs and sausage. It all tasted oddly good, for grilled on the coffee pot element. "So, what would help you believe this is more normal?"

The door opened again, and Rodney stuck a cat carrier in just inside the doorway, and a book bag balanced on top of it. "Carson — remember to feed Ellis, not more than one can of Fancy Feast a meal, twice a day. Litterbox is in the carry cage with him." And then it shut again.

Carson blinked. "Did I just lose some time or was that really quick?" he asked, distracted.

"He was just next door," John pointed out. "Poor cat's probably been packed up since before he came over here."

"He loves that cat," Carson said. "I'll let him settle, then let him out. And I'm not sure what will help. I'm just terrified of being a liability. You're all… terribly competent."

"That's why you're on a team with us." John smirked a tiny bit, and it was a damn flattering look on him. Maybe the man was a seducer, a succubus or whatever the male version was. "We'll make sure you're competent."

"You keep saying that but I don't want anyone hurt because of me. And I know nothing about myself," Carson said. "How are you going to make me competent?"

"I know McKay already probably tried this with you, but touch me and tell me what you see. If we can make what you see by touch stronger, then you might be able to see without touch. And when you can see without touching, you're officially no longer a supernatural liability. The weapons training, the Air Force will teach you. And Teyla."

"Okay… but is that all I can do? You guys seem to be able to do that as well." He finished his breakfast and reached over, hesitating.

"Lore about seventh sons says you should be a healer. You probably are, but you're probably also repressing it." John shrugged, and offered his hand over to Carson, turning it palm up.

"Okay… I'm just warning you, I tried this with Rodney and sort of zoned out," he said hovering his hand over skin. "After discovering you and he had been sleeping together."

John cleared his throat, still offering his hand over to Carson. "That was kind of accidental."

"Oh, really?" Carson smiled and touched his skin to John's and focused.

And fell, fell down and down into fire and a place so terrible and with creatures so hideous and loathsome it could only be Hell. And yet John was there, walking towards something so vastly evil and terrible that its shadow was living darkness, consuming and lapping at objects.

He wasn't seeing the now, or a sickness, he was sensing the past, something hidden by John. The darkness was moving, alive, and the evil flickered tendrils out, moved to suck John in. He could smell the sulfur, he could smell pain and iron and blood in the air, and he could feel the sting of burning ash against his face, and then John was turning towards him and pushed him back in his own sight, and he was in his chair again. In the hotel, and he wasn't touching John anymore.

Oh god.

Breathing hard, yes, but conscious, and staring at John, where he possibly wanted to throw up.

His hands were shaking and he had to gulp. He wasn't meant to have seen that, he knew that as well, as sure as anything. John didn't want people to know that, never talked about it, lived with the darkness alone, but it was so huge, so vast, a scar inside of him however deep he had been drawn to it. The images were seared into his mind, and he belatedly became aware of other things…emotions, drifting names, a growling memory of sounds that he somehow understood.

"John…"

John blinked at him slowly, and sat back in his chair. "That was you. I remember this presence coming at me, and I pushed it back. That was you. You…"

"No, wait.." Carson was shaken. "I don't understand. I don't bloody understand. That wasn't now, was it? That was… then but… this is now, but I was there then and.. Jesus…"

"You were there then," John told him after a moment of quiet. He pushed his chair back, slowly, and stood up. Carson expected him to leave, to leave him there to work out what the bloody hell was going on, but he moved to sit on the floor in front of Ellis's cage. He popped the door open quietly, and pulled out the bundle of longhaired tabby.

"What… what are you doing, John?" Carson looked at him, sure that perhaps he had done something he shouldn't have been able to do. It made him wonder if there was something he had done.

"I'm hugging the stupid cat until I figure out how to train someone like you to do that." He heard Ellis chortle happily, clutching onto the fabric of John's shirt.

"Okay, I heard the words, but I didn't understand a lot of it," Carson admitted. He nearly spilt his coffee trying to drink it. "What was I seeing?"

"Me in Hell, before I enlisted. Back when I was a kid. But you didn't just see it — you were there. Briefly. I remember at the time you startled the hell out of me and I did the only thing I could. I pushed you back. And this is when you did it. You entered time." He petted Ellis's head gently, but firmly. The cat purred contentedly in John's arms, pleased to have the attention.

"But…" Carson looked at him "That's impossible isn't it? At least if I'm getting anything off of you, it's that it is impossible."

"Nothing is impossible." John hunched in closer to Ellis, still petting him. "Dammit. We have to work on how to train you to do that. It's like an astral projection." There was a heartbeat's worth of time, and then John added, "I think."

"How was it that you were there?" Carson asked. "And that demon… that was no ordinary demon."

"It wasn't Satan, but the guy was up there." It was a glib comment, and Carson moved in closer to John, knowing he was looming but wondering if John wanted him that close after what he'd just intruded on. "Hell's a bad place to be. You try not to take a fight to their territory."

"So, what were you doing there?" Carson asked again. He frowned a little. "…wait, wait… they tried to give you over in pact? Your parents?"

John scuffed fingers through the fur under Ellis's chin. "Just my father. Mom died a few years before that."

"But…" His head hurt thinking about it. "How could he do that? What did he want? To swap you for her? You can't do that!"

"You can, sometimes. But that wasn't what he was doing. He'd made a pact with a crossroads demon, and he wanted to get out of the end result of the pact — the ten year limit." John stood Ellis up on his lap, staidly bushing the cat's belly fur down. "Man, you're like a teddy bear."

Ellis mrowed at him happily enough, but Carson was still worried. "They took you to hell but they couldn't hold you. But… they want you."

"Oh yeah. They want me bad. I've sent enough of them back to Hell, fucked up their schemes enough. They want me." John leaned in and pressed his face into Ellis's fur, and then, apparently satisfied with his mauling of the cat, put him down to let him decide where he wanted to go. "This projection of yours makes it more important that we get those wards permanently inked on your skin, Carson."

"They won't have you," Carson said. "You feel that presence again, let me stay. I don't know what I can do, but it must mean something."

John turned, looked up at him. "Carson. You… I appreciate the offer, but let's just focus on what we can do now. I've earned their hatred, and there are worse people to be despised by. Demons, creatures of the dark, some of the worse Otherkind."

"But they are not going to have you." It was important, he knew that much. It was important that John Sheppard did not go to Hell.

The edge of his mouth curled up a little, while he stood up. "You're one of a kind, Carson. C'mon, let's finish breakfast and try to find a good tattoo parlor. Or a bad one."

"I'm not sure I want to be one of a kind," Carson said. "I don't think I could eat much more anyway."

He wasn't even sure how to be himself just then, because at his roots, he was a doctor, a geneticist, a researcher, and now he was going to be out fighting demons? Or whatever they were supposed to be doing out there, in space.

And Rodney was selling his blood for supplies. It was no wonder everything felt balled up and surreal, because his mind wasn't adjusted to the new reality yet. Might never adjust, Carson supposed, while Ellis hopped into his chair and eyed the scrambled eggs greedily.

With a sigh, he pushed them over towards the cat, and turned to John, because at the end of the day it seemed the decision had been made for him.

He was going to have to adjust, but he wasn't going to be doing it alone.

They didn't understand why he didn't want to get involved, and they didn't understand why he couldn't help but get involved, and it made his heart pound, made everything spin wildly. Sometimes the only way to clear his head was to run, to go, to soar.

He was a flying, soaring secret, a mystery, screwing with air traffic controllers' heads. He wondered if they'd scramble jets to find him, wondered if he'd register as a plane or a missile or if they'd try to shoot him down and it was stupid, but he had to be concerned about things like that nowadays, like he had to worry about identity and humanity and testing and fingerprints, and DNA and iris patterns and those thousand sharp ways that people tracked each other to say, 'You are not who you say you are,' and to profile someone down to the letter of their favorite cereal.

Rodney McKay closed his eyes, and beat his wings in slow, powerful bursts, holding the bundle of his shirt and jacket in his arms. He'd been flying for three, four hours, and he was past tired, but it was worth it to clear his head, to put Colorado and the threat of the StarGate Command behind him. To fly free and wild for what he hoped wouldn't be the last time.

It was going to be difficult to sneak off from Sheppard and Carson if he was living there all the time, but if he didn't he wasn't as smart as he knew he should be. This was messy though, unprecedented. This was accelerating his… sphere of influence faster and faster and it made him wonder if it was him after all, or if someone else was involved. He'd been a self-involved bastard for the last few centuries and he wanted to keep it that way. He wanted to take part in very few big pictures. He'd dabbled, he'd inspired, and he'd walked away. Never hands on. He'd be in the lab, he'd work, and he'd go away. It was someone else's idea, but it was his imprinted hand on them, or it was him, toiling away quietly and unnoticed, unappreciated, but eventually realized, post mortem, for the importance of his work. This was new, new territory, more involvement than he'd ever had. He never dealt with things like this, demon fighting, and direct challenges.

It left him worried, his heart knotted up in his chest despite the muscle tension as he worked his wings, and started to slow, ease into a descent. He needed to find a back alley, something where he wouldn't really be seen, where he could disappear in a blink, pull his shirt and jacket back on. Blend into the city from there, and recoup for a few hours once he tucked his wings away.

He'd wondered why he'd been drawn to Carson. He thought it was just the intelligence, because the man was very intelligent, perhaps a genius in his own way, and he was drawn to that through his nature, but he was starting to get disturbing intuition that maybe it was part of a bigger pattern.

Rodney hated the bigger patterns.

He'd enjoyed liking Carson as a person, as a friend, a friend that he took pleasure in the company of, because he was intelligent, because he could occasionally give as good as he took, but this development was disturbing. Seventh son of a seventh son of a etc, etc. It meant, implied, power, and Rodney wondered how it had manifested in Carson; he would find out, but wondered how deep he'd gotten before he'd been shocked out of it when they'd been in the meeting room. If he meant what he'd said about the attraction to Rodney.

Damn, the place changed every time he visited it. There was no navigating it from the sky, so he aimed for an alleyway, and coasted in, smacking one wing hard against a brick wall while he went down.

"Shit!"

He needed practice at flying; there was no other thing for it. It made it hard to fold them away and they could really do with some decent grooming, preening or whatever he wanted to call it. Even if they were a quantum meta-state, they still felt better tidy.

So, first thing was first… did he go to Lux or did he start shopping around first?

Shopping was probably the better thing to tackle, and then wait for the later hours, for the dark, to go to Lux. When it was busy, when he wouldn't be the sole customer there. When he wouldn't have undivided attention.

Rodney wasted a few more moments compressing his wings away, and then he pulled his shirt on carefully, jacket over top. The vials had made it in one piece. Rodney knew most of the occult dealers in the area, and the people who could be trusted. He had an interesting list to buy for. He wasn't sure of some of the things Sheppard had asked for, because he was obviously planning something but Rodney wasn't sure what.

There was a niggling feeling that he could and had to trust Sheppard, though, so he'd make the purchases and hope it didn't bite him in the ass later.

The first place he ducked into looked like a trinket shop and smelled like a candle shop. Bells tinkled when he opened the door and again when he let it close behind him.

"McKay." The woman leaned forward. "Haven't seen you back in my neck of the woods for some time. Welcome."

"I've moved around a few times." He shifted his shoulders, trying to press back the itchy feeling of dirty wings under his skin. "How's your stock looking today?"

"Fine, fine as ever," Morgana — whose real name he happened to know was Helen — was a Wiccan white witch, but her main talent was for genuine occult materials. "I have some good sources. What were you looking for?"

He sighed, and pulled the list out of his jacket. "Everything under the sun. Dragonfire being the most rare. I'm looking for any protective amulets I can get my hands on, I'm looking for hair of a yeti, remnants of faerie, good quality pure crucifixes, uh…"

Damn, there was a second page, and it was mostly Teyla's and John's. All Rodney wanted was to go home.

"Give that to me and I'll set up the list." She looked at him. "Dragonfire is expensive… you know that. Irreplaceable. Trade or pay?"

"Both." He handed it over slowly. "Though I prefer to pay."

"Mmm, then pay. My supplies are genuine," Morgana said. She looked at the list. "This is heavy ammunition, McKay. Is there a war which the spirits you have not told me about?"

"I'm in a fit of paranoia right now," he sniffed, giving her and her badly-done highlighted hair a dirty look. "Or so I've been told. With my resources, why deny myself the comfort of stocking up?"

"And here I was starting to believe the rumors of the Spear of Destiny surfacing once again," Morgana said, as she busied herself packing things up. "You say protective talismans… any particular denomination?"

"A range would be nice." Seeing as they weren't sure what they were up against. "Better safe than sorry?"

"Fine. I will give you a selection," she said. "I'm interested, McKay. I have a genuine hearthstone, complete with bind runes and earth and blood magic to root wards as deep as Yggdrasil. If you are feeling paranoid, then nothing can get under this."

"Good." He crossed his arms over his chest, and looked sideways around her place. "I'll take that book bag on the wall, too, to put it in."

"You're going to be paying my year's rent at this rate." Morgana joked, fetching the bag. "Take a look around, I'll fetch the dragonfire from the back. I haven't got much."

"No one does, what with them being dead and all," Rodney called over his shoulder, moving to peer more closely at the wall. Feather of an angel, huh. He reached out to lay hands on it, curious as to whose it was.

An Angel's feather sang to those who had ears to hear, harmonic frequencies that pulsed through the ether, unique and glorious. When the hierarchies of heaven unfurled their wings, there was the music of the spheres harmonizing. This feather sang all right; he did recognize it.

"Hey — when you get back out here, I want this feather, too." If she had any kids, he was at least going to put them through their first semester. Of law school. In New York.

With a top storey apartment overlooking the harbor.

"My Angel's feather?" Morgana called out. "Not unless you have something of equal worth. They don't come up that often."

"I'd assume angels tend to keep them close," Rodney called back, stroking the edges. So pure, so strong. It made his chest vibrate with the power — one of the Powers, or a Throne. That was useful just as a bargaining chip — one could do horrible magic with someone's feather. "I have the blood of a Seventh Son."

"Goddess mercy!" Morgana came out with her hands full. "A true Seventh Son? Verified?"

He could summon with a Feather as well. It would set its fellows to ringing in sympathetic harmony. Quantum entanglement at its finest.

"Verified," Rodney confirmed. He picked the feather up off the wall, and carried it to Morgana's counter. "It's very potent." It was easy to unzip the pocket inside of his jacket, pulling his wrapped bundle out.

"In these days of birth control, it is hard to find a genuine seventh son of a seventh son," Morgana said. "I will trade, McKay."

He laid the bundle down, and carefully un-tucked and unfolded the cloth, to reveal the three vials. "One for one, then. Any goofy stories about whose feather it is?"

"I have heard tell that there was a skirmish between a mighty Angel, and an arch-demon over the fields of Kansas. The sky was torn with tornadoes so fierce they stole feathers from their wings," Morgana replied. "Wodensen, the Seer, said he claimed one Feather before they vanished."

"Over Kansas," Rodney repeated. He lifted an eyebrow, thinking hard about that. Kansas. No, most of those on earth stuck to themselves for a reason, and mostly in big cities. Had to be a messenger of the Host. "Huh. Well, this is your vial. What do I owe you?"

"I hope your job is paying well." She pushed over a bill with a lot of zeroes on the end and smiled sweetly.

Rodney whistled, and fished into his pocket for a credit card. "Oh yeah, this still hurts."

"I did warn you," she said but she didn't seem too unhappy about it as she took his money. "I didn't have any of the star stone… not that I would put my reputation behind. I cannot vouch for it, so I've been selling it to the occult tourists. You might want to try the Gnome's Cavern for that. Joseph has some nice crystal pieces in at the moment."

"Okay. I appreciate that, and I'll go there to finish the list off." She handed that back to him once she'd swiped his credit card. He folded away his two remaining vials.

"A pleasure doing business with you, McKay," Morgana said. "Blessings be upon you."

The odd thing was, Morgana always meant it.

She was a good person, and if there had been anything horribly wrong, he would have told her, so she could at least have enjoyed her last days for what they were. "God be with you." He shouldered the book bag, and tucked away the vials, heading towards the so-called 'Gnome's Cavern'.

Joseph was always a little annoyed that people didn't realize that 'gnome' was the official name for an Earth elemental, and it was sheer stubbornness that made him keep the name even after the umpteenth person came in looking for ornamental gnomes. He often ended up selling things to them somehow.

Joseph was a crystal user all the way, and sometimes his theories were out there, far, far out there, but he had an unerring sense for a powerful piece. Even if he wouldn't know what to do with if it someone stuck it up his ass, he knew when it was strong.

It was an eight-block walk, of course, and Rodney kept his sight shuttered for the bare reason that if he didn't see them, most things ignored him as one of the human rabble. It was easier to walk through the crowded sidewalks in that part of LA that way. He could make stops after that. Get some coffee. Something. He wasn't sure, but he didn't want to go to Lux run down.

By the time darkness had set, Rodney's backpack was laden with supplies, and he had taken the time to eat dinner at a quiet Italian place that had only cost him his other arm and leg. By the time LA had had its way with his wallet, he was going to be flat broke.

On the bright side, he was only going be gone a day which, while it was exhausting, he preferred it to the two day fiasco he'd been planning. Morgana conveniently had most everything he'd needed, and the other three stores he'd visited had patched the holes in the list — except information.

Hopefully he'd meet Lux's dress code.

The high ceilings, and dark walls were a nice touch — there was a huge, circular bar in the center, and a blonde woman tending it. Light on staff, then — well, it was how Rodney supposed he'd run a nightclub, too. He stood just inside the threshold for too long, perhaps, before he slunk in, looking for a table, searching for familiar faces.

He didn't think to look for the man playing the piano, but once he heard the voice singing to the tune, he knew where Samael was.

So he took a seat close to the piano, but not too close, and waited for the circling waitress to get him, sliding his satchel down off of his shoulder to cradle it to his front.

"I'm open to requests," Samael said casually, as his fingers flickered over the keys. He glanced right at Rodney and the power just rolled off of him when he was like this. It was enough to subtly unsettle the others around them so that they would leave.

It was hard not to bask in it, though, and Rodney sat up straighter, pushing down his nerves. "Would you play Fortunate Son, or is that too contemporary?"

"For you… McKay, I will." Samael tinged the words with the irony the two of them knew he would recognize in the song. "I'll sing it if you play."

He still had that ability to put him on the spot.

He stood up, and shouldered the book bag, leaving it on as he moved to sit at the piano bench. There was no such thing as, 'Hi, what's going on, oh, nothing,' in their world. Perhaps it was why he liked humans so much. "I'll play."

Samael gestured even as he stood. "Heart and soul… McKay."

Always that pause where he seemed to substitute his name. He knew he was thinking his real name in his thoughts, hard enough to hear it mocking him.

Rodney didn't think his real name in his own thoughts. He'd had all sorts of names, and somewhere in the last six hundred years, he'd decided to stick with various R names because they were a sound he liked and it kept a pattern he could stick to. Most languages had an R. "I'll do my best." At least he wasn't sharing the seat with Samael, and he moved into position, hunching over the keys for a moment. Of course the piano would be perfect.

The notes came to him as a skill he had learned some time ago. There was a pleasure in music, a sense of feeling whole again that made him understand why Samael played and sang so frequently. Once, his voice could be heard bright among the Host, pure and full of the glory of all things.

And now he sang in a nightclub, his accompanist likewise Fallen.

It was still pleasing and glorious in its own right, and Rodney closed his eyes, reveling in it for the moment. Maybe he needed to take up playing again, but for the moment the double-layered resonance of Samael's voice was enough.

He was almost sorry when the song came to an end, especially as Samael looked at him and beckoned him over to sit in some of his designer chairs.

"It's been a while. What brings you back to Lux?"

Off to the side, out of the way. "I'm curious," Rodney offered, and then paused and laughed for a moment. "Yeah, uh, I'm curious. Things have been moving very fast for me recently. You could call it a conjunction."

"Oh, I always knew the stars were under your remit, but are we moving into astrology now?" Samael asked raising his eyebrows.

The edges of his mouth twitched a little, and he caught himself staring at Samael's eyes. "In a way, yes. To other parts of the universe. I was curious if you were involved, or had heard anything."

"You'll have to narrow it down. I hear a lot of things," Samael said and a waitress brought them both a drink without them having to even ask. "Can't you tell I'm busy?" He gestured to the club.

"It's a nice place." Rodney slouched into the chair. "You don't even screen the door. It's uh… The American government has become aware of the variety of life on this planet, because it's become aware of the variety of life on other planets. It's putting together task forces to help allies on these other planets."

"Oh really?" It was difficult to tell with Samael if that was 'Oh really, I knew all about that ages ago' or more 'Oh really, that's news to me but I'm being cool about it because I am after all the Original Rebel with or without a cause'.

It was a fifty-fifty split.

"So, me of all people. Spiritual warfare. There are a lot of powerful people involved in this project. It made me think that someone was manipulating this into place."

"So naturally you thought of me." Samael didn't seem to resent that. In a strange way it was very nearly a compliment. "Not this time… Rodney. That's a can of worms I've been avoiding up until now."

"Oh good. So I've just stumbled into this one on my own." Rodney reached for the glass, looking at it before he took a sip. Very, very good wine — Samael was nothing if he wasn't a good host. "Do you know anything you can tell me about it?"

"It's a clusterfuck waiting to happen," Samael said succinctly. "Here, here was always the unconquered land. The first… the Old ones, they've got a power base out there. But, He's got here. In a crude way, Earth is a boot camp. I wonder what's pushed the agenda up?"

The first… something. First something. Rodney tucked that away, and took another sip. "I don't know. I only have uneducated guesses on what might have inspired it. They're using what they call the Stargate." That inspired another sip. "Technological remnants of the first humans."

"Oh those guys… the Nephilim." Samael shrugged. "Progenitors of the mythical beasts and having a leg up on the direct access to His Almightiness due to our influence. Well, the whole sleeping with the Daughters of Eve business. Or Sons of Adam… I sound like that pious prat C.S Lewis."

"Screwtape doesn't seem the right name for you." He swirled the wine in the glass, looking at Samael's eyes again. It was easy to lose himself in it, the familiarity of his power that was right there, present in his eyes. "Mmm. Seems they had the same propensity for trouble as most of us did. And I'm going to revisit their mistakes."

"Enjoy," Samael said. "You never know, you might win your way back into their good graces. Who else do you have with you?"

"A member of The People. A Dhampir. A Seventh Son. A few hunters, some assorted Eastern European Otherkind. At least one seer, a few magicians, and John Sheppard." He waited for any reaction to that list.

"Sheppard?" There was a glimmer of light in Samael's eyes. "Oh ho, Rodney, have you tangled yourself with that particular thorny issue? For someone professing to be Switzerland all the time, when you come off the fence you really know how to pick sides. Did you purposefully decide to oppose pretty much all the Lords of Hell, or did that just happen accidentally? The First wants him, and you know… he's been denied. He doesn't take that well."

Ah, then his instinct had been right. Rodney groaned, and rubbed at his face. "Complete accident. The Air Force decided he should be the team leader. Look, at least I'm not Melios, playing with power no one can control, him and his deck of cards. I'm just…"

A schmuck.

"Caught in the middle," Samael finished. "Still, if Sheppard can outwit the Fallen as many times as his reputation describes, then perhaps it's not such a foolish move. Melios is a prick and if there's one thing I know, you play with that sort of power, it'll eat you unless you have the sense to walk away. Dhampirs and The People, eh?" He shrugged a little. "Like special pets. But the Seventh Son intrigues me. The last I recall was… oh, back sometime in the 14th Century."

"He has some manifestation of power. I'm working on what it is." It was always comforting to hear his own thoughts on one of their own.

"You've been trading his blood?" Samael asked and half-stated. "Let me see."

"A little. Nothing near the two pints you'd need for blood magic on him," Rodney murmured, reaching into his pocket to pull out the two carefully wrapped vials.

"You wound me," Samael said with a smile. "I'm just interested in his potential." He took a vial.

"I couldn't wound you if I tried," Rodney drawled, holding carefully to the other vial.

Samael cracked open the vial and sniffed it with the air of someone trying a fine wine. "Mmm, interesting bouquet." He dipped a fingertip into it and extracted a drop, and then licked it off carefully.

If he had choked or coughed then Rodney would've know he was playing with him, but the way his face became thoughtful and little shuttered was more alarming on so many levels.

"Well, you are right about the power," he said and handed the vial back.

"Not going to tell me any more? No tantalizing hints?" Rodney hunched his shoulders a little, and stoppered the vial.

"Oh, you know these things sometimes don't live up to their potential," Samael said. "Humans are generally very disappointing. Always wanting to be more when they didn't even value the inherent power they had. Watch him. The patterns pull people together for a purpose and he is at the center of that, as is Sheppard."

"Huh." Rodney tucked the vials back into his jacket. "I have no offerings to make but my thanks. So, thank you. For what it's worth."

"You have brought me information and music. I am feeling unaccountably generous," Samael answered.

The truth was, there was probably a price looming in the future somewhere.

It was hard not to smile while he drained the wine, and set the glass on the table. There always was. "If you would excuse me, then, I have a long flight to return home."

"You could stay if you wish," Samael said lazily and that was a little alarming.

He could stay. He could stay for a long time, but he wasn't going to. "No, if Carson needs watching, I had best start now. But thank you."

It was time, past time, to leave Lux.

"Have fun, Rodney, I'll be seeing you around," Samael said lazily and gave him a wave.

He had to remind himself that Samael had been one of the most powerful of them all; still was, if he chose to exert it, but he'd made a decision to walk away and sometimes Rodney wondered if that hadn't have been the hardest and truest choice of all.

John knew from past experience that the tattooing was going to hurt like a sonuvabitch. But the best place was over the heart, and after that experience earlier, he was sure not to cut corners.

"Can't I have it on my ass? Or even, my back… that has less nerve endings," Carson pleaded.

"It needs to be right over your heart." John reached to press his hand right over Carson's heart. "This is important for all of us, for you personally and for the mission."

"It says a lot that I'm scared enough to let you do this," Carson said. His heart was beating pretty rapidly.

John tapped the area twice, and then looked at the darkened, tinted windows of the tattoo parlor they were standing in front of. "You don't want to be possessed, trust me."

"Have you been possessed, John?" Carson asked. John had gone and fetched the special ink as well. It worked great, and he was going to make sure he had the layers of protection there.

He just had to talk the parlor into using it. "Yes and no. Not in the usual sense of the word."

"Is there a usual sense of the word?" Carson said, as they entered the parlor.

"Strangely, there is. The Exorcist would apply, actually." John herded him into the place gently, and smiled at the clerk. "Hey. We brought our own ink. Can we use it if my friend here gets ink done?"

"Your own ink?" The clerk raised her eyebrows. "Ritualistic stuff?" She was chewing gum, which was a little annoying. "We gotta specialist in that sort of thing."

"Yeah? It's kind of ritualistic, yeah. Runes 'n stuff." If they sounded like gay bikers, well, that was fine by John. He'd never see those people again. "I have it on my back, my friend here wants it on his chest."

"I'll call Steve. If you wanna look at any other designs while you're waiting, Steve has his own book of special interest stuff," the clerk said. "Have a seat on the couch."

John moved to sit down, and patted the spot beside him for Carson. "I bet you never thought this was something you were going to do."

"Not even remotely," Carson said. "I'm trying very hard not to be completely useless. But I feel that way. And this morning… when I touched you, that did scare me." John had a moment of thinking that if anyone was listening to the conversation they really would have the wrong idea.

"Sheppard?" 'Steve', it seemed, wasn't actually Steve at all.

"Is there something special about Colorado Springs that I didn't know about? Is it the mega churches?" John grinned, standing up as he extended his hand to Phil. He'd run into Phil in New York, years ago, marking up the hot, popular, hip and dangerous. He'd fallen a long way if he was out in a dive like this, or he was hiding from something. "You're the guy I wanted to see but couldn't afford the flight to get to. Weren't you in Vegas, too?"

"Yeah, did a time there. Decent enough but not so much interest in my sort of …specialty." Phil grinned at him. "I went to Kalina and paid out for a real reading, y'know? She told me I would earn my fortune and serve my destiny in Colorado Springs. So I packed up and got here few months ago. Truth is until I saw you, I was starting to wonder if she'd been on the 'shrooms again."

"Yeah, well. I'll be referring some work your way," John murmured, lifting his eyebrows, and turning to Carson. "Phil? This is my buddy, Carson Beckett. He needs what I have on my back on his chest. Over the heart. I brought my own ink."

"The cool stuff?" Phil grinned. "One day, I'm going to get that ritual out of you. Okay buddy, Carson Beckett… come through, lie on the chair we've got here. I'll get you inked up."

"You coming in, John?" Carson asked

John wasn't sure that he needed to supervise, but Carson seemed to want the company — or the assurance. Or both, John guessed. He probably would've preferred it if Rodney were there, making paranoid comments about the autoclave. "Sure, yeah. If you want me to."

"If you don't mind," Carson said as he headed in and got set up on the tattooist's chair. Phil started marking him out.

"You mind taking you shirt off, John? I want to make sure I'm getting it right."

"Yeah, I'll grab a chair." He started to unbutton his shirt, and grabbed a chair to turn it around so he could show his back. "It needs to be precise."

"I know that," Phil said, lighting some sage to cleanse the area and fetching something John was pretty sure had to be Holy water to sponge off Carson's chest. "So, what have you been up to?" he asked as he started copying.

John settled in, arms folded over the back of the chair, looking sideways at Carson's face while he tried to watch what Phil was doing. "I was over in Afghanistan for a while. That whole 'job' thing, then Antarctica."

"Not so much of your… other work then?" he asked, even as he carefully drew on Carson's chest the outline in the right spot, glancing at his back. "I see you've been unfaithful to me with some other artist."

"Yeah, picked up a few other places. My arms, though, I'm glad I had you do that. It's perfect. No one else could have done that." They were honest compliments, because Phil did good work.

"Man, that was intense," Phil said. "I've done nearly whole bodies in the time it took me to do that. Okay, how's that looking on your buddy here? Take a look." He'd sketched it in.

John leaned back, and traced a finger over the lines. It looked good. "Just measure to make sure it's perfectly round as possible, and — man, that's good work." He cut his eyes to Carson's eyes. "You're okay with this, Carson?"

"Oh aye, I said I was," Carson replied. "Don't be surprised if I let the side down. I don't like pain that much."

"Let the side down?" He grinned a little, pressing his cheek against his own arm, still displaying his back. "Does that mean 'scream'?"

"In a manly way," Carson said. "It's more of a high pitched bellow."

"Don't worry, I've had seasoned bikers pass out when I do this," Phil said, in a bad attempt to soothe him.

"See? You're in good company." John was smiling at Carson, and couldn't really do anything but keep smiling. Carson had a good attitude. "I cried when he did my arms."

"I know you're trying to make me feel better, but all it does is fill me with impending fear."

"Just relax," Phil said. "I'll do it as carefully as possible."

It was probably small consolation for Carson, when his world was already moving distressingly fast. If there had been a choice, he would have talked Carson up to the tattoo, he would have taken a few weeks, but after the stunt he'd accidentally pulled over breakfast, John knew they couldn't risk it.

Visions were one thing. He knew plenty of people who had visions. Hell, he'd even had a few in his time, usually with the aid of some sort of vision-vine extract, but astral travel in time in a vision? To be a palpable presence? That had alarming implications.

"You can put your shirt on if you want, Sheppard," Phil said, as he started up the needle and swabbed Carson's chest with alcohol. To his credit, Carson didn't do much more than wince to begin with. "So, not looking for anything new yourself?"

"Not right now, nah. But if something comes up, you'll be the first person I come to." He started to pull his shirt on, but he was still careful to watch Carson. "You know, we should probably get McKay in here when he comes back from his trip."

"He said he had it covered," Carson replied in a slightly pained voice.

Maybe he did. It was possible but if you were untrained and you needed protection that wouldn't rub off, be forgotten, snap off of a necklace you either branded yourself to get it done quick, or you inked up.

"I still want to make sure. I can't have anything happening to either of you, and he said he's not usually involved in combat." So, he had to be sure. He'd feel better if he knew what McKay was using to keep himself protected.

"You gearing up for something, Sheppard?" Phil asked as he patiently worked on Carson who seemed to be going almost into a bit of a trance with it.

"Not me." He lifted his eyebrow at Phil, hoping the question would end thereabouts. "You know how it is — make new friends, realize they're doing things in not the most efficient way."

Phil laughed a little. "Yeah… You doing okay there?"

"Oh aye, fine," Carson replied and he sounded okay.

"Well, you're doing good so far."

There was an unsteady note in his breath, but for where the tattoo was going, and the shape of it, he was holding it together great. It made John wonder if he was sublimating the pain as part of his… thing.

It was possible. Seventh Sons were meant to be natural Healers, the power of miracles. Natural magicians, natural psychics, natural every damn thing which sounded great but in reality meant either they were targets, or they got killed, or they went completely insane in fairly short order, or… they were subsumed by one side or the other. Carson must've done a good job of hiding his talent and status, even inadvertently.

"So, had any interesting encounters recently?" Phil asked.

"Soldier demon in an Air Force lieutenant the same damn day I got here," John snorted. "Not really interesting, unless it turns into something more."

"Huh, probably didn't even break a sweat." Phil said. "I'm getting a large mirror for in here after what you said before."

"It's a good idea," John insisted. Demons were usually vain things, and if they caught sight of themselves while they were possessing someone, they tended to stop and stare. It was hard not to. It was a damn good way to draw them out and kill the demon, too.

All you needed were a few critical moments and there it was… all done.

"So you doing anything else? There's not a lot else of a scene around here at the moment," Phil said and then muttered a sorry as Carson made a hiss of a sound

"I think there's going to be a scene here." John slouched a little in the chair. "In fact, I know there's going to be a scene here."

"Good to hear," Phil said. "Mmm, your friend here is trancing out on us."

"Is that good for a tattoo? I seem to remember doing a lot more squirming and yowling." John leaned in a little, but he didn't want to cast a shadow over Phil's work, even if he'd brought a light in close.

"You did, like a hellcat," Phil said. "Mm. Maybe he's into it, huh?" His voice had a bit of sly tone.

Carson was staring straight up and his pupils were dilated. Maybe he was into it, in which case if he ended up with more tattoos, John figured Carson's mother would do more than just have a stroke.

He slid his eyes down, trying to surreptitiously see if it was affecting all of Carson. No, not into it in that way, so it must be affecting him somewhere in his abilities. They had forced him to start poking at his abilities and there were decades worth dammed up inside him.

"I can see you, John," Carson said. "Although it reminds me a wee bit of one of the opiates. Heh… You're all glowy."

"I'm all glowy, huh?" That was funny — John figured he was the last human being on the earth who was the glowing sort, with some of the shit he'd summoned up over the years.

"Aye." Carson raised a hand and brushed at the air a few inches from his arm. It was a little odd because he could feel it, tingling and stimulating.

"We're still working out what Carson does, exactly," John explained, glancing over at Phil. Phil just kept working, and that was great. That was why John liked the guy. "Do you feel anything that you see?"

"Aye, I can feel some of the physical state of your body," he replied. "It is a wee bit peculiar. I'm not sure what to do with it."

"Just explore it a little and we'll figure out how to get you to this point again." Hopefully without the tattooing.

"Mmm. It's like taking morphine," Carson said. "I am aware of pain but it doesn't worry me. Natural endorphins maybe." He frowned a little "Phil, you have a kidney stone about to shift. You should drink a lot of water."

Phil stopped, lifting his pen for a moment, dabbing gently at the blood that was coming up as he worked. "That's… interestingly random information. Thanks."

"I should say that I'm a qualified doctor," Carson pointed out and John snorted a little. "I'm just saying in case it moves. It hurts like hell."

"In my line of work, when someone tells me something like that, I generally believe them," Phil said mildly. "You don't argue the supernatural."

"Sensible," John put in.

"How did you start doing all this?" Carson asked.

"Oh, the usual way most guys get into it. There was this really hot girl I wanted to impress. She was kind of Wiccan, but it was accidentally not-poseur Wiccan. Long story short, she got herself killed and I started researching like nothing else. I was already a tattoo artist, so I decided, there's a need for ink for these types."

"I keep hearing things that involve people dying," Carson pointed out. "It's more than a little alarming."

"My then girlfriend went… obsessive about getting revenge on her family for her shitty upbringing. She summoned this demon to right past wrongs, and…" Phil shrugged minutely, and leaned in to continue working on Carson. "It had its fun with her, and killed her. Couple of local hunters finally put the thing back in Hell."

"Revenge is by definition an out of control emotion," Carson said. "I'm thinking anything done in that way is going to have extreme results."

"Anything involving demons is going to have extreme results," John snorted. "They're not genies that you can put back into the bottle when you're done with them."

"I don't know why people summon them," Carson said. "It seems to have issues in it."

"There are people who think they're just as evil and badass, that they can handle it. I've summoned a few — and I can't say it ever went well for me. I got over it." If Carson was putting him on a pedestal, it was best to knock himself off before something happened to do it for him.

"Really?" Carson asked twisting to look at him a little. "Why, lad?"

"Young, stupid, angry, with too much power. Most of us have done something like that, and if we survive…" John grinned. "It kind of changes your priorities. We should ask Teyla and Rodney about their big mistakes. After a while, you get to laugh at them."

"Do you laugh at it?" Carson asked in a deceptively soft voice.

"Sometimes, yeah. At myself, mostly. Who was I to think I could stand up to a creature forged in Hell?" John snorted. "Or one who was cast out of heaven?"

"That still disturbs me a little," Carson said.

"Oh, you wait until you see one in the flesh," Phil said. "Hold still. Anyway, Sheppard is probably one of the only ones that could do all that."

"Yeah. Out of sheer persistence. I've got a few things lined up to get me, though. My 'fanclub'." He leaned his elbows on his knees, still watching Carson while Phil worked.

Carson frowned in concern. "Lined up to get you? But…how? What can you do about that?"

Phil grinned. "Make nice with the good guys."

"See, that's the idea," John grinned. "I can't exactly just call it quits, tell everyone I'm hanging up my hat. I figured that out before I was out of puberty. The only thing I can do is try to hope that the good I've done outweighs the bad." It was sort of like being an old-fashioned gunslinger — John didn't particularly think he was going to die in his bed of old age.

"The one good thing in this game, is that older doesn't necessarily always mean weaker," Phil said. "There's a reason the whole powerful magician stereotype is a grey beard. If you survive that long, you've got to be hot shit. Bit more to do here…but nearly there. Usually there's a whole lot more screaming and macho posturing rather than polite conversation."

"Sorry," Carson said. "They don't have a claim on you though, do they?"

"No. Once upon a time, one of them did." John watched Phil blot again. "But I got myself out of that. Hey, Phil, how do you think I'd look with a grey beard?"

"You'd still have every creature on or off of Earth wanting you," Phil said. "Sometimes I think you fell in a vat of charisma potion when you were a baby. There, I'm done. How does it look?"

John sat up, while Phil leaned back. It was a nice ringed pattern, with the runes locked carefully into the pattern. "That's nice. You always do excellent work. I'm going to go up front and pay your girl at the desk while you give Carson the aftercare and feeding rules."

"He probably knows them better than I do," Phil said. "Spread the word for me and that's a good payment. You know where I am now."

It had been coincidence that brought him here, but he was always wary of coincidence.

"Oh aye, I know what to do." Carson said. "You go on, John, I'll be with you in a moment."

"Still paying you," John called over his shoulder as he walked to the front desk. "You've got to make rent somehow." You didn't want someone like Phil getting resentful when he was inking up a crucial piece of protection.

It didn't take long to pay the clerk out front, even if she looked bored by it all. Carson was coming out, chatting to Phil as if they were old friends by the time he was done, and John could see the basic dressing put on the tattoo.

"Okay, I'm ready to go." Carson said looking remarkably well if a little drugged by whatever he had done to himself to get through the experience. "I'll pay you back for it, John."

"I'm pretty sure you will somehow," John shrugged, waving to Phil. "I'll be sending more people your way now that I know where you are."

"Thanks man, I appreciate it. I owe Kalina an apology," Phil said. "Stay safe."

John slapped Carson lightly on the shoulder, guiding him out towards the door. "Well, mister doesn't scream while getting tattooed. What do you want to do next?"

"I don't actually know. I suppose we ought to look for a house for us all," Carson said. "I at least know what Rodney is going to want. He does have particular tastes."

"Yeah?" That caught John's interests, because Rodney seemed torn between not at all picky and insanely picky. Or maybe John just fell within the lines of his demands. "Go on, I'm listening. We can roll up to a real estate agent's office and scare the hell out of her."

"Well, there is that list from the base we can look at. Anyway, Rodney does like his own space but he… if you've ever seen him work, he likes tables. Surfaces to dump a laptop onto when he's walking around and he can just start working. He likes comfort in a sofa or a couch, and he's not kidding about the TV. It's a… well, it's like a wall. He takes those comforts seriously. Kitchen wise, he loves food but the only piece of equipment he could not live without is his coffee maker. He eats out or lives on Cheetos and snack bars and take out. Bad habits," Carson rattled off.

"So, are you two…?" John waved a hand from side to side, peering at Carson. Tables, then. Sofa, tables, and they could cede to Rodney's TV.

"Friends." Carson looked down a moment before very obviously plastering on a smile and shrugging a little. They were out on the street now, heading back to the car. "Which is… great."

"You, uh…" John cleared his throat. "Look, what Rodney and I did is, it's, it doesn't mean anything, so if you have intentions towards him, hey."

"Well intentions became all a bit immaterial," Carson said with a shrug. "Rodney will pick who he will pick. I'm, I tend to become friends with people before things go further, if you know what I mean."

The edge of John's mouth quirked a little. "It still doesn't mean anything. I picked him up at that bar we went to the other night. It was a complete fluke."

Carson looked at him a moment and actually nearly snorted. "Bloody hell, you really can't see it can you?"

"See what?" John herded him towards the car, and reached to take Carson's keys from him. Well, Rodney's keys.

"It's more than casual between you two. I thought it was obvious," Carson shrugged.

It was John's turn to snort. "I hardly know him. You know that he likes tables," John pointed out.

Carson shrugged. "I just know, lad. I can usually tell… for other people. Myself? No idea. Completely clueless."

"Complete denial," John decided, and he popped the lock on the doors of the car, and got in. The driver seat had to go back, and mirrors had to be readjusted while Carson settled in. He wasn't sure how McKay drove with the steering wheel almost into his chest like that, sitting bolt upright, or why Carson hadn't bothered to adjust it. "So, are we heading back to the hotel room to regroup and call real-estate agents on that list?"

"Sounds like a good idea," Carson said. "I think I need to let this effect of whatever I did to wear off a wee bit. I hope you've got some books and things so I can read up on all this sort of thing. I'm getting the impression I'm going to have a steep learning curve."

"Most everyone does. You'll feel better, maybe, if we all sit around and tell our Stupid Things We've Done list." John pulled out of the parking space after another moment, and mentally mapped the course back to the motel. Ellis would want attention anyway, and Carson probably needed a nap.

He knew for a fact that whatever Carson had done, however inadvertently, it cost energy and that needed to be replaced somewhere along the line.

"Sounds like a fun evening," Carson replied. "I'll look forward to it."

All he needed to do now was make it sound like it was something that anyone with half a brain would run a mile from. That was probably easier said than done.

Once you were discovered, there wasn't really anywhere to run to.

Carson still felt a little like he had been dosing himself with morphine after the tattooing. There had been a sharp pain initially and then it had all became a little floaty. An afternoon of fun house hunting had it narrowed down to three prospects that they were going to look at the following day and then they'd gone and got dinner. Right now, Carson was feeling floaty, full and pretty good with the world, despite the strangeness.

He was working under the assumption that his own body was protecting him from the extent of how much the tattoo had hurt, and that perhaps when any lingering pain had gone, so too would be the drifty feeling.

Dinner with Teyla, Major Lorne, and Ronon had been interesting and nice. Lorne seemed less derring-do than John, but still very nice and competent. Ronon was still a quiet fellow, but it was good to reaffirm to himself that his new co-workers were interesting and relatively normal people.

What was weird was the increasing rate of weird feelings, images and …stuff that seemed to happening. The floaty feeling was quite good at numbing the after effects of that. Things had drifted up, distracting him. Lorne seemed to be plagued by a repeating apocalyptic vision, but he never mentioned it. Teyla… Teyla had the image of a haunting pale white face with glowing yellow eyes whispering her name. Ronon was the moonlight and black blood of another wolf dying and silvershot while he howled in grief.

And John was putting out all sorts.

John was images of Hell — brown and red fire, char and ash, and standing in a circle around a symbol on the floor, and the thought of turning his back on a big, beautiful house, the barking snarls of dogs in his ears when he left. He'd drifted and listened, and enjoyed what Lorne had declared was the best Italian dive in town, drinking red wine and eating stuffed pasta.

He didn't actually realize he hadn't been talking much because he felt like he'd been having a conversation with them all, where in fact he hadn't said much of anything.

It came to something when John was the one pointing out that he was being quiet.

He'd blamed the tattoo, and endorphins, but John had still insisted on driving him back to the motel again, in case he drove into a wall, which was kindly enough, Carson supposed. John helped him up the stairs, and shadowed him to the door.

"You sure you'll be all right?"

"Oh aye," Carson replied and smiled. He reached to pat John on the shoulder; he was a tactile person by nature, maybe for a reason and was stunned when another set of images bubbled up from nowhere.

"Wait…" Carson was frowning. "That can't be right."

"What can't be right?" John didn't move, just stood there and waited for Carson to open the door. But, he was clearly thinking about whether Ellis would try to make an escape, and what Carson would be like in bed.

"Are you seriously considering what I would be like in bed?" His usual subtlety vanished in surprise. "No one ever… uh."

John half-opened his mouth, then closed it. "We could probably talk about this inside, better."

"All right then. If you want to," Carson said, opening the door and ushering him in.

Ellis was sitting on the coffee table, passed out. He didn't exactly curl up dignified — he looked like he'd passed out mid-motion, sprawled out on his belly. John glanced at the table, and shut the door behind him once they were inside. "You're attractive, and I'm kind of easy," he admitted.

"Easy? John, people just don't do this to me," Carson replied, still at a loss as to whether he was shocked or flattered. "It's usually the whole long getting to know people thing. I'm not complaining, I'm just… surprised."

"I make snap decisions about people." John shrugged when he said it, as if he was brushing off his own opinions. "I like you. As a friend, as whatever. You're a nice guy. And McKay will have my head if I hurt you."

"Well, I'm not likely to turn down someone like you taking an interest in me," he replied. "If you really want to do this."

"You don't have to do this just because I'm interested," John countered, stepping in a little closer. "Like I said, McKay will kill me if I hurt you."

"John, I'm not being forced here," Carson said smiling a little. "If you want to, go ahead…"

He wasn't sure why John would approach him, but he did, closing the space between them, and leaning in close enough that Carson could smell him, faint aftershave and warm skin. He wasn't going to argue, he was going to lean back and kiss him because John was incredibly attractive and damn, he knew how to kiss and…touch and Carson didn't need to be convinced too hard.

It had been a while, and the way John was moving, pressing in close against him, hands sliding up and down Carson's sides while he tilted his head to kiss Carson better said that it would be good, and it was. It was rich and intense, smoky like a golden whiskey and there were ghost impressions of Rodney flickering around his awareness, which shouldn't make it hotter, but it did.

Carson supposed that if he was going to have decadently strange sex, he might as well have it with gusto. John moved a hand up, fingers in his hair, and moving him away from the dining table and towards the small bed.

It was easy to tumble on to it, pulling John down with him. There was a sharp jolt from his chest, but that just peaked up the floaty feeling. "Mmm, John…" he murmured kissing back. He really wanted John to enjoy himself as well. He got the impression John didn't always let himself go.

Maybe he could talk John into letting go.

Talk with his hands, his mouth, though, and that was different. The floating feeling was better than morphine, and he drifted through John taking his shirt off, John touching his skin, avoiding the patch on his chest that was covered in gauze.

He let himself move by instinct in a way he hadn't done before and it lead him to the most unlikely spots on John's body that nevertheless made John shiver with reaction when he kissed them, when he sucked at them and smoothed his thumb over them. Like a red haze of arousal, John's skin started to taste of desire so he felt like he was breathing it in, tasting it.

It just made him want more, until they were side by side on the mattress, finally naked, and John was breathing hard from the movements over those sensitive places. "You're, Jesus, you're good."

"Not usually…" he admitted in a fit of semi-hazed honesty. He assumed it was a side effect. "Mmm, please John, I want more. Can I…" Give him the blowjob of a lifetime or kiss him, or push against him or…

Anything. Anything for more contact, more touch. "Anything." John sounded stunned, but felt eager, his chest singing with it, his thoughts, the brief flashes Carson felt, were lurid, Carson with his dick up John's ass, pounding him.

If that was what he wanted, Carson could oblige, and then some. His hands burned with heat as he slid them over skin. He was going to suck him and tease him into losing control. And then he was going to do more. As much as he could, until John didn't have any control left. It had been a while for Carson, but he could still master simple mechanics like sliding down a body to give a blowjob, particularly while he was drifting with power.

Mmm, touch, and touch again, tracing over tattoos and kissing them even as he made his way to John's cock and settled to sucking with a degree of attention that had him drifting in a timeless motion and need.

John didn't feel like he was going to last long, or maybe he was. Maybe he was lasting a long time, hard against Carson's tongue and sliding in and out of his mouth, and it was Carson who had no concept of time. John's dick was clean, and his pre-come tasted faintly bitter against the back of Carson's throat, and there were fingers in his hair.

He didn't care, it was just good to have sex and feel it like this. Fingers stroking at the same time, mouth teasing until he could feel his balls tighten for a climax. He did that. He did that, he could still do that, riding a wave of euphoria that wasn't his like it was his, sucking harder, until John's fingers tapped at his hair. "Can't, oh, fuck, can't get hard again this fast."

"Are you sure, lad?" he murmured pulling away. It was there lurking close enough to reach in that golden haze. A touch, a stroke of colors and blood would flow here, desire flow there and… oh yes. Why had he never realized this before?

John choked on a gasp, rocked his hips up. "S, surprise? Huh."

"Mm." He smiled a little and ran his fingers to touch his ass and caressed it. "I can feel what you want, John… I can tell how you want it."

John clenched an ass cheek, and leaned up on his elbows, watching Carson with bright, bright hazel eyes. "Yeah? Then show me how I want it."

Carson smiled trailing his finger over the hipbones and muscles until he had a clear image in his head of what he needed to do and then he did it. He moved with a decisive manner, moved to fulfill the fantasy.

Helped John get to his knees, and for a moment the image was Rodney on his hands and knees, and then it was John again, the reality of John and John panting and telling Carson where the lube was.

He had to fumble a little to get it but after that it was smooth and automatic, knowing exactly how to stretch John, when he was ready, how much he could take and when and then pushing hard, moving, thrusting and hitting every single button he had.

It was amazing, watching him arch and twist and move, move, move into it, moving with and against Carson, and John was riding him as much as he was riding John. The room was full of noises, grunts, the slap of skin on skin, and John was getting erratic.

"Come now, love," he half gasped out. "Come, John." It was barely a whisper but he paced with him, reaching around to jerk at him.

Stroked him off. There was going to be come on the bedspread, but there was probably already someone else's come on it, knowing how well motels cleaned. He stroked into John, until he felt John come over his fingers.

Then he was able to come himself basking in a sort of afterglow that he never remembered having before. All he wanted to do was hold on to John, hold him skin to skin.

Just lie there and savor the feeling. It was late, but he didn't need to go anywhere particularly early in the morning. He and John needed to call the movers and harass the real-estate agents, he knew. And that was it.

"Mmm."

He draped himself over John happily. "Mmm." He nearly laughed. "You want to know something?" he murmured.

"What?" John moved lazily, but didn't seem interested in moving to get up.

"I don't usually top," Carson replied and half laughed into John's shoulder. "I think I'm under the influence a wee bit."

"You should top more often," John murmured. "You and Rodney could fight over who tops. Damn. You mind if I hang out, sleep…?"

"Stay, John," Carson murmured, knowing John needed to hear that. "Stay. I'm not going anywhere."

"Mmm." John sounded tired, and he shifted, pushing the sheets down. "That sounds like a nice plan."

In the room next door, someone started running a shower.

It took some time for Carson to connect the fact that that was Rodney's room and actually… He half wanted a shower himself but the water was hinky and they'd discovered if one of them was having a shower, then the water ran cold in the other room.

Carson waited even as John slipped into sleep, and optimistically tried his shower and nearly yelped with the cold. It was no good… he'd have to go see him.

He was sure that Rodney wasn't supposed to be back for another night. As it was, he was still running the hot water when Carson popped the door open quietly.

"Rodney?" he called out. "Rodney, come on, you must be done by now." He waited for an answer and then sighed. "Rodney, lad, you awake in that shower?"

He started to get a little worried. Rodney wasn't the type to spend a lot of time in the shower.

Rodney was a quick bather. Carson closed the door behind him, and he stepped in towards the shut bathroom door. That was Rodney all right. Even alone, he'd close the door to keep heat in.

"Rodney?" he called again and listened. All he could hear was the running water and suddenly starting to think that actually maybe Rodney really had fallen afoul of slipping on cheap motel soap or something, he pushed the door open really hoping that nothing had happened but worried enough to risk the embarrassment of going into the bathroom just in case.

He almost wished he hadn't opened the door.

The water was still running from the showerhead, and the room was full of steam, and he could smell soap — good soap, something a little spicy — and Carson could see feathers. Silvery-grey, with wet undertones like oil bubbles glistening over top of them. Rodney had them pulled around himself, these huge wings, and he was carding fingers through along the outer edge of one wing. The water at his feet was grey and murky, filled with specks and detritus.

Then he turned and saw Carson, and the wings snapped out, but the shower stall was small and Rodney howled as soon as one hit the curtain rod before snapping them in close against his body. "Oh, fuck!"

Carson was staring, literally at a loss for words. When he managed to say anything it was a rather plaintive and confused. "Rodney?"

Rodney leaned back against the wall of the shower stall, breathing hard, wings shuddering with him, and he seemed as much at a loss for words as Carson was. "Oh, oh fuck. Dammit, dammit, you nearly scared the life out of me!"

"I thought you'd concussed yourself in the shower!" Carson said a little lamely. "I wanted one and… I waited and waited and eventually I started to think something was wrong in here after thirty minutes or so. Rodney… you've got wings!"

As if Rodney wasn't aware of that fact.

"Yes, and apparently the entire state of California and part of Arizona decided to start burning for my return trip back, and I almost flew into a Canadian water-depositing thing, and I'm a filthy wreck. What are you even doing up at this hour?" Rodney took another almost scared, shuddering breath, and folded the wings more closely around him. The water was still running, and soaking his left side.

"Well uh…" Carson flushed a little. "John came back and… um.."

He was trying to say they'd had monumentally fantastic sex, without sounding too bigheaded about the whole thing.

"Oh." Rodney stood up a little, still not quite looking at Carson. "Look, close the door and I'll be out in a few minutes."

"Rodney…" But Carson did as he was asked because he had been rude and barged in on him and this had to be whatever Rodney had wanted to hide.

He didn't know many supernatural beings with wings, but the obvious were angels. And he couldn't think of someone less likely to be an angel in his life.

Rodney was abrasive and mean, sometimes, and he was, well. Rodney. Smart mouthed, quick to criticize, full of pride and belief in his own ability. He had no sense of religion and had occasionally jibed Carson when he felt the urge to go to Mass. He talked about science and theory and precision, and… And. Maybe there was some other mythological creature.

He also had the distinct impression that he might've just upset him a wee bit with the whole thing with John, but he didn't want to feel guilty about that. He was pretty sure that whatever Rodney was, he wasn't out to kill him or anything; he'd had ample opportunity to do that all the time they had spent together.

So he sat down in the mirror version of his own room, and waited for Rodney to come out. After another minute or two, the water shut off, and Rodney came out, wearing pajama pants and rubbing the feathers down with a big towel. "Okay. Hi."

"Hi," Carson said back. "I'm… really sorry for barging in. I really thought there was something wrong… well and I wanted a hot shower."

Rodney made some sort of agreeing noise, and sat down on the bed, still carefully drying the feathers off. It looked like it was going to take a lot of work to do that, actually. "Right, well. You can have your hot shower now. I'm done."

They were skirting around the subject, as if Rodney wasn't standing there with wings right in front of him.

"Er, Rodney," Carson said after a moment. "Are you…I mean, I don't know much about all this, but are you an Angel?"

"Yes. You know, this conversation never actually goes well. The last time I was caught, someone tried to dissect me — which, incidentally, is why I think all of the biologists in Area 51 should be taken out and shot for not picking a more useful career path than taking things apart without a care in the world as to whether those things wanted to be taken apart." Rodney twisted, moving to the other wing, and he started to move more gingerly. "I've hit this one on something twice in one day."

That automatically had Carson stepping up close to him. "Maybe I should take a look," he said. "If it hurts… I could do something about it."

"Be careful — they're delicate. Stupidly, stupidly delicate." Rodney didn't move away, but he did go very still. "So. Uh. You're not going to run off and tell the rest of the command?"

The thought honestly hadn't occurred to him. "No?" Carson answered a little surprised. "No, it's your secret, I don't go around telling other people's secrets. Although… I think you should tell John. Considering we will be living and working together…"

Rodney sat up a little taller, and stayed quiet while Carson started to tentatively touch Rodney's wings. He wasn't going to tell Rodney that he thought the man could be better served by a vet. There were definitely bones under there, running along the top of the wing, and what felt like a scab at the leading edge. Possibly from a scrape? "Do you want to get him now, or is he asleep? I hate bringing these things out, but he'll think I had the mental version of a Bell's palsy attack on my flight back if he doesn't get the whole picture."

"I'll get him in a moment. How does it work? Do they stay like this, hurt, when you put them away?" Carson asked. "Or do they heal when you fold them?"

"They heal if I take care of them first, which is nearly impossible. This is the reason why humans never have to worry about birds overthrowing them." He twisted, and demonstrated that he couldn't touch the edge Carson was touching while facing it. "But I can do it backwards with a mirror."

"Well you won't need to do that," Carson said. "I can help you out." They were soft and warm under his fingers and he could feel that white horizon wrapped up in their soft feathers. "I'll go get my bag, and John, and we'll see to them."

"Thank you." Rodney slouched a little, seemed to relax, but it was hard to read him. He seemed scared, and he knew what Rodney was like scared — quick to accuse, quick to snap. He just didn't know why Rodney was scared.

Carson was careful only to open the door a peek when he slipped out, and locked it behind him.

He wasn't sure why Rodney would be scared of him. No one was scared of him. Carson let himself into his room and rustled around for his bag first. Doctors and nurses often kept a few emergency things on hand and he was no exception for all he had mainly been in a lab. Then he moved over to the bed where John was sleeping.

"John… John, are you awake?"

"Hmn?" John stretched a little, and rolled over onto his back. "Hmn, yeah. Bed got cold."

"Uh, I think you should come next door," Carson said. "I think, well, I think Rodney needs to show you something."

It was surprising how quickly John sat up. "He's back? I thought he went to LA?"

"Yes, well, um… You really need to see this," he said as he picked up his bag. "Room to the left."

"What happened?" John was standing up, all fluid muscle while he bent to pick up his boxers and jeans. He grabbed a t-shirt, and Carson wasn't entirely sure it was actually John's. "Is he hurt?"

"Just a wee bit, uh." Carson grimaced. "Look, you know more about this sort of thing than I do. You know he's been hiding something? Well he's not anymore."

And John was quiet for the moment. "Okay, let's see this." He pulled his boots on quickly, and moved towards the door.

Carson was watching as John entered the room; what he wasn't ready for was the way he hissed under his breath and canted out a Latin phrase that sounded like it should have been in Harry Potter. What he did feel was an up rush of power that was like a blast of heat.

"Oh, are you kidding me?" Rodney was still sitting on the edge of the bed, his wings draped almost pathetically around him.

"John! It's Rodney!" Carson stepped in between them. "Stop that! What are you doing?"

"He could be an Angel, he could be a Fallen angel and Fallen angels are generally demons," John replied through gritted teeth.

"I think he's planning to send me to Hell," Rodney drawled. "Which I suppose has more basis in logic than I care to admit, given that train of thought. I'm not a demon — just look at me. Do I look like a demon?"

"No," John replied. "But then some of the Angels have screwed me over as well. I'm not inclined to be charitable."

"Yes, you bloody well are," Carson interrupted. "There will be no sending to Hell when I'm here."

"This, this is why I didn't let you reveal me in the meeting room, because you would have wasted more time trying to punch me out than exorcising that stupid kid." Rodney stood up in a rush, and the wings moved with him, twitchy and angry seeming. "You can't send me to Hell. I'm not bound there, that place has no call on me. This apparently is the thanks I get for spending a new car's worth of money on the supplies you wanted?"

John unclenched his hands and it was like the power in the room dribbled away. He was staring at Rodney intently in a way that Carson was beginning to recognize was him using his Sight. "Okay."

"You should apologize," Carson said. "I've touched Rodney, there's nothing unpleasant in him."

Rodney sat down again, still petting nervously at the edge of his uninjured wing. "I told you before, Sheppard. I'm Switzerland. I'm not of the Host. I'm not a demon, and funnily enough, I'm also not the only Fallen angel who decided to take his toys out of the game."

"Samael? Is that where he went? Jesus…" John exhaled. "Okay, look, sorry… by the time one of you guys Wing up at me, it's usually followed by a shit load of pain one way or another and trying not to die. Call it a… reflex."

Carson looked between the two of them. "Not going to kill each other?"

"No. I like John." That didn't stop Rodney from giving him a dirty look. "And I didn't 'wing it up' at you or whatever you called it. I flew over a forest fire on my way back, and I was trying to get the soot off. Then Carson walked in on me showering, which okay, I scraped one of my wings on a wall this morning landing, and the last thing I need is an infection, so possibly it wasn't horrible. But I got your supplies, and decided to decline an invitation to stay the night."

"Let me take a look at that scrape now, lad," Carson said, pleased things were calming down a little. "I can put something on it if you are not going to get angry at each other."

"I'm being calm." It was almost accusatory, and he was still watching John.

"Look, I'm sorry," John said again. "And believe me, I don't say that often." Carson could believe that even as he wiped down the raw area carefully, and then got out some salve. There was no doubt that they were real, not when he could see layers of scraped skin, and blood, and that little padding of a yellow fat layer in one spot.

Rodney grimaced, and the wings shuddered a little. "I hate walls. Well, aren't you going to start interrogating me, Sheppard? Who I am, what I did?"

Carson glanced at John who shrugged. "I just woke up. My interrogation technique is… not so good in the morning."

"Easy, Rodney," Carson soothed petting the feathers. Fear started to drift up at him off of the feathers, fear more than anything else.

It was hard to guess why he was scared, but that fear was there under his fingertips, and Rodney didn't seem to be calming down. "Fine. I wouldn't exactly call this morning."

"John, sit down would you, you're… making Rodney nervous," Carson said. "I'm curious, Rodney, but I wouldn't want you to feel interrogated. That implies that things are one way."

"And given the little show of force that came in the door…" Rodney waved a hand at John, and then rubbed at his face. "I've been wound up all day. I did a little information hunting while I was in LA."

"Oh aye? And what did you find out?" Carson asked as he stroked and put what balm he could on the wound.

"You should preen the feathers through with blessed oil," John said offering his advice. "I've been told it helps them."

"Well, you could help while Rodney is telling us about his trip," Carson suggested, recognizing an oblique apology when he saw one.

He wasn't too surprised when John got up. "I'll be back in a few minutes. I don't have any in my pocket."

"Don't suppose you would," Rodney sighed, twisting a little to try to watch what Carson was doing.

"Easy there," Carson said as he twisted and John popped out. He leaned forward. "Why are you scared, Rodney? He won't do anything. It was just reaction."

"This never ends well for me. To hunters, to people like Sheppard, I'm just as bad as a demon. I might as well be slobbering and eating babies." Rodney shifted, looked at Carson, fingers petting his wing, but Carson wasn't going to stop. "I'm sorry about this. You should be taking a shower and basking in the afterglow."

"Don't worry about it. John won't do that, and you're still Rodney," Carson said. "It'll be okay, don't worry."

Carson was going to make sure it would be okay.

It wasn't often John felt a bit ashamed of himself but he did right then. He just reacted. You see wings, you ante up, and that was how he survived. Gabriel had not been any less threatening than some of the demon lords. Mind, the archangel had not been happy that he'd been able to force him/her/it into a corporeal form.

But Rodney was no archangel, and now he'd pissed him right off.

He did want to know Rodney's story, who he was, just, all of it, but with the way Rodney had been looking at him, he had no idea how to approach it. It sort of explained a couple of things, though — the secrecy, the plain stamina, the implacable ability set that he kept secret, too.

It wasn't that far a walk to his motel room down the block, and the cool air did him some good.

He'd heard that they existed, these celestial equivalents of conscientious objectors, but never met one and wasn't entirely convinced that there was any truth to them all. But that would explain where Samael had gone. Satan defected to the sidelines. Huh. He fetched the ritual oil — he tended to use it before and after bad battles to try and purge demonic taint.

An angel, not a smiting righteous bastard, and not a demon lord.

An angel who was just sort of… there. Doing his own thing, and that was hard to conceive of. If it was possible, why become a long-suffering demon lord?

He'd need more oil, but it was easy enough to get, and it existed to be used. John wasn't a hoarder like some people were, keeping things when it defeated the purpose of having. It would be an apology in a way, because Rodney had been bristling when he left, and he was probably still bristling.

This would literally be a case of soothing ruffled feathers. Even so, he wasn't sure now whether the strange attraction was down the whole angelic thing or not. Or whether he'd just sleep with anyone or anything.

It was possible, John supposed. He could hear his footsteps echo in the parking lot while he jogged across it, and headed towards the stairs. He had time to work that out, seeing as he'd agreed to move in with Carson and Rodney, and they were on a team together.

He opened the door carefully, not wanting to spook them again and heard Carson talking that soothing rambling voice that was almost hypnotic.

"Well, that should be all the wing treatment needed. John might be right, the feathers do seem a little dry and brittle."

"It's probably because I compress them into my back." Rodney's voice was quieter than it had been before, calmer. "The favorite technique is to cut them off. I… couldn't do that to myself."

"I don't blame you," Carson said. "They are beautiful, really … wonderful." He stroked down the feathers.

"I've got the oil," John said, as he walked forward. Carson really was good at calming him down.

"Thanks." The wings moved a little, or Rodney moved them, and John circled in closer. "I neglect them, I suppose. I can't just fly around, and you can't exactly walk around with these. Once upon a time, I could. It was a, a majesty. Now, I'd get shot and they'd figure out what the hell I was later. 'Better safe than sorry', huh?"

"I have a charm or two I could work for you. Make you unnoticeable if you want to stretch your wings." He put the oil on his fingers and then started carding them through the feathers gently.

He didn't expect Rodney to sigh and groan a little. "Oh, might take you up on that sometime. I couldn't, and maybe I'm a coward this way, but I couldn't do what the rest of them did. Samael cut his off, recently. Melios burnt his, angry leathery things. Sandalphon cut his, and turned to me, and I… left."

"Sometimes it takes more courage to walk away," Carson murmured taking some oil and starting work on the other wing. The feel of feathers, angel feathers, against John's fingertips was sensual in the extreme. It was no hardship to smooth the oil in lightly.

They hummed, and the crispy brittle bit of their edges seemed to fade with the extra care. "I picked up the feather of a member of the host while I was shopping. I hate to say it, but it could be useful. Samael said you're probably the most powerful seventh son to make it to this age without your head imploding. Congratulations, Carson." There was a muzzy quality to Rodney's voice.

"Thanks, I think." Carson said. "What can you do with that feather?"

"Plenty," John replied. "Summoning at the very least… depends which one it is, and what sphere they control." Angel feathers were a one time deal if you had one, but they worked. "You don't need to tell us that… Carson's been manifesting all day."

"Apparently so," Carson added dryly.

"Huh. What happened?" Rodney turned his attention to Carson, while John stroked oil into the feathers slowly. It didn't take much, just a thin coating on his fingers to do most of one wing. Up near the bone, he pressed a little harder, stroked more firmly.

He shouldn't be feeling anything, not after the pretty spectacular sex he'd managed to have recently, but it was doing something for him. Maybe it was the idea of the feathers. "He touched a memory… a deep memory, and he was actually there," John said.

Rodney's next inhalation was a little startled, his chest puffing up. Now, now John knew why Rodney reminded him of a bird. "Oh, we have to start training you in the morning. That's spectacular, Carson, it's no wonder you thought you were going insane…"

"Aye." Carson said. "And I self-medicated during the tattooing. Truth is, I've been a wee bit uninhibited all evening as a result."

John half wished he could get information as easily, up until he remembered how they usually went nuts from overload. That had been deep in him, that memory. If he had to absorb everything in someone's head to get that deep, John knew he'd snap.

"You probably both need to sleep. Thank you for… I'm sorry if I've snapped. I'm exhausted."

"No, it's okay," Carson said. "We can sleep in tomorrow. If you feel like telling us about things then, that's good."

"You need a rest. Jet lag," John said. To be able to fly like that… That was a dream he'd buried a long time ago.

"Yeah." Rodney gave a quiet bark of a laugh as John got up and moved to the other side, to massage oil into his injured wing. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

"If I say the very beginning, do we go back to Genesis?" Carson asked.

"Yes." Rodney tilted his head a little. "Yes, we do. The world seemed very small then, and it seems very small again, now. In the middle there, it was vast."

"I'd still like to hear… when you are rested," Carson said.

"So would I," John said. He wanted to know more about Rodney, his sphere of influence, and his deeds.

"Right. In the morning, then. I'll bring donuts and reclaim Ellis." He rustled his free wing a little, and stretched it out, until the feathers were brushing the ceiling. "Oh, that does feel good. Time to pack them away now."

"How does that work?" Carson said curiously even as John stepped back. Angels were just another supernatural creature to Carson, another amazing thing that was suddenly real.

No feeling of unease for Carson, no. "Like this." He stretched the injured wing out now, and then folded them both against his back, at ease. Slowly, the feathers pulled into themselves, and the skin and bone, compressing somewhat grotesquely into Rodney's back, from his shoulders to down either side of his spine, until they disappeared, as if Rodney's back had swallowed them up. "Compressed matter. And that is how I weigh so much, in case you want to nag me about the donuts, Carson."

"That has got to be the best excuse for excess weight I have ever heard," Carson said with a grin. "I'd use it myself, but…"

John was frowning. "I don't know any other angels who can do that. You did that with math, didn't you?" There was something familiar about the shapes he could See when he watched that happened. Something that reminded him of topographical equations.

"Oh yes. Math and physics. All I've done is increased the density of them by compressing them. And when I say 'all I've done', I mean it was very complicated and took a little time to perfect, but they're my wings, and I'm keeping them. No sense in hacking them off to try to spite God somehow. He's not watching," Rodney stretched a little, and flopped back on the bed.

"Cool." And it was. John grinned a little. He liked the sheer geekery of circumventing the rules with math and physics. He missed that when he became focused on his second life as meddler in the occult. He was good at math, but unless he was going to try pure numerology, that wasn't traditionally part of the hunter's arsenal.

"It is." Rodney closed his eyes, and John couldn't remember angels sleeping, either. Not usually. "Thank you both. Night."

"I take it this is our cue to leave." John hovered a little. "We'll see you in the morning. Sleep off the jet lag."

"Night Rodney," Carson said moving towards the door. "Sleep well."

It was surreal, and John didn't enjoy riding the ups and downs — from having his brains scared out, to this, this calm after his apology with the oil. He still had the bottle, and he might as well keep it on him. Carson closed the door behind him, and John waited while Carson opened the door to his room. "I guess you can have your shower now?"

"I'm intending to, and then sleeping if you'd care to join me," Carson said.

John had to admit Carson seemed to be taking it all quite well.

"I'm sorry about the…" He gestured a little vaguely, and knew it encompassed nothing at all. "Overreaction."

"Don't worry, lad," Carson patted him on the shoulder. "It's understandable considering what you have been through. Rodney will come around."

"Angels are usually…" John shrugged his shoulders while he followed Carson inside, and stopped by the table to take his shoes off and start undressing. "Dangerous."

"Aye, I gathered that from your reaction. I thought they were the good guys?"

"Good in this very self-righteous, esoteric sense of the word. Some of them would like to Sodom and Gomorrah the whole world." He pulled the chair out, and nudged Ellis off of it. The big cat whined, and then raced over to the bed.

"Bad move, there," Carson commented. "The wings were wonderful though."

"They don't usually look like that. I'm sure it signifies something. Almost like pigeon wings." He pulled the t-shirt up over his head. "Do you mind if I join you in the shower?"

Carson smiled. "Of course not, John. I think I'd enjoy that a great deal." He looked so trusting and innocent then, that John had a momentary pang of conscience about the world he was suddenly going to immerse him in.

He didn't want to get Carson tangled up in it all, but the world seemed determined to pull Carson in. "Thanks." John stood up, and shucked his jeans and boxers off, leaving it in a pile by the chair.

The best he could do was to watch his back, and try and see if he could actually save a friend this time around instead of getting them killed.

And in the mean time, getting to know him better wasn't a hardship at all.

He felt better after sleeping. There was a Krispy Kreme open down the street, so he'd walked there, bundled up for warmth, and walked back as fast as he could, while carrying a box of twelve donuts. It was easy just to blank his mind and enjoy the feeling of normalcy that was pushing back the dread that Carson and Sheppard knew what he was, and probably had questions, and he had no idea if his answers were going to be satisfactory or not.

Of all the times and ways to let his secret slip, he managed it in the shower. Ridiculous. Of course, he hadn't expected Carson to come in while he was in the shower. Most people would have, if they'd suspected something had happened to him, calmly sat back and just let it happen.

On one hand, it was a nice change of pace. On the other hand, why did it have to be the shower of all places? Rodney jogged up the stairs, and moved to knock on Carson's door, like a polite person would.

Carson was up and he was pretty sure John would be as well. Military types tended to get it ground into them.

"Rodney, come in," Carson grinned at him and he looked faintly pleased with himself. Obviously John had stayed the night. "John went and got some decent coffee for us."

"We're certainly supporting the local restaurants around this dive," Rodney murmured, holding forward the donuts. "Where's Ellis — Ellis! C'mere, oh, who's a good boy?" He passed the box off, and closed the door behind him, crouching down to scruff his cat's ears. "Yeah, who's a good boy? Who thinks he's a dog, huh? Who thinks he's a big German shepherd?"

"A German shepherd?" Carson smiled a little.

"Someone mention my name?" John called out from the bathroom.

"Ellis plays fetch," Rodney offered, holding Ellis up under the arms before he stood up with his cat. "Cats are great."

"We used to have cats at home. They used to all try and sleep on my bed."

"That means they like you. Well, or hated you but liked a warm bed. Fifty-fifty either way." Rodney glanced towards John when he stepped out of the bathroom. "The donuts are fresh. Where'd you get the coffee?"

"There's an imitation Starbucks down the block," John said. "Seemed like pretty good stuff." He'd obviously just shaved and was looking a lot less rumpled that he generally did in the mornings.

It was funny, Rodney decided. "Imitation Starbucks is usually better than the real thing." He deposited Ellis on the bed.

"I hope you are feeling better this morning, Rodney," Carson said even as he popped open the donuts. "My head is a wee bit clearer, which means this tattoo is correspondingly more painful." He gestured to his chest.

"Oh, hey. That went well, then?" Rodney pulled a chair out, struggling not to peek sideways at John.

"Seemed to." John sat down and sipped at his coffee. "So. We've got a Seventh Son doing things no one has seen before and we've got an angel who didn't so much fall as lower himself carefully downwards, and we've got me… and nobody is entirely sure what I am, aside from a goddamn pain in the neck to most demons."

"I should almost feel offended. I fell, alongside the rest of them when we challenged God. I just decided not to wallow and self-justify what was retrospectively, not the best way to go about things." He reached for one of the Boston crèmes, and added, "Though you're completely correct about yourself and Carson. Like I said last night, Samael was impressed."

"Who is Samael?" Carson asked. To Rodney it was like asking something like 'What is the sun?'

"Samael, also known as Satan," John answered, leading to a slightly panicked look from Carson

"Lucifer is more correct. Humans have been very spotty in their mythology, and called every major demon Satan at some point. Samael led our shiftless angelic rebellion, but I believe it was part of the grand plan. Someone had to run Hell. We… were duped." Rodney shrugged, and started to nibble his donut. "This buying and selling souls bullshit — he never did any of it. It would've bored him. He runs a nightclub in LA now."

"So…" Carson seemed a little stunned by that. "Lucifer is a night club owner. And not a demon? I don't understand then. What are demons?"

"Demons… demons are creatures, evil creatures from all mythologies and many, many worlds. Sometimes they're Fallen angels who, I don't know. Believed in their own evil."

"But Fallen angels have a choice about whether to become evil," Carson frowned. "Okay… so if Lucifer is running a nightclub, who is running Hell?"

"Members of the heavenly Host, and demons." Rodney smiled a little, and kept chewing. "Hell is ultimately God's domain, after all. This is good coffee."

"Who was that one who you were facing off against, John?" Carson asked.

"The First," John shrugged a little and that was a little alarming. You didn't get blasé about the First.

"The first predated us. The angels. The First was cast down by God because he thought God was insane. He's very… Powerful, though I suspect that Samael or Michael could take him. If either cared." Rodney swallowed, and tried not to give John a dirty look. "Very dangerous."

Sheppard looked back at him. "He keeps telling me I belong to him. I keep telling him no," he said succinctly. "Although with a lot more blood involved."

"I should try to find out why he thinks he has a hold over you." He just wasn't sure how to do it. "You have to understand. I still fear Samael and the more powerful ones."

"Oh, I know the reason," John said. "My parents promised me to him in a pact. Fortunately without my consent. No one had the right to sell someone else's soul into slavery. That was one of the truisms of God's creation."

"It is." Rodney took another sip of the coffee, and sagged back in the chair. "So."

"So." John looked at him. "You feel like giving us as a rundown of things?"

Not really, no. He inhaled, taking in the smell of the coffee. 'I'm not sure what you want to know. I could tell stories all day."

"I want to know what you can do Rodney?" John said. "As the team leader, I kinda need to know."

Rodney shrugged. "I… know things. I know how to manipulate matter, and can. Mostly, I know how to make things work. It's what I've always done. I'm not… Samael. I can't ignite the world."

"What was your sphere of influence?" John asked and it was as close to an interrogation as he was going to get, from the sounds of it.

"I… was of the Logos. I was physics, minerals, astronomy." He set the coffee cup on the table, and kept his hand around it.

"I didn't even know sciences had angels," Carson commented. "So in fact… you do exactly what you do already? Try to understand things?"

"And usually grasp them quite well," Rodney cut in. "It was very dull back in the day, actually, and that was probably why I was restless. I studied the universe, the planet itself, because the humans in the garden were so… dull. And God kept trying to, the woman, it was a fiasco. Lilith was very lovely, black hair to her ass, she looked — and that's the other thing, I hate those paintings, you know those paintings where everyone looked like they were just sprung from a French palace?" He took another sip of the coffee, and that was why it was a problem to recount things. There was so much information there, in his head, pressing at the edges.

"Mm." John was smiling a little. "So no unearthly powers of smiting then, or banishment."

"No." Rodney lifted his eyebrows at John. "No, not as such, no. Though I'm handy with the rules."

"How about injuries? Pretty much human level of reaction there? Or can you heal up quicker?" John asked.

"Well his wing did get hurt yesterday," Carson pointed out. "So obviously he can get hurt."

"I heal faster, but I can be hurt. Killing me… is dicey." Rodney licked his bottom lip. "I've talked among the others about this. Long bouts of torture might do it. One of us was shot, right in the forehead once. He woke up, buried in a ditch, some weeks later."

"What about a demon getting hold of you?" John asked and it seemed quite calculating in some respects. "I've seen you guys fight before. Not pretty."

"I really think I'd have to be decapitated. Even then, I don't know. I certainly don't want to test the theory." He had to respect that. John had possibly run through a list of what he could have Rodney do, as a member of the team. "I've met demons. Most of them leave me alone because of my status as Fallen, so of the fights I've been in with them, I've started them."

"I find it hard to believe you start fights," Carson replied, smiling as he stole another donut. "Mm. So, you're pretty safe from a lot of things. That's good to know. "

"You can work under pressure then?" John asked. "Out in the field?"

"Oh, come on. You think I can't, as experienced as I am?" Rodney snapped, reaching for another donut. "I've seen things that would make your hair stand on end."

John gestured to his hair, which was erratically standing on end. "Consider me amazed."

Carson snorted a little. "Rodney is at his best, and most vocal, under pressure, John."

Rodney leaned, and nudged John's leg with his shoe under the table. "Har har. What do you need as proof?"

"That might have to wait until training exercises. Maybe Carson can see if he can pick something up from you later," John said. "And you're going to have to help train him. I can do a lot of things, but I can't push at someone's mind like you could."

"What do you mean by 'push at'?" Rodney glanced over to Carson again. "You know that now that you know, you're both going to be treated to the supernatural equivalent of 'in my day'."

"I think that would be interesting," Carson said.

"I mean Carson has to develop shields," John said. "That needs some… mental sparring."

"Ah, that kind of mental push back. I don't…" Rodney waved his free hand a little. "I don't do minds much. I'm a little heavy-handed. I can push back, though. Block."

John sighed a little. "Okay, maybe Teyla can test us out. Some of the Dhampir have the mental ability of their parentage."

"We liked your wings, Rodney," Carson commented with a smile.

It was a little strange, and caught him off guard a little. "Oh, uh. Thank you?"

John glanced at him. "Yeah, looks like Carson's ability is waking up again. He gets a bit random."

"I do not!" Carson protested. "You were just…uh…"

"No, go on. This, I want to hear." Rodney sat back a little, still smiling at Carson.

Carson looked embarrassed. "Well… it just popped into my head. It was probably me because I…"

"Carson, you're not helping," John replied. "Besides, it's not as if I'm not upfront about what I like. I was thinking about your wings, okay? I liked them. Yes, in that way." He stared at Rodney as if daring him to make something of it.

And Rodney didn't know what to make of it, even if he'd wanted to be confrontational. "Huh. I'm flattered, but wait until you have one smack you in the face or something." All he could think of was that Greek island where he'd worked for a while and he had half a feeling that he'd become the basis for Icarus. It was funny what he got when his mind free-associated.

"We'll see," John said.

"Sorry… I'm getting confused about whether it was from me or not for a moment," Carson said. "I also want to know why me astral projecting or whatever I did was a big deal?"

Because that was more than just being a seer. That implied an ability to change past or present. It messed with ideas about the immutability of time and space. It had profound implications to a lot of his own research, for a start.

"You moved through time in what I would call a persistent state, if John described this correctly," Rodney told him. "You changed time."

"But wouldn't it always have happened that way?" Carson asked.

Ah, the paradox right there. Now it would always have happened that way, but before it would've been different.

"Now it would, yes. Now that you've done it, but was it that way before Carson did that, John? While I do believe the ineffable plan is an annoying thing that inserts itself in so many ways…"

"It's difficult to say. I remember him being there," John said and shrugged. "It's a problem because certain beings might find it irresistible."

Those who wanted to change something. Make it happen differently. Rewind the past. "Yes, yes, ugh, uhm. All right, have either of you called the movers?"

"Yes. We've got three houses to take a look at today. At least all three of us are here," Carson said. "In fact, the first appointment is in an hour so we better think about getting ready to go."

"Mmm. I'm ready." Rodney grinned. "Ellis! C'mere, boy, c'mere. Hop into my lap!"

The cat did seem to respond a little like a dog in that he bounded over and bounced up into his lap obediently, and then started purring.

Rodney abandoned food to scritch carefully through fur. "I love this cat. You'll learn to love him, too."

"I'm sure we will," Carson said diplomatically and John just quirked a look at him.

"I promise not to show you slides of his kitten hood," Rodney offered slyly. "Though, I did that to Jeannie, once…." If that didn't put them off then it was likely this team thing might work after all.

"As long as there are not ones of him wearing diapers, I'll survive," John commented.

Rodney lifted an eyebrow at John. "You're not a cat owner, are you? If I tried to put a diaper on Ellis, I'd end up maimed, and fast healing or not…"

Carson cleared his throat. "And on that note, I think I'm going to get ready," he said and got up. "There's a house out there with all our names on it."

"I'll be in here, drinking the coffee you brought," Rodney called out, while Carson headed to the bathroom.

Maybe it wasn't going to be such a hellish day after all.

Moving in to their new house had actually been surprisingly painless. John had practically nothing to ship in except a few rather esoteric looking boxes, Rodney had… well, books. A lot of books. But then so did he and in the end the spare room was designated as a default library. They'd managed to pick bedrooms without shedding blood, although Carson was pretty sure that John had yet to sleep in his own bed.

The unpacking had taken a relatively short time. The setting of wards had been fascinating and disturbing at the same time.

John and Rodney had walked through the place meticulously, and they were still discussing the best ways to add extra, piddling little things to the wards, to turn the place into a fortress. He, on the other hand, was making coffee. And trying really hard to distinguish his own thoughts and feelings from everyone else's. He could feel them there, wrapping the place in protection. It felt a wee bit like home used to feel and he wondered if perhaps his family knew more than they had let on.

He wasn't that keen to get started on his training, which was apparently the next task on the agenda.

For the moment, Rodney was testing the coffee maker and trying to will the second moving truck to show up with his TV and his bedroom set. His mattress and his books had arrived, and it had been a source of endlessly funny phone calls to the moving company.

"Rodney… I said I would make the coffee," Carson said, as Rodney looked one step away from taking the whole thing apart. "John is clearing out the garage. He reckons we might fit two cars in there if the junk is moved and I promised to take him a coffee."

"God knows when my car will arrive out here," Rodney growled, stepping back from the coffee machine. "I think the Air Force outsourced their moving company to Dogs with Driver's Licenses. Maybe not even that."

"Well, we are pretty close to the base," Carson said, pushing his cups over. "Coffee, Rodney?"

He'd never yet seen Rodney turn one down. In fact, it was possible that Angels had coffee for blood.

It was possible, at least, that Rodney had coffee for blood. "Yes." After a moment, he even added, "Please." Then Rodney leaned back against the counter, looking tired. "Mmm, need to ward the electrical system."

"Is there any part of this house you haven't warded?" Carson asked. "It makes me wonder how I ever survived up until now."

"Well, there's three of us now. And we're going to be outright antagonizing things that could very well follow us home or have allies on this planet. I'd rather be safe."

"Mm." Carson said with a smile. "Well I feel safer with an angel around." And with John. John had an undercurrent of battle to him all the time. It never stopped. And maybe it truly never did stop. Maybe John was at war with more than the supernatural.

Rodney snorted, and dug around for mugs. "I'm not sure why. I'm not powerful. I'm not even angelic, though that might be a point in my favor as on the whole, they're assholes. Worse than me, I mean."

"I still find that fascinating," Carson replied. "I have to ask, did you see God? Are there lots of hierarchies?"

He supposed it was the usual sort of question Rodney got, but Rodney seemed to be willing to humor him, at least. "Yes, I did. A long time ago. I was of the Logos for a very long time, so… it wasn't seeing, so much as a physical experience." Rodney licked his bottom lip, and went for the milk from the fridge. "We had a very complicated structure in the Silver City."

"Can you tell me more about it?" Carson asked as he set the coffee machine going. "I sort of find it comforting to know there is something more… after."

"That's the interesting thing. I don't know what heaven is like. This human, mortal conception of heaven is not where we were. The souls… went somewhere, and I've had the implication that it's what they made of it, which, like Hell, leads me to believe that it's what you specifically believe it would be. You want hooks, peeled off skin and fire, fine. You want to see all of your family again, fine." Rodney leaned in, with all of the fixings for the perfectly tampered with cup of coffee lined up and waiting on the counter.

It was odd that Carson's first thought was of concern that if he died he might not see Rodney. But then if belief was the source of a conception of heaven, he was pretty sure that he would be seeing Rodney one way or another. "It doesn't seem fair that you didn't get to experience that."

"Think of it as the payoff for the very small scale of experiences you have the opportunity to have," Rodney smiled a little. "I don't know what Jeannie would say, actually. If I ever told her."

"She doesn't know?" Carson asked as he took the milk to pour in their coffee. "You've never been tempted to tell her?"

"What, that her older brother is actually an angel who was working construction in Canada and overheard her mother's fervent prayers that she wouldn't miscarry again, and decided to step in when she did miscarry and spent five months playing at being a fetus? I would slap myself if someone told me that story." He leaned up again, like he was restless. "But I experienced growing up with her, and I had no memory of what I was until, oh, puberty. It was sort of nice to start over for a while."

"That's nice to hear. Must've been strange realizing what you are though," Carson said stirring the coffee an offering a mug to Rodney. "I just thought I was weird, not a different species."

"Well, you are weird." Rodney bumped against his shoulder. "Blood lines are very powerful. Yours is… very good, very latently something. Which reminds me, you're never allowed to donate blood again."

"Well, I've been on a variety of medications that stopped me doing it," Carson said. "I think this is all still settling in. It all feels a little crazy to be honest. I'm starting to feel which are your feelings and which are John's." He smiled a little. "Last night you were 'loud' enough to wake me up."

"Oh." Rodney's cheeks started to do a slow burn, in a blotchy, unflattering way that made Carson smile a little. "Uh, I thought we weren't talking about uh, the, I'm not even sure what's going on."

"I think we are both succumbing to John," Carson said. "He wants you. He wants me. That much I can tell and he just goes with the moment, I think. There's no need to complicate things. Well, we could simplify them."

"I…" Rodney's voice was full of hesitation, and then he finally said, "It's been a long time since I've fallen in love."

"How long?" Carson asked, feeling a little deflated. He wanted Rodney; he had since before John came into their lives but it was obvious Rodney was focused on John. With reason.

"Nikola Tesla." Rodney lifted his eyebrows at Carson. "And a long line of mad, mad scientists. I think I drive them to it. Eventually. I'm not sure. So, you see my concern."

"I'm sorry," Carson answered. "I don't think you'll do that to John though."

And definitely not to him.

"It's always been possible that I found the unstable sorts in the first place." Rodney offered his coffee mug to Carson for pouring. "We'll see."

"You need to know…" Carson cleared his throat. "John doesn't know how to express emotional stuff well. It's all a bit conflicted for him. Just so you're aware."

"And how about you?" Rodney countered, holding a mug out to Carson. "We can make this place either a soap opera or a sanctuary."

"I give my heart too easily," Carson said lightly, taking the mug. "It's my sentimental Scottish side"

"Are you…" Rodney added milk to his. "Still interested in me?"

"Yes." He said simply, not looking up. "But you've just admitted to being in love with John… so…"

"I meant you! And possibly John, I — it's been a while. You're both very comfortable."

"Wait… you meant me?" Carson was stunned at that. "But… you've slept with John, you have feelings for John…" What use was all this ability if he couldn't use it for himself?

"And you! You're my friend, Carson. If they hadn't tapped you for this, do you think I would have left my safe haven out in Nevada?"

"Well, yes, actually, I would, I mean, chance of a lifetime for you." Carson said. "Bloody hell, Rodney, I'm too close to read what people think and feel about me, and what type of friend would I have been wanting to keep you with me rather than encourage you to do what you most wanted."

"Carson — news flash! I saw this planet's creation, I saw Cain bash Abel's head in with a rock. Chance of a lifetime means very little to me. Friends mean much more." He sloshed a little coffee over his hand.

Carson blinked a little. "Really?" That was a little stunning in itself, being declared more important than defining points in human history. "But we haven't done anything."

"You're still a friend," Rodney declared, setting his mug down. "You know me. I don't have to be having sex with someone to care about them, or I'd have to freakishly redefine my relationship with my sister."

"Well, yes, obviously, because otherwise I wouldn't be sitting here in love with you." Carson shook his head. "What does it say that I find this more shocking than the whole deal about demons and angels and aliens?"

"You're sorely out of touch with yourself?" Rodney picked up John's mug. "I'm taking this to the garage, then you can watch me try to ward our electrical system. There's a sixty percent chance of electrocution."

"All right, smart ass." Rodney liked him, really liked him. It was all very teenage first crush but he was happy to follow him to see John, just to keep this moment going longer and not let it fade away.

This was not how he'd wanted to introduce them to fieldwork.

It wasn't how he wanted to know any team, any functioning but ultimately green unit, was introduced to field activity. He was pretty sure that Carson was nowhere near to range qualified yet, and Rodney was holding his P-90 like he was waiting for it to rear up and shoot him in the head. At least Teyla looked calm and confident.

Not that calm and confident was going to help them, because they were standing in the midst of a crowd of low-level possessions, the likes of which John had never seen before.

He figured he was going to learn to rue the words SG-1 needs backup.

The main problem was he didn't want to kill them, especially if they did find Dr. Jackson and Colonel O'Neill. They were relying on Carson for that, but he was seriously considering getting the hell out of there.

"McKay! How quickly could you set up a protective circle?" Rodney had told them these demons were photosensitive and he had an emergency flare. "Carson, you sense them yet?"

"I'm bloody trying," Carson said. "I'm not as good on remote sensing and…."

And it probably hurt him with his shields so new. John grimaced. He might have to try some sympathetic magic, if Teyla could take the defense and hold it while Rodney set up a protective circle.

Rodney was good, John knew, at protecting. He blocked, he guarded with the ease that most people breathed, and Rodney was nodding, already moving to try to set up the circle, mumbling under his breath as he went. It was kind of hard to tell if it was bitching, prayers, or incantations.

Maybe it was all three.

"I sense movement. We are attempting to injure or disarm without harming them, correct?" Teyla asked, moving in closer to the point.

"Yeah," John answered. "We need to buy time for either me to do some basic summoning using what Sam gave us or for Carson to get a handle on them both."

Compelling movement was subtler than it appeared, especially if there was another consciousness in there.

"I'm really trying," Carson said as the growling and snarling shifted around them.

"And, and we're locked in safely," Rodney murmured, stepping back in closely to them, shaking his hands out. "So, mass possession. The last time I saw this, I was in Wein."

John was quietly impressed. He'd never seen anyone set one of those up that quickly. "Fall back inside the circle, Teyla," he ordered. "Same type?" he asked as he reached for the bits of personal property of their missing people.

Carson was squinting as if he had a migraine. "I… think I can feel them. They are alive."

"Oh, good." Rodney was making gestures, quick motions with his fingers. "I would kill for a bomb right now. Nuke. No, this is nothing like that. Same concept, though?"

"That's a good start… hold on." It was a quick and dirty vodoun based compulsion to draw them towards him, but they still had to cure them and the others. His fingers didn't fumble too much as he made the figures, and he managed to mutter the chants correctly.

"It's working," Carson reported as around them the place seethed with demons. "They are moving."

"Fantastic. What're we moving them to?" Rodney demanded.

"Here," John said. "Bringing them here, we'll clean them out then use a flare to get them the hell out of here." He could hear them all growling in demon-speak and he didn't like it. "Rodney, what is this place?"

"I think it's a breeding pool. You know how in the first Alien movie, that guy goes down into the abandoned ship and the face hugger gets him? It's a lot like that."

"How refreshingly encouraging of you, Dr. McKay. Did not the one woman make the only survivor?" Teyla was moving to the edge of the protective circle, ready to strike them back if she had to.

"Better hope there's not a big mother demon out there," Carson quipped and John glanced at him then to Rodney.

Shit. Shit, Carson was right. What were the odds on the babies lying around unsupervised? He needed some sort of Holy h-bomb. Damn. He Looked and saw the distorted visage of O'Neill practically dragging Dr. Jackson with him. He would have to go out of the circle to do this

"Queen," Rodney snorted, stepping in closer to John. "Where are you going?"

"I've got to send these demons back to Hell," John growled, getting his kit together and ready.

"Do it inside the circle," Rodney snapped. "Don't be impatient!"

"They can't get close enough," John replied sharply. "Sometimes it needs physical contact.

"You should take Rodney's advice," Carson said. "It sounds reasonable."

"So you want just to wade into the muck without protection?" Rodney was gesturing at him, but yeah. Yeah, he did. Someone had to hold their safe ground.

"I was planning on taking Teyla and having you cover us as well," he said. Warded circles could collapse.

"Fine, fine." Rodney kept making gestures, telling Carson to step in closer to him. "This would be easier if we could just kill them all."

"Kinda the whole point of the 'rescue' part of things," John said, glancing at Teyla. Her eyesight would be much better than his in the darkness, and he didn't want to use a flare yet. "Ready? Here we go."

And he stepped over the boundary, and it was like stepping out into the storm. Teyla bounded out with him and he could make out the speed and dexterity with which she moved, but he was already on Colonel O'Neill, pressing a Holy symbol to his skin and rattling through the exorcism. It wasn't just about the words; it was about the intent the words contained. The words were a necessary container of sorts, but it was the will and intent and power of the person that provided the real kick to get the demon out and back where it belonged.

He and Rodney were just going to have to agree to disagree on the power of words.

Teyla was moving, protecting him, and when he felt it leave, he twisted and threw O'Neill at Rodney and Carson. Bowling with humans was just gonna hurt, no matter what, but John figured his arms would heal and O'Neill wouldn't mind the scrapes because there was no time to casually walk him back.

Dr. Jackson was trying to run, his face distorted with the demon's visage too in John's Sight and John grabbed him and struggled to press the symbol to his skin.

"John!" Carson sounded panicked. "John, we've got to leave… something's coming!" He could barely make out the sound of Carson making some sort of expression of pain

"Hold on. We're not leaving without them!" Rodney, John didn't know what Rodney was doing, because he was focused on Dr. Jackson, and starting to say the words. He felt a burst of pressure, and that had to be Rodney expanding the circle.

The demons around him started to bay and howl, their human voices barely recognizable as he drove out the spawn in Daniel. They were damn well getting tattoos when they got back before they were let off world again.

"John! We must return to the circle… hurry!" Teyla said appearing ahead of him.

Shit, shit. He stuck his arms under Daniel's arms, and locked his hands together to drag him.

"Now now now!" Rodney was demanding. "Now! Move faster!"

The air was crackling with ozone and he knew better than most of them that it meant something powerful was lurking on the etheric level and manifesting.

Hands were grabbing and dragging him back in the security of the circle, which was definitely bigger.

"Nice work…" he said panting little. "How much can your circle hold McKay?"

"Oh, us. The question you wanted to ask might have been 'How long can it hold for' and 'Wouldn't you rather just shoot them?'" Rodney was still moving his hands. "We need to get back to the gate."

"My experience tells me there is something coming," Teyla said. "And Dr. Beckett seems to be feeling the effects rather acutely."

Carson did seem to be pressing the heel of his hand to his temple, even as Colonel O'Neill pushed himself up. "Crap, where the… what happened?"

"There's no time," Daniel said. "It's all around us — we can't run."

"Thank you for the obvious. Did you enjoy your possession?" Rodney sounded like he was amping up into full bitching mode. "I guess you're going to get one of those 'stupid tattoos' now, if we get out of here."

"There is a time and a place," Carson snapped back. "Can't you feel it?"

"Where the hell is my gun?" Jack demanded. "We'll shoot our way out if we have to."

"Yeah, to do that, it needs to be corporeal," John said.

John got to his feet, and was trying to work out what to do next, while Rodney stood up straighter and stretched his hands out. "Shit, it's old."

"Do you know its name?" He could force a corporeal state on lesser demons but this was a demon lord of some type and he could do it if he had its name, a focus for his will.

Rodney was doing his thing, reaching and pulling back because ultimately he was the one holding the circle together and he couldn't stretch too far. "No. Shit, no, it's too old."

Lightning struck down around the edges of the circle, bouncing off of it as if they were encapsulated in some sort of force field.

"Where the hell is it?" Jack demanded, but then an onslaught that had the protection buckling under the howling tornado and lightning that engulfed them drowned any answer out. Rodney was visibly straining but it was like protecting an egg from a steamroller

Rodney didn't have a smart answer for that, just kept murmuring over and over, his eyes closed, his hands stretched out like he was physically holding the bubble.

"It is a sign that we need to move this and get to the gate," Teyla told Jack.

John Looked with his Othersight, and grimaced. Daniel was correct; the demon was all around them. If they made a run for it, they would run right into the damn thing.

And the circle was buckling. This was going to be one short career. It was like a giant fist thumping down on them all, the concussive wave alone enough to knock them all off of their feet.

And that was when the circle failed, because Rodney couldn't concentrate if he was ass over teakettle. The circle failed and the creature was on them, grabbing at Carson and hauling him up into the air.

"Carson!" he bellowed, half regretting all the jokes and teasing they had done to the man about him being tasty demon bait. The truth wasn't as funny as it should be. Rodney's expression was horrified as they saw the doctor flailing in panic.

At first it sounded like Carson was screaming, which he undoubtedly would be even as John tried to think of a way to fix this. Eventually he worked out that Carson was yelling. "Berith! His name is Berith-sa-Amonday!"

That was what John needed to know, while Rodney got to his feet and started to chant, and it was hard to guess that was old tongue he was talking, ancient something, arms outstretched over his head while the circle started to re-form.

It was only absently that Dr. Jackson started to do middling work to form it out farther, and John just needed to get out there again.

It was going to take his energy to get him to be corporeal and then they could hit it with the dragonfire. He bared his forearms and then stepped out again, bringing them together, forcing his will through the name and it burned. It burned up his arms and settled into a pain in his chest and lungs, but the air shimmered and a massive beast of a demon form appeared in front of them all, still gripping Carson.

Its shape was shifting, shimmering red and gold, almost human but almost goat, and warping seamlessly between the two. Teyla started to shoot at the beast. Goddammit, his gun was somehow heavier than lead and he'd fallen to his knees but he raised it up, pulled the trigger more than once, forcing himself to move. Shit.

The dragonfire burned big holes in the demon — one should've been enough but it was too old and strong. A Duke of Hell at the least, but it was burning now and it could be killed like this and it knew it. And it still had Carson. He had to finish it quick. It would've been better if Jack and Dr. Jackson had been armed, if they'd been able to fight, too, but bullets and fire from him and Teyla should have been enough, while Rodney held back the growling hoard of little demons.

Headshot, heartshot, one, two and it started to burn and not extinguish, like embers crawling over paper, eating away at it. There was a flare of light from somewhere and Carson dropped from its grasp into the darkness.

With a deafening howl, Berith burned away to nothing, the final gasp of its existence a blinding explosion of light.

"Someone get Carson!" Rodney broke from his chanting, but held his position.

John shook his head to clear it a little. There was a reason he didn't use the Gates on his arms that often, and right now he was feeling it. Fuck. He was a soldier, time to think practically. He pulled a light flare and popped it, tossing it down in front of them, making the Other back off.

"I see him!" Teyla called out. "I will fetch him. Major Sheppard, get back to the circle."

If Carson had even survived the fall.

Turning, he staggered, and Teyla had a clearing and speed, Jesus she was fast, moving over the ground and underbrush and getting him, coming back. While Rodney held the fort and O'Neill and Jackson looked like they were still trying to figure out what was going on.

She was barely winded when she came back with Carson, and John was practically dripping in sweat.

"He is unconscious," Teyla said, not putting him down. "We should leave for the side of light."

"Yeah." John stood. "Okay, let's move before the flare dies down. Teyla, you've got another?"

"Yes, Major, I have one ready for use."

Rodney let his head hang down, his arms still stretched out. "Jackson, O'Neill, you two can walk now?"

O'Neill was giving Rodney a strange look, but he nodded. "Yeah. I'd kill for a gun right now…"

"Take mine. I'm going to try to make a walking circle and I won't need it."

"Jack…" Daniel was jerking his head over towards John and he belatedly realized that the archeologist was trying to tell his team leader to help him. He wasn't that bad. Just exhausted and shaky and….

Okay, a kitten could beat him up. And walking circles just weren't meant to be possible.

"Come on, Major, let's get this show on the road."

"I hope you know that God is laughing at me right now." Rodney stretched his arms out, and moved to point. "Let's move. I don't want someone else coming out of the woodwork."

He couldn't manage a second confrontation like that. He wasn't even sure how he'd managed a first, but there had been help from Rodney, Teyla, and Carson and moving was proving difficult enough that he was leaning on Jack without even realizing what he was doing. The Light wasn't that far away, but it seemed like a marathon to get there.

The warded circle went with them, and Rodney was holding it, holding it well. He might not be much for the attacking, but defense, defense Rodney was good for. He wished he'd been able to plan for that before they'd been put out into the field. Still, he knew now and that would make a difference. Just as knowing when Carson warned him like that, they should run for their lives. The fact Carson might pick up even a powerful demon's true name had not occurred to him, but it did now and… thank God, there was the light. Few more steps and….

Safe.

"Good job McKay," he said.

"I love that we're B-team," Rodney bitched, dropping the ward and turning to sit down on a rock a few feet away. "Uhnph, someone drag Carson over here. I'm going to try to see if he needs purification."

"You got the energy for that?" Rodney must have more than he appeared if he could manage all that. His own form of miracle working.

"Here he is, Dr. McKay," Teyla said and it was odd to see the fairly bulky doctor being lifted so easily. "It is difficult to know if he was tainted. The whole area smells of the demon."

"You owe me a five pound bag of sugar, and a bag of Cheetos." Rodney started to sit up, reaching to pull Carson in close to him. It was funny, and awkward, and Daniel Jackson was staring, moving in closer.

"So, what are you doing, Dr. McKay?"

"Using a very basic purification blast to clean any lingering evil off of him. Evil's funny. It doesn't infect and spread, but it can weaken you, run your system down." Rodney pulled Carson in until he was almost in his lap, and then wrapped his arms around him. "If you want to know how, I'll draw you diagrams. Later."

"I would be very interested."

John was as well, but he ended up sitting down heavily, half watching Rodney do his thing. Carson did seem to rouse a little when Rodney did whatever he did, lips moving fast but quiet.

"Bloody hell…" He groaned clutching at Rodney desperately. "Rodney? John?"

"Hi." Rodney put his forehead down on Carson's shoulder. "We all made it. Everyone got their fingers and toes?"

"Got some pretty revolting stuff under my fingernails but yeah," Jack said. "The Major here is looking pretty much like a white sheet, all of you look something like the same. We need to get you guys home."

John was struggling to keep his eyes open now.

"Yeah," Rodney closed his eyes and John barely saw that motion. "Mmmph. Okay, let's stand up and move. Coming with me, Carson?"

"Aye." They were all staggering like they had been out drinking, and he couldn't believe it. They'd killed a Duke of Hell. Ended him, just like that. Incredible.

That definitely deserved some downtime.

The debriefing, it seemed, could only wait as long as it took for them to be checked over by the Infirmary. Carson was already feeling stiff, with bruising coming out, but to be honest that seemed pretty trivial to the aftermath of horror in his head. It made it difficult to concentrate on exactly what was going on. Rodney had been very vocal in insisting that they all needed food, and no, it couldn't wait until the briefing was over, so they were there with it in front of them, trying to get some energy back while they talked.

Or listened to others talking as they ate.

It was a nice distraction, actually, having food. Rodney was sitting to his left very studiously ripping a roll apart, and pressing globs of mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese into the bits of bread before folding it over it and chewing. And Carson was hungry, starving, sore and with his head full of thoughts that he never wanted to hear, never wanted to know about.

He didn't even know how to explain it. They were jumbled up but sometimes when someone said something they would snap into place. He was very absently listening to O'Neill talking.

"And it pretty much went south from there, General," Jack said. "We set one foot in that place… first we thought it was an illness or something but then these shadows started moving and went for Daniel. I told Sam and Teal'c to run like hell and that's pretty much all I knew."

"Teal'c and I ran back to the side of the light, and then came through the gate after the people on the side of the light verified that the people on the side of the 'dark' were just abandoned there." Sam was all nerves, it sounded like. None of them had expected things to go that wrong.

"Yes well, the possession experience was… unpleasant," Daniel said pushing his glasses up. "It was something that could be fought in a conventional way, although as I understand it the less access the host mind has, the more primitive the available human responses. That is of course a common theme across cultures. Only very powerful entities can masquerade as humans well enough to pass. Then, of course, our rescue team arrived."

"Major Sheppard, do you want to give us a rundown of what happened?" General Hammond asked.

John looked, to Carson's eye, at least just about capable of doing a run down on a bed and staying there for a couple of days.

"Absolutely, sir. We went in knowing that we were facing some kind of demonic influence. Once we crossed deep into the dark, we came across the encampment of the possessed. Dr. McKay stated that they were like demon tadpoles—"

"I think I was a little more specific than that," Rodney groused around a mouthful of his weird bread-potato-macaroni-&-cheese combination. "But yes. It was a breeding, or spawning pool. Very weak, baby demons, with all the fresh humans to hop into that they could have."

"And Dr. McKay started to set a ward circle," John went on, only giving Rodney half a dirty look. "We were circled pretty quickly, and we evaluated our options carefully. Carson and I worked to draw Dr. Jackson and Colonel O'Neill in towards us, and then Captain Emmagen and myself left the circle to reclaim Jackson and O'Neill. Captain Emmagen laid cover, while I exorcised them both."

It made it sound so simple, so calm, instead of the frantic darkness around them, pushing and hungry. It had felt like claustrophobia times a hundred, as if the dark itself was alive.

"He dislocated my shoulder," Jack said with a half grin. "But then the second surprise of the day. The Godzilla demon."

"Where there's a pool like that, there's a demon tending it," Rodney inserted, waving a fork covered in macaroni. "And that demon was immaterial. John drew it out, but that was sort of… not enough. Carson sensed it, though."

"Immaterial as in… what?" the general asked, looking confused.

"Intangible, invisible," Daniel explained. "Certain spiritual entities are able to manifest effects without a direct manifestation. It was very powerful. More powerful than the Goa'uld god imitators we've come across. Of course they have their own skill in displacing a spiritual possession with their ability to manifest a tangible possessing form and…."

"Daniel…" Jack said in a warning tone.

"What? Oh right."

"John pulled it down, with his gates." Rodney gestured to John's arms.

"And then it was visible. This was after it broke the ward circle and grabbed Dr. Beckett from our midst. I used the dragonfire and Teyla shot it to pieces, and it went up. Dropped Carson, and we made a run for it."

"Why didn't you make it tangible before the circle broke?" General Hammond asked

Carson shuddered a little, the memories flooding back, as well as the sheer panic and terror when the thing had grabbed him.

"It was trying to crush us," John offered calmly. "And making a creature like that show itself isn't easy. McKay reformed the circle, and we made sure everyone was with us after it burned, and we ran back to the side of the light."

"It was a bit more complicated than that," Daniel said. "Definitely. I want to know how Dr. McKay knew ancient Hebrew."

"I want to know why you haven't used your paycheck to buy nicer glasses, but we don't get the answers to all the questions we want," Rodney snapped.

"Dr McKay…" General Hammond interrupted. "It is obvious that you came up against a more powerful enemy, which you still managed to dispatch with comparative ease. This is encouraging on a tactical level."

"No, no, wait…" Carson put his hand up. He had to disabuse them of this notion immediately. "Hold on a moment. That's not going to be the case. This demon was caught by surprise. It wasn't expecting, for example, Major Sheppard to have the strength to force it to do anything and so it didn't bother to resist. It didn't expect us to have weaponry that would kill it, either, which came as a definite shock to it. So… all this means is that next time there won't be this easy route."

"It's going to spread, the news of what happened. They'll know that someone with armament has entered their playground. Some of them won't have the defenses. We'll be back to dealing with Earth level demon cunning very soon, though." Rodney looked sideways at Carson, nodding a little.

"How do you know that, Dr. Beckett?" General Hammond queried.

"It was something I picked up when the demon picked me up, along with its name," Carson said glancing at Rodney and John. He tried not to shiver, but the immensity of the creature's mind promising to do really unspeakable things left an impression. He had a not dissimilar feeling to how he imagined someone in the clutches of a psychopath with sexual intentions might feel.

Rodney nodded. "We're working with Dr. Beckett, but he's very good for information pulled out of the air." As if his words would reconfirm.

"You get actual words?" Daniel asked and Carson nodded. He wasn't going to talk about the details and weird quirks his ability manifested. Some strange things had happened when the demon had hold of him and he wasn't even sure what it was. He knew he wasn't meant to get that deep in his mind for a start.

"Aye, sometimes." he replied.

"Then you are a valuable source of information, Dr. Beckett," Hammond said. "Do you have any other knowledge of their forces and capabilities?"

"I… I'm not sure. It was so much so quickly," he said. "I know they are aware of us, but they thought we would be like the humans they are used to."

"I suspect that the first team to a scene should possibly… pursue their options more cautiously in the future?" Rodney suggested.

"Ya think?" Jack replied. "Sir, we're going to have to do this a little differently. I'm going to have to look at the teams again. Tweak them. And these tattoos are going to have to become compulsory, no doubt about it."

Carson risked a glance at John then.

"Yes. Pardon me saying so, but they're going to have to be, for everyone who can be possessed. The people like Teyla, people like Ronon, they don't worry about it because they're not pure human. We have a few other people who should be exempt."

John cleared his throat. "Those you've classified as sensitives need to be done as soon as possible. They went for Carson out of all of us, even though he wasn't the most direct threat."

Carson winced at that. He hadn't really done anything aside from stand there and get snatched. That was pretty humiliating.

"Yeah, and Daniel," Jack added. "They wanted Daniel."

"Well, sensitives are literally more open-minded. Easier to get into I suspect," Daniel commented.

"But Carson was already blocked, and he can't be possessed. Daniel was," Rodney pointed out. "And that's dangerous."

"Believe me, Daniel is getting that done before anything else," Jack said looking at his teammate. "Teal'c is safe as long as he has Junior."

The Jaffa inclined his head. "That is correct, O'Neill."

"That leaves myself and Carter. We both need it."

They really did need it. Carson had felt the pressure of the entity trying to gain entrance. If a creature possessed him like that… who knew what would happen? And that had been John's point in him getting it done.

"So. Anything else?" Rodney asked.

"We need to consider long-term defense implications, but for now, no," General Hammond said. "You are all dismissed."

Rodney slouched over his food. "Right. I guess I'll drive?"

"If you don't mind, Rodney," Carson answered. He was too shaky and unsettled. He and John shouldn't be driving at all.

Rodney scraped a fork through the mac 'n cheese. "Not a problem. Teyla, do you need a ride?"

"No, but thank you, Dr. McKay."

"Let's get the hell out of here," John said, even as Carson pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. Images of Hell and that feeling weren't passing off easily. He felt as though he wanted to scrub his head out.

He wasn't sure how he was going to, but he wanted to, and wanting had to be half the battle. Rodney stood up, and reached to steady both of them. He seemed too energetic, too awake and together not to draw suspicion.

They made a fairly hasty exit, and all the while Carson could feel the ghostly sensation of feathers near Rodney as if he was barely keeping his true nature under the surface. John was… John was not as awake as he appeared.

It was fascinating to feel that, to delve into that and let him drift on it, Rodney's power, John's tiredness, and the car starting up.

Oh, bloody hell, when had the car started up with him in it? John had told him to try and be aware as much as possible of things like that. Easier said than done.

"Rodney… what's going on with you?" he murmured. "You feel wired."

"I am wired," Rodney assured him, checking his mirrors. "We just defeated a Duke of Hell!"

"I don't… really know what that means," Carson admitted.

"It's a big deal," John drawled. "We didn't just banish him, we destroyed him. That hasn't happened in…. Rodney will know better than I do."

"Centuries. A bunch of Jesuits got one, and when I say 'a bunch' I mean almost fifty. That's a victory we'll probably never have again. It didn't expect anyone to bring a gun to a toothpick fight." Rodney backed slowly out of the parking space.

"You feel like…." Like he wanted to raise his wings and shout in victory. "Buzzed," he said finally. "John feels exhausted."

"Took it out of me using the Gates, especially on a demon with as much juice as that," John admitted. "If he'd fought back, he might've got me."

"Would have. He would have gotten us all," Rodney murmured, guiding his way through the parking lot. "That's a rush. That's… a rush."

Carson didn't feel a rush. In fact, mainly what he felt was nausea and the chill of shock. "I, uh, don't really feel much of that," he said quietly.

"You need to get home and rest. The comforts of home go a long way. It's like, John, you can explain it better. It's battle high."

"Adrenalin. Give you a boost then you crash," John said succinctly.

"Aye, well…" Carson coughed. "Does it count if you don't have the high? I want to scrub my bloody head out!"

"Yeah, actually, it counts twice if you miss the high part," John assured him, leaning up to pat Carson's shoulder from the back seat.

And with the touch there he was seeing John's state, his memory of exhaustion and determination and a burning pain as he used his energy. It tasted like blood in his mouth and made his bones ache. There was the demon and he was thinking dark, bitter thoughts that were overwhelming.

Carson blinked a little. He couldn't cope with this very well. It was just… sitting there unfolding.

It was all pouring out, and he wanted to shake off John's hand, but he didn't. "You look tired."

"Mainly stiff. You're the one that's tired," he said pointedly. He was fed up with his abilities just not really doing anything useful. "That… demon was not pleasant. I thought he was trying to crush me."

"He was," Rodney deadpanned, still driving. "I can't, I can't believe we did that. Still. And that you pulled his name."

"It was there." In a single bright memory of someone beloved whispering the name in his ear, when he was part of the white light horizon. It had been a single bright thing in the darkness and he had been drawn to it. The only good memory it had left. "It was the only… good memory there. The rest was all darkness and Hell and betrayals, wars and plots."

"Names are powerful," John murmured, sitting back. "I, we couldn't have done that without a name. Right, Rodney?"

"Immaterial power of the Logos. Also, it was Umabel, if you're going to be a snippy ass about it," Rodney told them firmly. "Not that you're pulling me anywhere."

"Could if I had to," John half smirked back at Rodney. "Umabel." John was saying it as a joke, but Carson wasn't hearing it like that. There was something lost and lonely trailing around the name and this was just diving him crazy. Everything was affecting him right now, and he felt as though he would drown in it all.

He had a growing certainty he was going to throw up.

"Mmmhm, knock that off, Nancy." Rodney put his eyebrows up.

"Could you…" Carson swallowed. "Are we nearly home?" He had his eyes closed, but it was like he was still seeing what they were doing. He could hold on a few minutes, but not much longer than that. Otherwise he was going to have to get Rodney to pull over.

"Yes, we are. Are you okay?" Rodney's concern spiked tangibly.

It made him wince. "I'm just feeling a wee bit… nauseated," he said resisting the urge to gulp air. It wouldn't help. "Too much in my head… everything in there."

"Us?" Rodney seemed to press the gas harder. "Dammit."

"Sorry," Carson winced. "I lost my shields and I've been trying to put them back but…" He wasn't bouncing back like John seemed to be doing. "Demon's thoughts keep knocking it down."

Rodney made a quiet noise, and all at once, his contributions to the noise shut down. "John, shields up. We can get Carson back together when we get in the house."

"Sorry, Carson," John said and he was sounding concerned. "Not as tight on my own stuff as I should be right now."

Carson relaxed a little. "That's… that's better. Thank you."

"Sorry. I think we've all gotten… relaxed with each other." Rodney made the turn into their complex, and Carson knew he could wait until they got home to be ill.

"That's good, I don't want us not to be relaxed," Carson answered. "It's just a wee bit like a migraine inducing horror movie spectacular at the moment."

"So, you see its thoughts?" Rodney sounded thoughtful as he pulled into the driveway.

"Some of it," Carson laughed a little hysterically. "It's bad. Really, really nasty."

"Easy there," John murmured. "You just need a distraction."

"What do you want to do?" Rodney got the garage door up with a fumbled click of his button, and coasted slowly in.

Carson wasn't sure. Half of him wanted to obliterate it with drink, or just have someone close so he knew he wasn't there, in Hell. "I.. I want you there, I want to know I'm here, not there," Carson replied.

Rodney caught John's eyes, and gave him a look while he turned the car off and put it into park. "Shower?"

Carson nodded. "Mm," Maybe it would help him feel clean.

"C'mon, Carson," John said. "Let's get you in, huh?"

Carson allowed himself to be guided inside and things were a bit vague for a while. He knew when Rodney rejoined them, after having closed up the Garage, while John was starting to slowly strip Carson off in the master bathroom. "You'll be okay. I'd be shocky if I were you, too, Carson."

He blinked a little, focusing on John. John who was solid and whose will had taken his information and made use of it. Shock. Aye, well that was something like it. "Sorry," he apologized. "Sorry, I'm all to pieces and I don't know how to deal."

"There isn't really any set list of how to deal. You just need time to calm down and warm up, and rest, and get yourself grounded." He rubbed at Carson's arms once he got his shirt off. "Here, let me get the water going."

"You're all moving slow," Rodney grinned, stepping in and shutting the door behind him. "Sorry, I don't want the cat in here, too."

"Cats are good," Carson said randomly. "They walk between the worlds — that must be something to see. I wonder how they do that?"

The water started running behind him.

"Technically, I have no idea," Rodney grinned, starting to peel his clothes off. "I hope most of our off world is calmer."

Things felt… good around Rodney. He stepped closer into the feeling of protection. It was like basking and he smiled, closing his eyes, ignoring the fact he was standing there naked.

John slid his own pants down, and Carson could feel the smirk. "I wish you were right, McKay, but…"

"I know, I know…"

"It's not going to be like this all the time is it?" Carson asked. "I don't know if I could take something like that." Thoughts, demon thoughts were not pleasant. They bubbled here and there but it was strange, they weren't unremitting evil. A demon's shame, a moment of mercy for no reason. A love left behind, a war being built among the stars where an army grew on a world with two suns and triple moons…

He blinked again. "Wait, wait. I think…" No, he was in the shower and that felt good. Distractingly good.

"Hmn?" John was right in beside him, moving to press up against his back.

John against him was supremely comforting and the images were fading. "It's going… they're building an army on… on a world with two suns and three moons and I'm losing it…"

It was like remembering a dream now.

"We'll remember that for you," Rodney promised him, getting in and pulling the curtain behind him so the floor didn't end up sopped. Carson was glad that the tub/shower combo was ridiculously large, because it meant that Rodney could go for the soap and move in near to him, too. "You know what we need? A porn star to deliver pizza."

"You mean you're both not porn stars?" Carson asked and this was definitely helping. John was smoothing hands on him, Rodney ahead of him and the stink of that planet and sulfur being washed away.

The communal soap smelled like mint, Carson decided. Good mint, like mint candy. "Nope. But I will fix your plumbing if you ask."

"In a provocative fashion?" Carson asked. Communal showers were pretty damn good as well.

"Is there any other way?" John answered.

The best part of it was that there was no wondering if they were being nice or if it was just a communal shower. There was a pleasant undercurrent of want that was helping to haze back those other thoughts and memories. "Provocatively cursing the drywall?"

"Angels don't curse…" Carson said. "Unless someone drinks all the coffee." He nearly giggled at that, which really wasn't what he wanted. No, he wanted all that want and need and, oh hey, he was apparently into fondling Rodney and moving against John.

Then Rodney got between him and the showerhead to kiss him, and John kissed the back of his neck. It was one hell of a way to get clean. All of the intrusive thoughts were drowned thoroughly by the kissing. This was Rodney, and god, he'd wanted Rodney for so long. Sweet and intense and John was all want and passion.

The cleaning part of the shower became very secondary.

He guessed the running water did most of the work, and roaming hands wiped away suds as well as any scrubbing. Their hair was probably going to end up ratty, but Rodney didn't particularly care and neither did John. When the water started to run cooler, Rodney shut it off.

By then he just wanted all of them to spend the night together. Well, more than just the night. It felt right, being with them, touching them, kissing.

"Can we?" he asked faintly even though it wasn't really necessary.

"Yes. Oh, yes…" Rodney reached for a towel, and John was chuckling quietly.

"So, is this our debriefing?" John smirked against Carson's back.

"Only because you are all crazy and call your underwear briefs," Carson murmured. "Please. This is good, it helps, a lot."

"It's such a hardship for us," Rodney scoffed. The towel was being pulled around Carson, while they walked him out of the tub. "Really. John, are you being as inconvenienced by this arrangement as I am? Why, I could be watching lint dry. Playing with the cat!"

"Picking your nose," John added helpfully, grabbing a towel for himself.

"Oh, shut up the pair of you and get over here and fuck me," Carson said with good-natured annoyance.

"What, in the bathroom? Seriously, I paid for furniture so we can have sex near the toilet?" Rodney grabbed a towel for himself, and started to rub his chest dry.

"Okay, I'm heading towards the bed," Carson said. "Dry or not, I don't care. "

"The sheets will help," Rodney called after him.

Out in the hallway, Ellis was roaming, and he meowed loudly at Carson while he passed

He sprawled himself on the bed. Sex and arousal was doing a bloody good job of purging things from his mind. He probably looked bloody ridiculous, sprawled out with a towel under him, and his dick standing straight up in the air like a welcoming flag when Rodney and John got into the room just after him.

"Nice," John grinned.

"All my own work," Carson smiled at them both. His mind was settling down now.

It was like having music on in a room, in a way, because they were distracting and calming at the same time, flooding back the tension. "Are you sure you meant to make it that red?" Rodney threw his towel at the chair to the side, and frowned when he missed.

"Easy there, sharpshooter."

John was sauntering, his body marked like a tribal warrior with tattoos and scars until he made it to the bed.

"Come to bed," Carson cajoled. The lube and supplies were already out, just in case they didn't take the hint.

He hadn't been with Rodney yet, which was strange, he supposed, given that they were both sleeping with John. Rodney had almost been courting him, though, which was funny, trying to be nicer than usual around mealtimes and letting him pick the movie they were watching.

Still, Rodney seemed to take the hint, and he moved to kneel on the bed while John stretched out.

"As I said before, I don't usually top," he said. "I'm really looking forward to one or the other of you or both taking advantage of that."

John tilted his head slightly and looked thoughtful before he looked up at Rodney. "So, coin toss? Or you could maybe grow a second dick, since you're already kneeling, and you could do us both?"

Rodney's little spike of irritation was attractive, and probably the reason why John prodded at him like that. "Let's just see where it goes."

"Mm," Carson grinned. "We've got all night." He liked the thought of them both, of Rodney and then John with their different styles. "But I'd like to get started sooner rather than later?"

"And pass out for sleep?" Rodney asked, leaning down to kiss Carson slowly. John seemed content to watch, it seemed.

"Mmm." Or float in a literal haze of heavenly bliss. He decided that kissing Rodney was right up there with one of his favorite things to do. He was just wonderful; sharp and bright, warm across his senses . A wonderful complexity of things.

"I like this view," John remarked, sliding a hand between them to stroke Carson's chest.

Carson smiled. John still felt tired but that, too, was fading as he became interested in what they were doing. "I'm sure we've all looked a wee bit more perky," he said, glancing around at John for a moment.

Rodney kissed the side of his jaw. "Huh, I can't even keep your full attention. I should be deeply offended."

"Room full of high kicking Chippendales couldn't keep my attention rapt right now," John smiled, still stroking Carson's chest.

Carson was immediately assaulted by two images of high kicking Chippendales. "Rodney's are prettier," he commented. He moved against them both. "Let me pay some attention to Rodney here…"

"Mine are Greek," Rodney deadpanned, shifting so — oh, that was better, pressed against John and Rodney to his front, lying on his side between them.

He did settle then, feeling safer, more grounded and it was easy then to unfold into pleasure. Kissing Rodney, using that ability to sense what would bring pleasure to both his partners.

He couldn't get very far with Rodney, but there were surface thoughts, immediate thoughts, brief reactions right there that he could catch. John shifted up behind Carson, hands sliding over his side.

That was enough to tease them both. He moved in reaction, feeling John's cock behind him, and Rodney's in front of him. Rodney tasted fantastic and he decided he could spend a whole night just kissing and be happy. They were different flavors, textures and feelings and they complimented each other perfectly. There was something supremely satisfying about having the pair of them at once.

"Mmm, this is nice." Nice and lazy. Rodney kissed him again, and moved to slide an arm beneath Carson.

"If someone else is willing to move," Carson said between kisses. "I'm willing to suck anything anyone puts in my mouth."

"That's kinky." John nuzzled the flat of one shoulder blade. "Okay, I'm feeling better. This is… nice."

"We don't have to do anything," Carson said mellow, some of his eagerness leveling out. "I love you both."

Rodney kissed the edge of his mouth again, and murmured, "I think I might be jumping the gun, that we both do. Too. You back." Behind him, John snorted.

"I can't even get it up all the way. I'm calling a rain check until the morning."

"If I had more energy I'd make sure you were ready." Carson said. His surge of need had seemingly been motivated by the need to get them here, close and now they were there, he was content just to lie there.

They were safe, and they were around him. They'd all made it through the mission, in one piece even if they were exhausted. Rodney's nervous energy seemed to be settling down, and he seemed as content as Carson was to lie there and touch and exchange kisses. "Want to call it a night?" Rodney asked quietly. "I can get up and turn the light off, and we can pick things up in the morning."

He still wanted Rodney, but he wanted it to be one of his better efforts. He didn't want his first time with Rodney to fizzle out halfway. He wanted to show him exactly what he felt. "I still want you," he murmured. "But I want for it to be… everything, not just something."

"You want me for everything?" Rodney mused that quietly as he leaned up and waved a hand at the light switch. It flipped off.

"Cool," John murmured behind him and Carson smiled.

"Aye, for everything, and forever." He gently stroked down Rodney's arm.

Rodney lay back down as if his parlor trick had completely exhausted him, but he was smiling in the dim light that dreamt in through the windows. John was moving, and pulling the sheets up. "You'll get tired of me, you know. Sometime. Probably. I'll take what I can get, though."

Carson shook his head. "No, Rodney, we won't," he promised. "And you don't have to take what is so freely given."

"I dunno," John murmured, twisting to stretch out on his stomach. "That pile of socks over there needs to walk on down to the laundry machine sometime…"

He was half sure that Rodney kicked John lightly over top of Carson's legs, from the oof and the laugh. "Red stripes at the top, yellow toes? Those are all yours, flyboy."

"Not mine," Carson mumbled. No demon thoughts could withstand the closeness and intimacy here and now. He was protected and cared for, his erratic feeling of flying apart was dealt with and he wasn't crazy now.

Not when men had wings and could call demons to reality with their arms. Not in a world that crazy.