Archive of Our Own

Rodney McKay, smith, founder, and inventor by trade, stared in disgust at the notice nailed to his door. A summons of this kind by the town council would never have happened before the Mage Wars. But Rodney's work was too high for the council's nut, and Alderwoman Weir and the other council members were showing it with this ridiculous balderdash.

Growling invective, Rodney tore the notice from the door and charged through the town square toward the overly ornate building the council had chosen for their offices. He managed to bluster his way past the secretary, who told him the council was in session for an annual budget review.

"I won't take much of their time," Rodney promised. "As this notice is utterly nerts." Ignoring her red face, he entered the council room and gave the council members his full wrath.

"There is absolutely nothing magical about my work. Not that it would matter, but I am a scientist!"

Weir folded her hands on the mahogany table and stared at Rodney keenly with a supercilious sneer. "This town has ordinances, Mr. McKay, which you mightn't be aware of, having traveled here so recently. We don't tolerate even a hint of the supernatural as it might bring back the troubles to our town."

Rodney drew in a deep breath to blast the hair off her head. "It wasn't magic that started the Wars; it was the other way around! Here we are, only a few years later, and people are already twisting the truth. The magical folk expected this, you know. This is why they left—"

Weir raised her hand. "We have business to attend to, Mr. McKay."

"It's 'doctor,'" Rodney said angrily, pulling himself up. "I have a doctorate in physics from Yole."

"I don't know what that means," Weir said. "Do you provide medicinals or not?"

Honestly, her ignorance. "It means I am a scientist! A founder! Not a warlock, regardless of the pretty light shows your gawkers peek at through my windows. You, Mr. Woolsey, surely you remember the arrow remover I created that Carson used on you after your little 'hunting accident'"

Woolsey spluttered. "I was assured it was! An accident!"

"Hmm. I would think you, at least, well understand my craft!"

"Oh, I do, Mr. McKay," Woolsey said worshipfully. "Mrs. Weir, I think we can put this issue to rest?"

"All right," Weir said reluctantly. "For now."

"In any event, I am finished being ramsquaddled," Rodney said, and as Weir squawked in indignation, he dusted off his hat and exited.

Rodney's next stop was the workshop of his compatriot, Radek Zelenka, the wretched man responsible for Rodney's migration to the Cascades. But truth be told, Rodney's genius was wasted in Candana. Radek was entirely right about that, and he made a good companion to bounce ideas off of, even if Rodney's were superior in every way.

"And she looked at me as if I were shady somehow and about to start another mage war in her back yard. The nerve! I'm the foremost mind in these territories!"

"Yes, yes," Radek said, "but how did she look?"

"Eh?" Rodney picked up the diagram on Radek's desk. "Is this a new mortar? Why are you—?"

"Was she, as usual, an agony in red?" Radek said excitedly. "All that crimson silk?"

"What are you going on about?" Rodney turned and shook the diagram. "Why are you still working on mortars?"

Radek shrugged. "I had a bad dream. But that was before my new pillow ended the nightmares." He waved his hand. "Put that away with the rest."

Locating the shelf, Rodney slid the diagram in to join the others. "What's this about a pillow?"

"Oh, my friend. Only the most heavenly pillow I have ever laid my head on."

"Pish. A pillow is a pillow. The best are down. Mine is the finest." Rodney sat down on Radek's overstuffed sofa and started drawing out his latest idea in his trusty notebook. Just as his inhaling device had revolutionized the dispersal of lung medications, so this device would assist soldiers who had injured limbs in combat. If only he could solve the tricky power supply problem. He lay back for a moment to visualize how to miniaturize his large, clunky batteries into something small enough to carry...

Something incredibly soft, firm but fluffy, slid beneath his head, cradling it gently. Rodney sighed.

"What in blazes...?"

"My new pillow," Radek said smugly.

"It's so..." Rodney groaned and rolled his head, luxuriating in the softness. "My goodness, that is wonderful."

"And you said a pillow is a pillow."

"I must have one!" Rodney dragged his eyes open to glare at Radek. "Tell me how."

"A little shop off the square on Eagle Street. T&J's Sleep Goods."

"Eagle Street," Rodney murmured, "T&J's." He committed it to memory, then let himself drift.

"Hey! Don't fall asleep. We still need our chess game."

"Yes, yes. Just give me five minutes."

Rodney went out like a light.

The next morning, Carson met him at the pub, where the sawbones yet again exhorted Rodney to drink wet leaf water. But coffee was Rodney's beverage of choice in breaking his fast. He downed his first cup without breathing, to Carson's chagrin.

"Go back to Scotland if that's your attitude," Rodney said. "I thought we threw all our tea in the bay."

"I believe that was before your time, possum."

"Ugh. I hate when you call me that."

Carson's grin broadened. "What, 'possum'? Because you are my wee friend with snappy teeth?"

"Ugh. Let's talk about the new shipment."

Carson's smile disappeared. "Now that's a dreary subject. Ronon says he barely made it through. He had to bribe the guards at the border, that on top of the new taxes, which were very steep. Very steep, indeed."

"What new taxes?"

"You hadn't heard? Some new strongman has taken the peak. Goes by the name of Ladon Radim."

"He sounds like a chowderhead. I hate him already." Rodney swigged his coffee.

"Yes, well, he fancies himself a great lord, I guess. He and his men have erected a turnpike at the pass, and none may get by unless they satisfy his requirements."

"But that's...that's highway robbery!" Rodney said. "It's against the law!"

"And who's to enforce it out here?" Carson sighed disgustedly. "We shall simply have to make do, I suppose, and I will charge my patients more to help make up the costs."

"Or maybe we can drag one of our old mortars up the trail and blow him to kingdom come."

"And destroy the pass along with him, and no one will ever be able to use it again," Carson said acerbically.

Rodney bit his lip. "Or maybe we can find a source for my minerals and your herbs to the East?"

"Everyone knows there are monsters to the East!"

"Don't be ridiculous. There's no magic left in Merka, and definitely no magical creatures. The People took them all with them to the other plane."

"Be that as it may, I'm not risking my hide by walking straight into the magezone."

"Fine." Rodney stared into his empty coffee mug. "Thank goodness coffee is grown south of here or I would pay dearly."

Carson snorted. "That would be your first concern."

"Oh, shut up, you."

Carson's depressing news made it all the more important Rodney cheer himself up with a little shopping, so after taking the packets of materials Carson gave him back to his laboratory, Rodney set out for Eagle Street.

T&J's was a tidy shop front with gauzy linens, silky pillowcases, and soft-looking pillows featured in the windows. Rodney immediately coveted the pillow nearest him, so plump and enticing. He saw a flicker of movement within the shop and entered.

A bell jangled above him, and a woman looked up from her task to greet him. Her light-brown hair was swept back with tiny curls hanging down to frame a lovely face, skin a light shade of amber.

Rodney was momentarily tongue-tied by her beauty, but managed to point to the pillow in the window and say, "How much? Ah, for the pillow?"

"Hello, good sir. I'm Teyla Emmagan, of T&J's. I'm afraid the pillow in the window is merely for show. All our pillows are made custom." Emmagan gestured gracefully to a chair beside her. "Please, sit down."

Feeling rather bunglesome, Rodney sat down. "My apologies, Miss Emmagan. I'm Dr. Rodney McKay, PhD. My good friend Radek Zelenka recommended you to me."

"Dear Radek," Emmagan mused. "And please, call me Teyla."

Raising his eyebrows, Rodney said, "Teyla, then. Call me Rodney."

"Rodney. What an unusual name."

"Yes, isn't it? It means 'island of fame.' Supposedly I was named after a famous Admiral my mother had a crush on, but I prefer the first meaning."

Teyla's eyes danced with humor. "I imagine so. Now, about your pillow—"

The bell rung again and a voice called, "Teyla, you won't believe the news I heard down at the—oh, hello."

"Hello," Rodney said archly. The man who'd rudely interrupted was tall and lanky with the most ridiculous hair Rodney had ever laid his eyeballs on. He did sport a rather handsome waistcoat and linen shirt, so the hair was almost forgiven.

The man gave Rodney a look up and down. "John Sheppard," the man said, holding out his hand. "Call me John."

Rodney bristled. "That's awfully familiar; I most certainly will not."

Sheppard raised his eyebrows, and Teyla said, "This is Dr. Rodney McKay, John. He wishes to purchase a pillow. I was just explaining the situation to him."

"All our pillows are custom," Sheppard said. "And we have a long waiting list."

Playing that sort of game, was he? "You'll find I can afford quite a lot."

Sheppard smirked. "Trying to buy us off, McKay?" He seated himself at a sewing table and picked up a piece of work. "What size pillow were you interested in?"

"Like the one in the window, on the right."

"We call that 'The Major,'" Teyla said, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"Then I would like a major," Rodney said. "As soon as possible."

The sound of a kid crying distracted Teyla, and she rose with an apology, leaving Rodney alone with the disagreeable Sheppard. He appeared to be focused on a complex stitch he was putting into a pillowcase seam. Rodney was somewhat fascinated by the locking nature of the stitch, but Sheppard sensed him leaning in and flipped the rest of the case over his work.

"According to this," Sheppard said, consulting a ledger, "we can put you in for a Major in six weeks."

"Six weeks!"

"Yup." Sheppard licked his lower lip. "If not more."

Teyla walked back in with a sleeping babe in her arms. "Try not to antagonize the customers, John."

Rodney gestured. "Thank you! She obviously wasn't raised in a chicken coop. On a completely unrelated note: how does your hair do that?"

"Hey!" Sheppard touched his hair. "You ass."

Rodney smirked. The babe whimpered again, and Teyla gave a despondent sigh that tugged at Rodney's heart.

"What's wrong with the child?"

"He has the asthma," Sheppard said quietly. "Teyla tried giving him the cigarette cure but it just made him worse."

"Oh! He needs to try the inhaler I developed with Carson!"

"What's this?" Sheppard eyed him suspiciously.

"It's no snake oil cure, I swear. Carson is a real doctor I met during the wars. The inhaler contains water that heats using a mechanism I developed, and Carson provides a sachet of medicinals to increase the dilation of the lungs. You add them to the water and the patient inhales the compressed steam as therapy. However, the device itself is large and bulky, and quite costly as a result."

"Ah, there's the sting," Sheppard said, pointing.

Rodney shrugged. "We have the grateful thanks of many patients who can vouch for the device. It does work."

"John," Teyla said, voice pleading.

"Of course," John said to her quietly. "If it works, we'll get it. TJ will get whatever he needs."

Teyla released his arm and turned toward Rodney. "The going rate for our pillows is eight dollars."

"Eight! Outrageous."

Teyla raised one eyebrow.

"However, having had the temporary use of one, I admit the price seems fair. The price of the McKay-Beckett Nebulizer is forty dollars. Not including the regular prescription of medications."

Teyla's gasp indicated her dismay, but Sheppard said calmly, "Do you have any available?"

Rodney crossed his arms. "As a matter of fact, I've just completed a new model that creates even finer air particles than before. You see, it all comes down to compressing the mist through a fine mesh—"

"Great. We'll take it."

"And my pillow?"

"If I work all night, I can have it ready for you tomorrow."

"John—"

"Don't worry, Teyla. Ellison can wait one more day." Sheppard stood and offered his hand. "Do we have a deal, McKay?"

"That we do." Rodney nodded.

Sheppard grinned, the smile transforming his face. "Deal." He took Rodney's hand in his strong, calloused grip, and the bottom fell out of Rodney's stomach at the double assault.

"Deal," Rodney said, almost certain he would regret it.

"Welp. That was interesting," John said, going over to put some wood on the stove. Some steam would do Torren John some good. "Should I drop in a eucalyptus leaf?"

"It does seem to help," Teyla said. "Thank you, John. Do you think this machine of McKay's will help TJ?"

"I hope so." John hesitated, then added, "I heard about McKay during the Wars. He and another fella were the artificers responsible for those repeating rifles. Amazing work."

Teyla huffed. "You mounted always got the best weaponry."

"Oh, there you go again," John said, grinning as he put on a pan for the water. "Sticking your nose up at us because we didn't fight on foot."

"It does take superior skill to battle in close quarters," Teyla said with her tongue planted in her cheek. She came over with TJ and looked down at the pan anxiously.

"Than taking a crack shot from a moving horse?" John shifted the pan a little to try to make it boil faster. The water hissed against the sides.

"Than engaging sabers with a soldier that has twice my reach." Teyla pushed his shoulder. "I'm concerned about the cost of this new device—"

"Pshh. We have the savings. I'm just sorry Kanaan will have to wait a little longer," John said with real regret. He was looking forward to having his quasi brother-in-law joining them, but the cost of passage was steep.

"Kanaan will understand better than anyone. He should have taken the opportunity they offered after the Wars were over. Now TJ is almost a year and a half old and he hasn't met his own father."

"I'm sorry," John said helplessly. He used the badly knitted potholder he had made to carry the steaming pan over to the table so Teyla could sit down.

Teyla sighed and used a scrap of silk to make a tent for TJ's little head to help collect the steam. Their routine did its job, and soon TJ was feeling better and demanding his lunch.

"Cornbread!" he said happily, mashing the bits together on his plate.

"Sure is, partner." John brushed a hand over his little face to remove the enthusiastic crumbs.

"We will have to make another trip to the cave," Teyla said. "Too soon for my liking."

"Can't be helped. After I finish McKay's pillow, I'll go over to Miss Teer's and get the spices."

Teyla cracked a sly smile, and John pointed his finger. "Don't start with me. She's...a very nice person."

"And she always seems to give you a better deal."

"Deal!" Torren chirped, and John had to laugh.

"He's definitely his mother's son."

Rodney was up until far too late tinkering with the controls on the new nebulizer, thanks to his electric lights. He'd wasted no time, upon moving to town, in setting up a water wheel generator on the creek behind his cabin, as electricity was like oxygen to him. This also had the side benefit of bringing Radek to his door often to recharge his lead-acid batteries and to hear about Rodney's latest accomplishments in engineering.

However, the downside was awakening to the cock's crow with grainy eyes and the hollowed out feeling of too little sleep. But it couldn't be helped, because he'd promised the device to T&J's in exchange for one of their heavenly pillows, and he'd never yet reneged on a deal.

After a quick wash-up routine, he donned his workday outfit of a pair of striped trousers, pullover linen shirt, and wool waistcoat. He tucked his pocket-watch into his vest pocket and set about fastening the nebulizer and battery onto the cart so they wouldn't shift at all while he transported them.

"Lovely day, isn't it?" Rodney said to the milkmaid he passed on the lane, who gave him wide berth. "Small-minded peasant," he muttered to himself. The device, with its compressor and mouthpiece that dispersed the vaporized steam, wasn't at all alarming. Perhaps it resembled a tiny bit, with all its various convoluted conduits, like a mechanical octopus. But only a very little.

Rodney was slightly out of breath towing the cart by the time he reached 6 Eagle Street. A peek in the window revealed Sheppard's dark head bent over a fluffy white pillow, and Rodney smirked as he pushed open the door.

"Looks like I'm a little ahead of schedule," he said. "Or you're behind."

Sheppard raised his head and regarded him with a bleary gaze. Rodney instantly regretted his mockery. The man looked done in. Rodney raised his hands.

"I can see you're no lollygagger," he reassured the man. "In fact, allow me to brew you some fresh coffee, if you show me the fixings."

Sheppard stared at him a moment longer then grunted and tilted his head toward the far corner of the shop.

Rodney was glad to find a percolator on the stove top, and lost no time carefully cleaning it before preparing some fresh grounds to brew.

"How do you like yours?"

"Black," came the tired response. "I'm almost done. Can you grab a sack from the stack by the door?"

"After we've had coffee," Rodney said sharply. "I don't want you stabbing yourself and bleeding all over my pillow."

Sheppard rolled his eyes and turned away from his work to accept the cup. After two long sips that looked almost prayerful, he looked up and seemed to see Rodney for the first time. He blinked twice and smiled slowly. "Amazing. How do you make the same coffee taste five times better than mine or Teyla's?"

"It's all in the preparation," Rodney said, chuffed. "How's my pillow?"

Sheppard yawned and rubbed his eyes. "Almost done. I'm just adding the tag. Then I'll be ready for the bag."

"Right." Rodney snapped his fingers then retrieved the burlap sack from the stack by the door. They were all stamped "T&J's SLEEP GOODS" in black ink on the burlap surface. A nice touch. He went through the top two until the third one had the neatest lettering. Folding it, he placed it at Sheppard's elbow then went back to his coffee.

Sheppard snipped off the thread and patted the pillow. It bounced lightly, as soft and tempting a surface as Rodney remembered. Only, this one was his, and his alone.

"You'd be able to sell a lot more using a sewing machine," he remarked, but Sheppard shook his head.

"We need a very particular stitch for the seam. And only the finest silk will do. I grow the worms myself."

"You do?" How remarkable. "No wonder they're so steep."

Sheppard stood and arched his back, then slipped the pillow into the sack. "Sure you don't want a couple spare pillowcases while you're here? They're only fifty cents each." He pointed to the wall. "Those are machine sewn, but the linen is very fine."

"Nice try, but you're not knocking anything more off the price of this beauty." Rodney patted his hand on top of the nebulizer.

Sheppard grimaced and tied up the sack. "I'll go wake Teyla. She had a tough night with TJ."

"I'm sorry for your boy," Rodney said guiltily. "This machine will definitely help you and your wife rest easier."

Sheppard's eyebrows did a remarkable dance on his forehead before he said carefully, "Teyla is my sister. Her husband is awaiting passage when we can afford it."

"Oh! Oh," Rodney said more slowly. He shoved his face in his mug so Sheppard wouldn't see his blush as he passed by. Rodney took the time to set more water on the stove to heat for his nebulizer, then he went over to admire his pillow, making sure to wipe his hands on his trousers, first. Oh, he would sleep well, tonight,

"Mama! Mama, stranger!"

Rodney looked up and caught the bright eyes of the toddler staring through the railing. He certainly looked more healthy than he had the previous evening.

"Be careful, TJ," Sheppard admonished, and scooped him up before coming downstairs with the boy in his arms. The gentle way he held the child expressed his fondness for the child; Rodney could hardly be blamed for assuming he was the boy's father. "You coming down, Teyla?"

"No. I'm going back to bed."

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm not," Teyla said with weary humor. She followed a moment later, looking neat as a pin despite her complaints. "All right, I'm here. Show me this miracle device."

"Well! First of all, we need to fill it with steaming water. There's a small tank right here, see?" Rodney showed them how it pulled out. "Mind, you'll have to clean it occasionally, but it's made of copper so it should stay relatively clean. You drop a teaspoon of this medication inside, and it dissolves in the hot water." Rodney dropped in the medication, then pointed to the stove.

Teyla went over and brought back the hissing kettle. With a bow of thanks, Rodney filled the tank then replaced it in the device.

"Next, you flip on this switch right here. This heats the contacts beneath the tank, and also sets the compressor to start. Soon, you will see the special steam start to flow from this tube here." Rodney covered his hand with his sleeve and unwrapped the corrugated tube from the device. "I put a piece of felt on the mouthpiece to prevent overheating. A new feature! But don't touch the tubing without a pot holder. It gets very hot." The steam started to flow from the mouthpiece, and Rodney bent toward TJ. "This is for you, young man."

"Me?"

"I guess so," Sheppard said, giving Rodney a wary look. Rodney nodded reassurance, and Sheppard leaned in and breathed in some of the steam. "Mmmm, smells tasty," he said to the boy.

"Me next!" TJ clapped his hands, and Sheppard took Rodney's hand and brought the mouthpiece up to TJ's face. The boy breathed in, coughed a little, then breathed in some more. "It's good!" he said.

"Huh. He usually hates steam."

"That's because this is much lighter, much easier to breathe," Rodney said proudly.

"Well done, Dr. McKay," Teyla said, her eyes shining as she watched TJ.

"Yes, well done, McKay."

After a few more minutes, Rodney switched off the machine, and Sheppard nudged TJ into Teyla's arms. She sat town at the work bend with him in her lap. "How do we keep the machine working?" she asked.

"It should keep running on this battery for a few weeks, depending on how often you use it. Then you bring it by my shop and I will recharge it."

"And how much does that cost?" Sheppard said, crossing his arms.

"A pittance!" Rodney said. "Twenty-five cents per charge."

"Well. That's not bad." Sheppard nodded once. "If you walk with me to the bank, I'll give you your $32."

"Excellent. After that, I'll be ready for a nice nap with my new pillow."

Sheppard groaned, and Teyla laughed. "Aren't we all?"

"No!" TJ said. "Time for pancakes!"

"Ohh, pancakes," Rodney said.

"Would you like to stay for breakfast?" Teyla stood and set TJ on his feet.

"Um, yes? You said the magic word."

Sheppard laughed, and together they all started for the stairs.

"Don't forget the coffee, John," Teyla said.

"A woman after my own heart."

Rodney carried his pillow home in the cart, along with a set of linen pillow cases he couldn't quite resist purchasing after eating Sheppard's lopsided pancakes and listening to Teyla's teasing laughter. On the way home, he pondered how he could improve their hand-cranked sewing machine, and his plans so engrossed him as he made his way along the square, he barely heard Radek calling his name.

"What? Oh, Hello, Radek. Fine morning, isn't it?" Rodney doffed his cap and fanned himself with it.

"Hello, my friend. I see you've managed to acquire one of the new pillows offered by T&J's."

"Yes, I can't wait to sleep on it." Rodney plopped his hat back on.

Radek fell in step with him, saying, "I don't think they realize what a remarkable product they have, or they'd sell it much more dear."

"What? I paid a full eight dollars!"

"And that's cheap! Just wait until you have more than a five minute nap. You'll see."

"Yes, well, sleep will have to wait, as it's the first Tuesday, and you know what that means."

"Do you mind if I join you? I'm fascinated by the process."

"If you'll help me with the labor..." They continued back to his house, where Rodney left the pillow and placed his tools on the cart, instead. "Would you mind grabbing that hexagonal wrench?" Rodney asked, and included a canister of mineral oil. Then they both went out behind the lab to the penstock Rodney had built beside the stream.

"It really is a very nice construction," Radek said. "May I do the honors?"

"By all means," Rodney said, more than happy to let Radek toil at closing the floodgate. Once the wheel stopped turning, Rodney jumped down and inspected the wheel and the paddles, tightening a nut here, adding oil there, then having Radek turn the wheel with him so he could reach the next set. It was tedious work but had to be done monthly or a catastrophic accident might tear the wheel and its mechanisms apart.

After inspecting the wheel, they went into the wheelhouse and inspected the gears and then the generator, following the same steps and greasing the components as they went. By the time they were finished, Rodney was hot-faced and sweaty and in need of a cool drink, so they went into his house, where he flipped on his overhead fan—one of his most brilliant inventions. Then he pumped them both a couple of glasses of cold water.

He offered Radek the chilled glass and said with satisfaction, "And now we'll have electricity for another month."

"Na zdravi," Radek said, raising his glass. "Thank you for sharing it with me. Electricity is life."

Rodney nodded, because of course it was. He couldn't imagine living in a darker age without electricity. They both sighed happily and rested under the stirring breeze of the fan.

"Now forgive me, but I'm really in need of a nap," Rodney said after a while. "With my new pillow! Whatever do they stuff it with to make it so soft?"

"I don't know. But be sure to read the caution on the tag before you start poking about. Your curiosity won't do you any favors."

"What? What do you mean?"

Radek shrugged. "The stuffing is a patent secret."

Scoffing, Rodney went to grab his pillow. "What nonsense. A pillow can't be patented."

"And yet, they have applied."

"Now I'm doubly curious. But I really need a nap."

Radek stood. "Then I'll leave you to it, my friend. Nashledanou."

After Radek closed the door behind him, Rodney went back to his sleeping area to change out of his sweaty clothes into a clean nightshirt, and closed his shutters tight. He'd had them made expressly for his bedroom to block the light exceedingly well, as there was no telling when he'd be in need of a healthy nap.

After slipping his brand-new pillow into its fresh linen case, he slid under the bedcovers and laid his head on his pillow for the first time. It enfolded his head gently but supported his cheek just so, lifting it up so he could breathe. It smelled just ever so faintly of...of childhood, and summer grass, and starlit nights. He took a deeper breath, and the pillow didn't crinkle or poke him with feathers or itch; his head rested ever so softly and soundly, and Rodney drifted off.

When Rodney awoke, he stretched luxuriously, and his neck and back felt wondrously loose and pain-free. It was such an unusual sensation that Rodney had to test it, rolling his head and hips back and forth and feeling for any kinks—but all seemed well. A four-hour nap on this miracle pillow appeared to have resolved the neck pains that had been hounding him the past year.

He sat up abruptly and pulled the pillow closer to him, then pushed off the cover to take a look at the tag.

The presumption! This was Rodney's pillow now! That booby, Sheppard, had nothing to say about it. If Rodney wanted to pick at the overly complicated seam and discover what kind of stuffing he was laying his head on, that was his prerogative! And if Rodney discovered the secret of its manufacture and started his own pillow manufacturing, well—there really was no way to patent a pillow, for goodness sake! A pillow wasn't an incredibly complex, genius device, like all ninety of Rodney's patents were.

With that, Rodney took his pillow to his lab. His cat, Galileo, was stretched out in a sunbeam on the window bench, and raised his head to yawn sleepily at Rodney before closing his eyes again.

"Oh, don't mind me. I only work for a living," Rodney said, sitting down on his tinkering stool. He pulled over his desk magnifying glass, a pricey purchase, but well worth the cost. It allowed him to view in detail the precise, complex stitching Sheppard had placed on the seam. Rodney could see why doing four sides of a pillow had taken the man all night, at this rate. The edges were folded and stitched so close there was no attempting to slip a probe inside to capture some of the material. In addition, the stitching itself was too complex for Rodney to replicate, but it shouldn't be a problem for him to do his regular darning stitch to repair any damage he did to a single corner. With this certainty, he gathered his sewing kit, a hemostat, and his finest blade. Lowering the scope even further, he tugged up the silk thread at the very corner of the pillow and slipped his knife underneath, then twisted it to sever the thread.

Several things happened in quick succession: the thread started to unravel at the seam, slipping through each hole like a snake retreating into a burrow; with its departure, the seam started expanding and unfolding, revealing a thin gap in the pillow cover. But just as Rodney reached for his tweezers to grab some stuffing, the gap widened into a gaping hole, and suddenly puffs of...something...started drifting out and spilling onto the table, then floating into the air with the current of the fan. These puffs—golden colored, round and glittering—swirled in the current, dancing almost joyfully, before streaming out the open window.

Rodney cried out, "No! No-no," and grabbed at the pillow, attempting to seal it shut, but only managing to worsen the hole. Now almost all the stuffing was escaping, and he rushed to grab the regular pillow case from where he tossed it, and hurriedly stuffed what remained of the pillow into it before twisting the top shut.

A few last puffs jittered on his lab table, trapped in the base of the magnifying glass. Breathlessly, Rodney reached for his hemostat to grab one, but the movement of his arm appeared enough to sweep the puffs away, and Rodney cursed as they flew out the window.

"What in blazes are those things?" he said out loud, looking at the twist of pillowcase in his hand. He barely had enough for a pillow for Galileo at this point. That seam had been booby-trapped to unravel!

"Oh, I will make you pay, John Sheppard! See if I don't."

Infuriated by the loss of his new pillow, Rodney set about trying to capture one of the puffs remaining. He started by slipping his hand inside and grabbing what he thought was one, but turned out to be a small bunch of the strange fluffs. He attempted to trap them under his bell jar for examination, but as soon as he released them, they seemed to flee confinement, even slipping from under the glass.

"Impossible," Rodney muttered, while Galileo leaped in the air and brought a puff down in her claws. "Yes! Good kit," he said, and brought his hemostat over to grab it from her. But the moment her paw lifted, the hemostat failed to hold it, and it flew away once again.

Galileo enjoyed this game marvelously, and went chasing after it again.

"Metal, and glass cannot hold them. But silk, flesh, and paws do," Rodney said. "Fascinating. Definitely magical."

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and he opened it to find young Aiden Ford, arriving with his grandmother's battery for a charge.

"Come in," Rodney said, waving him to the back. "You know what to do."

"Yes, Dr. McKay," Ford said cheerfully. "Here's your quarter."

"I'll tell you what: you can keep that, if you'll do me a favor in return. Tell Ronon Dex I need his assistance. You know him? The big fellow who works at the library?"

"I surely do." Ford disappeared to set the battery to charge, leaving Rodney to stare at his meager sack of mystery fluff.

"I'll figure you out; see if I don't."

"This month's take. Even higher than last month's," Dahlia said, entering with the ledger. "As always, brother, your ideas are brilliant."

"But without your fortune, we could never have hired the men to pull this off in the first place, sister," Ladon said, smiling up at her as she set it down on his desk.

"You mean Roderick's fortune." Dahlia's grin was positively evil.

"Your poor husband." Ladon frowned in mock sorrow. "What a tragedy."

"Gone too soon...and just in time."

Ladon read over the recent numbers. "It kills me we cannot capitalize on the gold trade. Thousands of pounds are traveling over the pass every month into Candana, but none back into Merka."

"You're suggesting we should tax both ways?" Dahlia sounded bemused, but not against the idea.

Ladon leaned back and stretched. "Why not? Who's to stop us?"

"Who, indeed?" Her laughter was merry. "I'll draw up a chart."

Ladon grinned. How he loved his brilliant sister.

"...and so I had to examine it, you see, except the whole thing unraveled and all these...puffball things? Not creatures, not alive, but not quite not alive, if you understand me, came spilling out and flying away like pixies, except they're definitely not pixies. I met a pixie once, thoroughly disgusterous person, not at all what I was expecting. Had the audacity to tell me I was the funny-looking one! What a farce."

Ronon stared at him then shook his head. "And these puffs?"

"Oh, right. I have a few left, but really, what I'm hoping is you will come with me to observe Sheppard and find out where he and Teyla acquire them. Find the source, in other words."

"Some reason you can't do it yourself?"

"Well, I, um...it's rather more your bailiwick, isn't it? Observing? You know the ins and outs from the Wars."

Ronon cracked a smile. "This isn't spy work. The guy makes pillows."

"And his sister. Don't forget his sister. But they are both of them quite formidable-looking."

"Huh. All right, we'll go to town and see if we can't hire some street urchins to report for us."

"Street urchins! Hardly a reliable source of information."

"They are if you treat 'em right. And they're much less likely to be noticed than the two of us." Ronon stood up and reached for his coat.

"You make a good point."

On the walk over, Rodney filled Ronon in on his latest research requests from the library.

"I'm sure it was called 'On Mechanical Physics' or 'Research on Mechanical Physics' and the author's name was something like, uh, Cower or Flower..."

"I'll find it for you," Ronon said confidently. "Have I ever not?"

"I'm sorry. I'm terrible with names."

"I noticed."

Rodney laughed a little. "I did call you Rowan for far too long."

"And Nolan. And Roman."

"All right! All right! What else is happening with the library? Any substantial donations lately?"

"Some fancy doctor lady originally from back East. She wants a lot of medical books purchased and ready for loan."

Something about Ronon's expression made Rodney smile. "I take it she's pretty? Young?"

Ronon scowled. "A lady."

"So? You're an officer and a gentleman."

Ronon's snort was eloquent. "A field promotion."

"And a well-deserved one. Not to mention you saved my valuable life and have the medal to prove it. I think this doctor lady would be quite lucky to have a swain like you."

Ronon grunted then stopped him with a hand on his elbow. "There's Julian. Let me talk to him. He'll get the other boys to fall in line."

"What are we offering?"

"A penny a day for surveillance; a dime for intel. A quarter for something substantial."

"All right. But don't let them bankrupt me."

Ronon's side-eye gave his opinion on that, and he slipped away to talk to the tow-headed boy playing marbles in the gravel beside the statue of Lanta, her arms raised toward the sky. Julian and Ronon engaged in a fast-paced negotiation while Rodney leaned against the wall of the telegraph office—one of his favorite customers. The Cascade Telegraph office regularly went through two battery charges every three weeks. They weren't small batteries, either. Before Rodney came to town, the company had to swap their charged batteries via the railroad, so Rodney made them pay that extra little bit that made it possible for him to keep his rates reasonable for the commoners.

"All right, we're all set. And I've already got info," Ronon said. "Gimme a dime."

"What, already?" Rodney pulled out his coin purse and handed a dime to Ronon. "I'm going to have to keep a ledger. What's the news?"

"The two of them, Sheppard and Lady Emmagan, go on a trip out of town through the pass every couple of months. No one knows where."

"Interesting. I wonder what's up in Candana they can't find here?"

"I know one way to find out."

Rodney shook his head. "Oh, no. You're not getting me to endure another tramp into the wild. My feet have never recovered!"

"You getting soft, McKay?" Ronon grinned toothily.

"I'm retired from fieldwork, that's all."

"You better dust off your boots, then. I'll be in touch." With that, Ronon gave him an ironic salute and sauntered off.

"The audacity!"

"There, that's the last of it," John said, stuffing the final delivery into its burlap sack and tying it shut. "I'm going to head over to Woolsey's and get us paid for this."

"All right, John." Teyla looked up from her needlepoint. Her designs were really beautiful and getting more intricate by the day. "Would you mind stopping by Teer's for the latest batch of silk?"

"Yeah, I guess. I'm not sure what we're gonna do with it. We're out of, uh, stuffing."

They exchanged a look, and John sighed. "I'll ask Teer for some spices, too."

"I think that would be a good idea." Teyla's mouth quirked in a wry smile.

"You know, you're lucky I'm chivalrous!"

"Is that what it is?" Teyla grinned down at her sewing. "I just thought you were being stubborn."

"Yeah, maybe. You got me, there." John went to the cash box and took out enough to pay Teer, just in case Woolsey didn't pay cash. Those rich fellows were strange about that sort of thing and sometimes gave promissory notes, as if a working man had time to stop by the bank all the time.

John strolled towards Woolsey's home with the pillow slung over his back. As he was crossing the square he heard a scuffle and turned, but saw nothing behind him except some urchins playing in the dirt. He continued onward toward the better side of town, where the homes all stood tall with turrets, balconies, and fancy trim.

The cook at Woolsey's made him wait in a tiny mudroom off the kitchen for far too long while she went to consult with the housekeeper, who tried to take the pillow from John without payment. John held onto it and insisted that, as Woolsey had ordered it personally, he could receive it that way as well. When Woolsey showed up, he was apologetic as all get out.

"I'm so sorry. My housekeeper tends to be a bit fussy, and—"

"Here is your pillow, sir. Payment is eight dollars," John said stiffly.

"Oh, yes. Of course. I'll just...hold on, one moment." Woolsey disappeared once again, and John sat back down on the tiny bench and sighed. This time, the wait wasn't too long, and Woolsey returned with cash in hand.

"Thank you," John said, taking the cash and turning to leave.

"Honestly, I'm very grateful. I've heard these pillows work wonders."

John wouldn't know, since he couldn't afford to make one for himself, but he nodded and left.

The next stop was Teer's cabin on the far side of town near the forest. This time, John was sure he wasn't imagining the shadow tracking him, and just at the edge of town, he stopped into Lorne's Hardware store, paused long enough to give Evan a wave, and then darted back out. The blond urchin loitering just outside looked startled and then turned away whistling.

John grinned. "Hey, there, boy. What's the news?"

"The news, sir? I couldn't tell you."

"Uh-huh." John started walking slowly in the direction of the woods, and the boy this time walked almost beside him.

"Where you heading, mister?"

"Just down the lane to my friend's house."

"You're not going to the witch's house!" The boy spun in dismay. "She'll eat us both up."

"That's just a tall tale. Teer is the nicest lady around these parts. And she makes cinnamon candy."

The boy winked one eye suspiciously. "Candy from a witch?"

John shook his head. "They'll call any lady a witch who lives on the edge of town. But Teer is just a nice woman who makes candy and looms cloth and gathers spices to sell." He picked up the pace. "You coming?"

The boy wavered indecisively before trotting to catch up, and together they reached Teer's ramshackle home. The lady herself sat out on her porch scraping out cinnamon bark, a tedious process she'd once coaxed John into assisting her with.

"Hullo, Teer," John said.

"John! What a pleasant surprise. Come to assist me with the cinnamon harvest?" She gave him a sly smile, and John shook his head.

"Never again, thanks."

"And who is your shy companion?"

John twisted around to find the boy hiding behind him. "Actually, he hasn't given me his name yet."

"Julian," the boy whispered.

"Ah. Teer, meet Julian. Julian, this is Teer, the first lady of Lanta. She arrived before any of the rest of the settlers."

"Really?" Julian came out from behind him. "What's that smell? It's really nice."

"That's the cinnamon bark. I just harvested some branches and now I'm scraping the bark, you see." She demonstrated how to get to the inner, fragrant layers.

"John said something about candy," Julian said, and John chuckled.

"Sure. Throw it on my bill if you have some, Teer."

"Of course." Teer stood and brushed off her skirts. "Let us deal."

"You were right. She's a nice lady," Julian said to him as they walked back to town. He unwrapped another cinnamon candy and popped it in his mouth. John sighed to himself at the lost time he might have had with Teer alone.

"Hey, can you hold this a second?" John handed the boy the small sack holding the precious bundles of cinnamon and anise. Once he had his hand free, he shifted the roll of silk onto his shoulder. "Better, thanks."

"This smells really good. Is it for your wife?"

"She's not my wife, she's my sister," John said, taking back the bundle. "My sister in arms from the Wars."

"Oh." Julian appeared to think hard. "I have lots of brothers and sisters, then."

"Orphans like you? From the Wars?"

"Yeah. We help each other out. Do small jobs, spread the wealth." Julian peeked at him from the corner of his eye.

"I understand," John said. "Although I wouldn't mind knowing who you're working for."

"I shouldn't tell you...I made a promise."

"That's all right, Julian. I wouldn't want you to break your code."

Julian nodded seriously. "I better go. I have to give them these candies."

"Sure." John watched him dash off. "And report back to whomever. But who in Lanta would be interested in my comings and goings?"

John popped a cinnamon candy in his mouth and walked home.

Rodney worked on his improved sewing machine while he waited impatiently for Ronon to contact him with news. There was no reason Teyla or John had to use a hand crank when their feet were free; even if Rodney didn't incorporate a battery, they could still power the machine with some sort of treadle. He was deep in the design phase, coffee-stained diagrams strewn about and him still in his evening nightshirt when he heard a familiar pounding coming from his front door.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming," he yelled, hastily throwing on a robe and smoothing down his hair on the way to the door. Ronon continued to knock, of course; being incessantly irritating was second nature to him.

"Honestly, if you're to pester a fellow at this obscene hour—"

"Noon?" Ronon arched his scarred eyebrow.

"Yes, noon is exceedingly early," Rodney said brazenly.

Ronon chuckled and pushed by him. "Nice slippers."

"I'll have you know my Aunt Hortense gave me these! They're from Morocco."

"Like I said, they're real nice." Ronon walked straight over to the kitchen and stole some of Rodney's very good coffee, pouring a cup full to the brim and ignoring Rodney's outraged noises. Then Ronon sauntered over to the lab table and pushed aside his precious diagrams and set his cup and his notebook down in the clear space. "I've got your report."

"Let me see if you left me any coffee, first." Rodney went over and poured himself a meager half cup and then joined Ronon. "I'm deducting a penny for yours."

"Fine. I'll just deduct a page of information."

Rodney gasped. "You will not!"

Ronon smirked. "So, T&J's does fairly good business. In addition to pillows, they sell bed linens, tablecloths, napkins, and specialize in selling silk cloth. Mr. Sheppard raises silkworms. Miss Emmagan spins the silk, and they have an arrangement with Miss Teer on the edge of the woods. Julian followed Sheppard to Miss Teer's house, but Sheppard caught Julian on the way."

"He caught him? Oh, that's just hunky-dory. I thought we hired kids because they were invisible?"

Ronon shrugged. "Sheppard tricked him. Anyway, they went together to Miss Teer to pick up silk cloth and spices."

"The silk, I understand. But why spices?"

"Dunno. The next day, Sheppard was seen visiting Radek Zelenka."

"Radek! Why Radek?" Rodney bit his lip.

"Zelenka says Sheppard was asking about you."

"About me!" Rodney's face felt hot. "Why me?"

"Not sure. Zelenka said he asked all about you." Ronon paused. "Maybe he wants to court you."

"Ronon! You can't just—" Rodney lowered his voice. "I told you about me in confidence."

"So? It's just the two of us here." Ronon leaned back and sipped his coffee.

"Right, well. It's not a topic for casual conversation."

"If you say so. Anyway, the littlest boy has been trailing Miss Emmagan, and says she's been shopping for dried fruit and beans, salt pork, cornmeal, hard tack and the like."

"Hmm. Sounds like travel supplies."

"Yeah, maybe."

"And that's it? Nothing about the origin of the puffs?"

"Nope. They're just a couple of artisans."

"Humph. Hardly. It's that Sheppard. He's the wily one. Why should he have noticed he was being followed, if he didn't have something to hide?"

Ronon finished off his coffee and stood. "You're welcome to try yourself. Your bill is 78 cents. Minus a penny for my coffee."

"Oh quiet, you. Here's two dollars. I'll win it back at our weekly game of euchre, anyway."

"You'll try." Ronon shoved his hat on his riotous curls and tromped out the door.

"I guess if you want to see something done right, you have to do it yourself," Rodney said, shedding his robe and nightshirt to head for his bath. "And you, Sheppard, are a mystery I shall solve."

Underneath the back window of T&J's was a giant patch of thistle, and Rodney was forced to spread his frock coat over it or risk being attacked by prickles. Fortunately, the windows were open enough to allow him to overhear the conversation in the room, so he crouched beneath and listened in.

"...and Lorne says Radim of Geeni is now collecting fees for crossing the turnpike in either direction."

"That is simply appalling," Teyla said, her voice vibrating with outrage. "How do the marshals allow it?"

"Come on, Teyla. The only decent marshal in the area is retired. Ever since Ellison hung up his belt, it's been nothing but one corrupt lackey after another."

"But we must do something. Fight them, somehow."

A long, heavy silence ensued, during which Rodney's thighs started to complain about his cramped position. He leaned back against the side of the building.

"Anyway," Sheppard said at last, "they have the pass. It takes very few people to hold it."

"But that must be a weakness, as well," Teyla said persuasively. "All we need to do is surprise them somehow."

"Us and what army?" Sheppard said, laughing painfully. "Everyone is scattered to the winds these days."

"Not everyone," Teyla said, but she sounded resigned.

The little boy, TJ, screeched and drummed his little feet against something, making Sheppard chuckle. "That's right, TJ, you'll fight 'em all."

"Don't encourage him. Or he can beat on your legs for a change."

"Right. Uh, no beating Mama, Teej. She's one of the good guys."

"Mama! Mama good!"

"She sure is, buddy."

Rodney's legs were fit to fall off at this point, and it didn't seem they were going to discuss the puffs, so he slowly straightened and then tugged his coat away from the thistles. They didn't give it up easily, and he cursed inwardly as he had to disengage a few, stubborn spears as quietly as possible. He finally freed the last and backed away quickly from the slight noise, then jogged out of sight, his legs screaming their complaints.

Figuring he deserved a nice noon meal for his troubles, he went down the street to the Restaurant Parisienne run by Carson's wife, Laura. Although if there was a darned thing actually French about the cuisine there, he'd eat his hat. As he expected, Carson was seated at his usual table having lunch, something that looked an awful lot like mashed potatoes, pork, and beans. Rodney raised his hand and waved at Laura, then gestured toward Carson's plate.

"Why, hello, Dr. McKay. Why, yes, I'd be delighted to bring you a plate," Laura said from the kitchen doorway. She disappeared back inside, and Rodney removed his hat and sat across from Carson.

"Your wife is a peach," Rodney said.

"Aye, she is, isn't she?" Carson simpered.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Have you heard the latest? Radim and his goons are now collecting going either way. And still no one will lift a finger. Marshal Cowan is being paid off, apparently."

"What a surprise." Carson dabbed his mouth with his napkin. "I looked into what you said. There are no reliable sources of our medicinals coming from the East due to Mage damage, and they don't grow in Southern climates. Maybe from the West when the Treaty's terms have completed?"

"That's ten years away!"

"'tis only fair, Rodney. The magicals lost countless lives in the Wars. Demanding a bit of land and safety in return seems a small price to pay."

"I only question whether the commoners will keep their word. If we're anxious, imagine how they feel with fewer resources available."

Carson frowned. "Oh? Worried about the common man, are you?"

"What? I can worry!"

Carson smiled down at his potatoes. A moment later, a plate was dropped onto the table in front of Rodney, and Laura said, "Enjoy your meal."

"Thank you so much, dear," Rodney returned her tone precisely, and they shared a sardonic look. Giving Carson a kiss on his brow, Laura returned to the front of the restaurant.

"I don't understand your interactions in the slightest," Carson said. "But I suppose I should be glad you aren't tearing each other's throats out."

"You really should." Rodney tucked into his meal, stopping only to listen the gossip about Ronon and the doctor, Jennifer Keller. Apparently they were now past the flirting over books stage and into the flirting over her scalpel collection.

"People are so puzzling," Rodney said. "I didn't even realize Ronon was interested in medical instruments." He chewed his last, delicious bite and then followed it with some seltzer water.

"Perhaps it's not so much the instruments as the lady."

"Oh, please. Ronon loves knives. He collected all sorts during the war. But medical instruments are so cold in comparison."

Carson raised his eyebrows. "To each his own, I suppose."

"I suppose." Rodney dabbed his mouth and pulled out his purse to pay for lunch. "Please tell Laura lunch was excellent, as usual."

"I will, although she won't believe you said so."

Rodney smirked. "I know. It's delightful."

Stepping out into daylight after the cool, lamplit comfort of the indoors was always a rude shock, and Rodney shoved his hat lower on his head to protect his weary eyes. Tonight, he swore, he was going to sleep at a reasonable hour.

He'd just started along the square when he glimpsed the hatless silhouette of John Sheppard a distance ahead of him on the walkway. Unwilling to let such an opportunity pass, Rodney tucked his chin into his coat and followed behind, letting the distance between them lengthen. The gap grew even larger with the quick stride of Sheppard's long, muscular legs, and soon Rodney started to worry somewhat that Sheppard would lose him altogether as they left the town proper and entered the southwest end of town where the creek meandered through the forest to meet the lake.

However, Rodney managed to keep Sheppard just within sight, and was now somewhat excited to think this might be the culmination of all his efforts—he might finally learn the origin of the puffs! Some small pocket of magic, Rodney assumed, that yet remained forgotten by the magicals who had abandoned this land. They were very close to the lake—Rodney could hear the lapping of the water—and when Sheppard slowed, pushing past branches on the narrowing path, Rodney did too, so much that he almost missed it the moment Sheppard disappeared behind a jut of stone.

Rodney stopped entirely, listening, and after a moment, heard a continuing rustle. He slowly followed, certain they were close to their destination. He heard a muffled thump, then another, and imagined Sheppard was pushing aside a secret passageway of some kind. But then he heard a splash, which didn't follow. Was the passage underwater? Rodney crept forward, then slipped past the boulder and into the clear.

He saw Sheppard, naked as a robin, walking into the lake.

"Oh!" Rodney gasped, and clapped his hand over his mouth, withdrawing behind the boulder.

He heard a splash, then an ironic. "You know I heard you, right?" More splashing. "I know you're there."

"No, no, I'm not here," Rodney said hastily. "Please proceed with your, uh, bathing." He turned to leave but Sheppard—still naked!—appeared in front of him. Oh, dear. Water streamed from his chest down to his scarred abdomen. Rodney's brain skittered on the scars like a rock over a pond. He looked up hastily to meet Sheppard's keen stare.

"You know, if you wanted to talk to me, all you had to do was ask," Sheppard said. "No need to sic your little goblins on me or follow me yourself." Then his eyes flickered with understanding, and he looked around before leaning closer, his cheeks turning ruddy. "Unless you really wanted to see me in the buff."

"I-uh. Well, um, y-you..." Rodney's mouth was too dry, and he licked his lips, watching in fascination as Sheppard licked his own in response. "Y-yes? Yes, I won't deny, ah, Sheppard..."

"That's 'Ah, John,'" Sheppard said.

"John," Rodney said.

John smiled that brilliant grin, and somehow, magically, their lips met. The heat in Rodney's chest turned liquid and dropped low to pool in his groin. He groaned softly and sucked on John's full, lower lip, and put tentative hands on John's hips, letting his fingers curve around the hard bend of muscles he could still see in his mind's eye as Sheppard had stepped into the water—the powerful slope of his back, the strong jut of his thighs, one of which now pushed insistently between Rodney's legs.

"Oh, oh," Rodney breathed softly against John's hair as the man kissed his way down Rodney's neck, as his strong hands gripped Rodney's buttocks. "Oh!" Rodney cried out as John's hips ground against his, pressing him back against the boulder. "Please! I'll soil my trousers."

Sheppard chuckled softly and pulled away. "In any event, we need more privacy."

Rodney nodded emphatically. "A bed would be nice."

A sweet smile was his reward. Turning and bending for his pants, Sheppard said over his shoulder, "I'll follow you discreetly to your cottage. I'll enjoy trying out my own pillow!"

Engrossed for the moment by the view, Rodney was slow to react. "Oh! Oh, yes, um, the pillow. Your pillow, right."

Sheppard turned, his linen shirt unbuttoned over his trousers. "Is there a problem?"

"Oh, just, you know—I might have...um. Tampered? With the stitches? Just a little, and—"

Sheppard jerked his shirt closed, his eyebrows cinching over his expressive eyes. "Did you."

"And possibly all of the stuffing...fled? I've been meaning to speak to you about it," Rodney said weakly.

"Oh, have you now?" John crossed his arms, his chest shifting distractingly. "Then that's quite a coincidence—the two of us meeting up like this."

"Isn't it? It's convenient, you see," Rodney babbled, unable to bear the disappointment in John's eyes. "We'll have a chance to gab about it."

"So you say." Sheppard buttoned his shirt rapidly then bent to pick up his boots. "I think I just remembered a previous engagement. If you'll excuse me, Dr. McKay."

"Yes, of course," Rodney said forlornly, and watched Sheppard walk stiffly away.

"Just a minor fall back," Rodney said to himself. "No need to panic. It's not like I've just ruined my one good chance with the most eligible man in Lanta. Not at all!"

Rodney started his weary tramp back home.

"You're pulling your stitches too tight."

John cursed under his breath and went back to put in a little more slack. He gave Teyla a look, because, okay, she was right, but it was just basting, and these were just carry bags.

"You know it would bother you later."

And yes, it would. It would irritate the hell out of him while he was sewing the seams, especially when he ran around for the second lap. The filling was not at all forgiving when it came to leaving gaps.

"Point," John said, and smoothed out the fabric.

"What has you so cross this morning?"

"I'm not cross. I'm...pensive."

Teyla's mouth curved in a smile, and John hastily looked down at his sewing before he poked himself.

"I won't pry. But the last time you were this 'pensive' was when Chaya Sar pretended to be human in order to spend some time with you."

John scowled. "She knew she'd have to leave with the rest of them."

"Yes."

"She lied, too."

"Too?"

John shook his head and tied off the thread, snipping it with the fancy scissors that were his only heirloom from his mother. They were so tiny he could barely fit his fingertips through the loops. He rubbed his thumb thoughtfully over the bronze dragonhead that acted as a bumper.

Teyla's questioning silence dragged at him.

John's ears felt hot. "Rodney—Dr. McKay—is only interested in the secret of the stuffing."

"Ah." The single word said volumes, and John ducked his head and folded the finished piece, putting it aside for the sewing machine. "Did you happen to see the gift that was left at our door this morning?"

"Gift? No." John paired up the final set of panels and started pinning them. "Where is it?"

"On the mantel. It's quite extraordinary." The undercurrent in Teyla's voice made John's shoulder's grow tight. He casually looked over at the mantel and saw a wrought iron lamp. But instead of an oil reservoir and wick, it had a bulb of glass with some thin wires.

"Is that...an electrical lamp?" John said, disbelieving. "What on Earth can we do with such a thing?"

"Turn it on and find out," Teyla said.

Curious, John rose to try it. The lamp, such as it was, had a simple knob at the front—not difficult to figure out—and he turned it slowly to get an increasingly more brilliant light. It was at least ten times brighter than their oil lanterns. An amazing device.

John swallowed thickly. "Bully for us. Another of his battery toys. A gift that will only cost us."

"Except," Teyla said with heavy irony, "he said we could recharge it for free when we bring in the battery for TJ's device."

"Then he's trying to indebt us in some other way," John said desperately.

"You are the most stubborn man, John Sheppard."

"Thanks. I work hard at it." He gave her his best grin, and Teyla smiled back reluctantly, her eyes rolling.

"You will thank him for the gift," she said decisively.

"Teyla..."

"Just think of how many times you've squinted over a last-minute order working late. Think of how we can now trade shifts if necessary, and how one of us can mind the shop and Torren while the other naps. Then tell me this isn't worth giving thanks."

John bit the corner of his lip. It certainly wasn't worth crossing Teyla over. "Fine. I'll thank him. But right now, we have a trip to prepare for."

"All right, then," Teyla said, and went back to her sewing, her stitches perfectly even without a tiniest bit of bunching.

John sighed.

They awoke at dawn to get an early start, TJ fussy as anything but settling quickly once he'd had breakfast and was snug in his carriage. Teyla pushed him along, making faces at him and laughing as they walked along the square and then down the lane toward Charin's house. John walked beside her pulling the cart holding Torren's breathing device and their packs.

Teyla's aunt greeted them at the door with a glad cry and immediately swooped down to lift Torren John in her arms. TJ mimicked her noises of happiness, and Teyla gave John a wistful look.

"I should just leave him with her," she whispered. "I'm a meager second in his mind."

"Nah. Wait 'til you've been gone a couple of days." John stepped in to give Charin a touch on the shoulder. "Good to see you, ma'am. How've you been?"

"Oh, a touch of the old ague, but otherwise just fine." She bestowed a kiss on Teyla's forehead, and then handed her TJ. "All right, show me this magical machine of yours."

Teyla sat down with TJ in her lap, and John demonstrated the machine and how to fill the water tank. He'd recharged the battery the day before, going to McKay's house expecting an embarrassing encounter, only to find the doctor wasn't in; a pleasant-faced young man was there charging his grandmother's battery instead, and offered to do John's as well and bring it by. John told himself the feeling low in his stomach was relief, not disappointment, and he thanked the young man and left a quarter as payment with a brief note of thanks.

Now, as he demonstrated the nebulizer and how to hold it up to TJ's face, he wondered if McKay regretted missing him—if McKay regretted any of it.

"And that's all? Seems pretty simple to me," Charin said. "How do you feel, little one?"

"Good! Wanna-wanna play."

Charin laughed good-naturedly. "Then we shall, dear heart. Your mama and uncle have to go now so they can come back soon, but you and I will play with your blocks."

TJ hugged Teyla's leg, but she kissed his brow and turned him toward Charin. "Play with Auntie now, TJ. Mama loves you."

"I love you too, Teej," John said gruffly. He never wanted TJ to doubt it, although squeezing the words out felt like sandpaper. He bent swiftly and kissed the boy's cheek. "You be good for your Auntie, all right?"

TJ nodded and bumped his head against John's shoulder. John ruffled his hair affectionately and stood. He caught Teyla's eye, and she made a face, shouldering her pack as she turned toward the door. John picked his up and followed.

"Mama! Mama, no!"

"Shh. Shh, sweet boy. It's all right," Charin said quietly, "They'll be back before you know it," and then the door closed behind them.

"Sorry," John said. "I know it gets harder every time."

Teyla shrugged her pack higher. "It cannot get any harder," she said grimly. "But if Kanaan doesn't come to us soon, I will swim to him and throttle him in his sleep."

John turned his laugh into a cough, giving her an apologetic look. "All right, we're off. If we make tracks, we'll be at Ellison's tonight."

"I am not the slow one," Teyla said, starting off North. "You are the one always wishing to be back on the saddle instead of enjoying a good tramp."

"At least I have long legs and not short little—ow!—where did you get that stick?"

Teyla grinned. "Always be ready for an attack. Did I not teach you that?"

Rubbing his rear end, John retorted, "Not well enough!"

Teyla laughed and chivvied him along to the path toward the base of the mountain. It was a good six hour march to the tiny town there where they'd take their supper, and then another two hour hike up the mountain to Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg's cottage.

John had just started to relax into the walk, the brisk wind at their fronts taking the summer heat out of the effort, when he saw Teyla pause just briefly before wiping her brow and pulling her canteen from her pack. John stopped to join her, and then he heard it, too, just before the sound halted—the gritty shift of a clumsy footstep. He looked askance at her, but the subtle smile on her face told him she'd been tracking the sound for a while.

"You're kidding," John said under his breath, and Teyla smile broadened. "Alone?"

She shook her head.

"Should we...?"

She made the 'follow me' gesture, and John started to grin.

Things were looking up.

"This is ridiculous. I should have let you go alone. My feet are an agony!"

"I'm not following Captain Emmagan into the mountains alone."

"She's a Captain? When did you find out this little piece of information?" Rodney hopped on one foot and tried to get the stone out of his shoe.

"While you were out getting drunk with Carson."

"I wasn't drunk!"

"Then you sure walked funny for a sober man."

Rodney blew a raspberry and tried to march ahead, but Ronon yanked him back, landing him on his heel.

"Ow. Ronon, you're not helping with my blisters."

"Shh. Easy. We don't want them to hear."

"But do you have any idea how painful it is to hike in these square-toed shoes?"

"Why don't you wear boots like mine? I sew my own. Could make you a pair." Ronon pushed him forward.

"Well aren't you a cordwainer!"

"Shh!" Ronon looked alarmed and tried to put his hand over Rodney's mouth.

Rodney twisted away. Honestly, the nerve. "Get your hands off—oh, hello, ah, Mr. Sheppard, Miss Teyla. How nice to run into you." His voice dribbled off weakly, and he looked to Ronon, who just stared at Teyla as if star-struck. Teyla stared back, one eyebrow raised, a lethal-looking staff in one hand. John's eyes were looking somewhere over Rodney's right shoulder, his stick a little thinner and forked at the top like a wizard's staff.

"Dr. McKay," Sheppard said stiffly. "Uh, I'm afraid I don't know your—"

"That's Lieutenant Ronon Dex of the 3rd Battalion," Teyla said.

Ronon's mouth dropped. Clearing his throat, he said, "And you're Artillery Captain Teyla Emmagan and Major Sheppard of the 1st."

Sheppard shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "Actually, Teyla would have led the battalion if the Major General wasn't a centaur. He had a thing for the cavalry and promoted me over her."

Teyla knocked her staff against John's shin, and he yelped. "Hey! It's true."

"We are pleased to make your acquaintance," she said politely.

"Except why are you following us?" John finished, his eyes drifting back to Rodney's right ear.

"How do you know we weren't just heading in the same direction?" Rodney crossed his arms.

"Call it a hunch." John's eyes finally met his, and it was the disappointment more than the anger that got to Rodney, really.

"Because you're obviously keeping a secret and I hate secrets!" he burst out. "I can't abide them. Ever since I was a small child, if someone kept something from me, or even if there was something I didn't know for any reason whatsoever, I had to find out. It's my nature! But that doesn't mean—" He shut his mouth just in time, going by the widening of John's eyes.

"Okay...well." John glanced over at Teyla, who looked a little too amused for Rodney's taste. Ronon sat down on a rock and stretched out his legs as if content to let the three of them work it out. Rubbing the back of his neck, John winced and said, "And if we told you it's a trade secret?"

"Pfft. I'm a tradesman; I'd happily keep your secret. In fact, I was hoping to collaborate with you—I've been working on a pedal design to improve your sewing machine. You could test my invention. I think it would increase your output significantly—"

"And would Ronon promise to keep our secret as well?" Teyla cut in smoothly.

Rodney gave Ronon a quick look.

"I would," Ronon said. "I know how to keep my mouth shut."

"Yes, I'm aware," Teyla said with a smirk.

Just how or what she was aware of, Teyla didn't say, but Ronon smiled. Rodney let out a tiny sigh of relief, turning back to John expectantly.

"Well?"

"Everyone seems to agree," John said, sounding a little disgruntled.

"Oh, come on! It can't be that amazing. So, you found a magic plant! Big deal! Take us there and we'll help you forage for your puffs."

"'Puffs?' is it?" John smirked. "Fine. You can come. But no yapping. And don't be rude to Jim or Blair."

"Who?"

John shouldered his pack without replying. Teyla gave Rodney a sympathetic look and followed him back onto the trail, so Rodney had no choice but to go after them, Ronon on his heels.

At any rate, things were looking up.

When John paused to adjust his pack, McKay asked him, "Who are these friends of yours we're staying with?"

"Ellison was Deputy Marshal around these parts for a lot of years." Wiping his brow with his sleeve, John added, "his partner joined him and the two of them became famous for tracking down outlaws."

Ronon was gaining distance on them, and John picked up the pace a bit to catch up, Rodney sticking beside him. Teyla stayed at their back; as always, having her there gave John a sense of security like no other.

"So, how did you meet?" Rodney asked. "I assume they didn't come after you for a criminal offense."

John smiled at the thought of big Jim Ellison tracking John. It wouldn't take him five minutes. "When the war started, someone had the bright idea of trying to get the Marshals to track down escaped magicals. Jim and Blair joined the war effort, instead. They were incredibly good at tracking down supply lines and enemy scouts to and from their camps."

Rodney chuckled. "I'll bet that peeved the Liberators."

"It always peeved me that a group of meaters who wanted to enslave good people called themselves 'Liberators.'" Teyla said behind them.

"Hell, yes, it defied logic. But what can you expect from such cowards?" Rodney said, and John couldn't help smiling at the disgust in his voice.

John cleared his throat before saying, "You were with the artificers, I heard."

"Yes, well. I did what I could. Worked on designing lighter, more powerful mortars."

"And the repeating rifle John used in the cavalry," Teyla threw over her shoulder, and John's ears heated.

"Oh?" Rodney said, turning toward him. "You had use of my prototypes? I thought only—oh, you're that Sheppard. The sharpshooter."

John's face was practically on fire and he had no idea why. He'd earned his reputation fair and square. "Yeah, um..."

"John is a famously good shot." Teyla sounded altogether too amused. "He toured with a company showing off his sharpshooting skills for a while after the Wars."

"Aw, c'mon, Teyla..." John said. Well, okay, he whined, and thankfully she shut up about it and didn't mention the outfit he had to wear with all the tassels and spangles.

"Really?" Rodney looked plenty amused as it was.

"Anyway, yes, I had use of that amazing repeating rifle, but I had to give it back, darn it."

"Huh. I suppose you could always borrow it if you want to take it hunting."

"Really? That would be great," John said, trying not to foam at the mouth at the thought. "Thank you," he added warmly, and Rodney smiled, the slant of his mouth ticking up in pleasure.

The heat in John's face wasn't going away any time soon.

Ronon let them catch up to him. "There's a stream up ahead. Let's take a short rest and refill our canteens."

"Thank goodness," Rodney said. "I'm out."

"You should have said." John nudged his shoulder. "I would have given you some of mine."

Look of gratitude Rodney gave him made John kneel quickly and splash some water over his face and neck. He filled both his canteens and cast about for a distraction.

"Say, Teyla," John said. "What's this about you knowing Ronon? And secrets?"

"I'm sure it's not my place to say," Teyla said demurely, and John scowled at her bent head. "Perhaps Ronon would like to reveal it himself."

Ronon raised his head from the creek and flung his wet hair back from his head, sprinkling them all with water and ignoring Rodney's outraged yells and Teyla's laughter.

"I was an intelligence agent in the Wars," Ronon said after they quieted. "But I don't remember reporting to you."

"No, but I saw you delivering packets to Colonel Sumner's tent, and afterward we always had fresh orders," Teyla said, with a sympathetic wince at John's reaction to hearing Sumner's name. The Liberators had used wraith as weapons. Sumner had given John the nod requesting the coup de grâce, but that didn't change anything about how it felt seeing a friendly uniform in his sights.

"The information was always sound," Teyla said approvingly, and John shook off his memories and stood.

"We're about a half hour from the lodge," he said, taking a look at the familiar path. "And remember—be nice." This, to Rodney, who sputtered somewhat indignantly.

"Why do you think I’d be rude to your friends?" he said. "I assure you I’m not a rude person."

John looked at him incredulously, and Rodney hastily added, "Not usually! Unless I’m driven to it by idiotic behavior, or unsound scientific practices, or both!"

"Well, all right then; we should be great," John said, "Since Blair is a genius and Ellison wouldn't know a scientific practice if it bit him on the nose."

"Noisy crowd with you today, Sheppard," Ellison said, standing at the foot of the path to his doorway. "Hey, Teyla. Good to see you. And your...friends."

"Hello, Jim." She stood on her tip-toes to kiss him on the cheek.

John gave Jim an apologetic look, knowing how territorial he was, and stood to the side to make introductions.

"Ronon, Rodney, this is our old friend, Jim Ellison. Jim, this is Ronon Dex and Dr. Rodney McKay, some new friends of ours."

"Good to see you again, Jim," Ronon said, stepping forward with his arms out. Jim laughed and caught him up in a big bear hug, slapping him on the back a couple of times for good measure.

"Ronon, you old dog. What the heck have you been up to?"

"You know. Here and there. The usual."

"Gabby as always," Jim said, the grin on his face wide enough to split his face.

"I don't suppose you know Rodney, too?" John said incredulously, but Jim shook his head.

"Nice to meet you, Dr. McKay. Any medic is welcome here."

"Oh, no. No-no. I'm a scientist, not a bone-rattler. Thank you for the welcome, though," Rodney said, shaking hands politely.

"Then I'm sure Blair will be glad to have someone to talk to over dinner. I probably bore him to tears," Jim said.

"Right. That's why the two of you are going on thirty years together," John said.

Jim chuckled lightly and slapped John on the back, guiding him up the path to the front door. "Blair is looking forward to seeing you, Teyla. He wants to know if Torren John is doing any better with the eucalyptus he sent." He pushed open the front door and led them inside.

"Oh, yes, much better. Especially since we used it in the special machine Rodney built for us."

"Oh?" Ellison gave Rodney an impressed look. "I'm sure Blair would like to hear more about it."

"Blair would like to hear more about what?" Blair said as he stepped out of the kitchen, a towel tucked into his waistband, a tapestried waistcoat over his puffed-sleeve shirt.

"Dr. McKay, here, invented a machine that helps with TJ's asthma."

"Well, it's hardly a remarkable device," Rodney said humbly, to John's surprise. "Merely an electrically-powered compressor that forces vapor through a fine mesh to reduce the droplets into a more breathable state."

"Remarkable, indeed!" Blair said, offering his hand to Rodney. "Blair Sandburg. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Ah, yes. Dr. Rodney McKay, PhD."

"A PhD, how wonderful," Blair said. "It's always been my ambition to earn a PhD, but my life took a very different turn than expected." He gave Jim such a fond smile, it made John ache with envy.

Rodney's eyes traveled between them before he said, "Is that food I smell?"

Blair laughed, and then Rodney stepped aside and Ronon lunged forward to grab Blair in another hug—apparently the fellow liked hugging people. John made a mental note to keep a careful three feet of distance between them.

And then something popped and hissed in the kitchen and Blair yelled, "The sauce!" and ran off.

"I have some good German-type lager," Jim said, and everyone nodded agreeably and sat in the large hall on the overstuffed furniture Jim had paid such a pretty penny for. John sank so low his knees bent up toward his chest, and he cradled his lager and gave Rodney a smile as they both sighed in appreciation. It had been a long tramp and John's feet ached in his boots. He nodded to Ronon and raised his bottle to Teyla and she raised hers back. It reminded John of the gifts they'd brought for Jim and Blair, and he nodded toward their packs, but Teyla shook her head and shrugged. Later, then.

For now, he was happy just to relax and enjoy the company of his friends, knowing that tomorrow, the most difficult part of their trip would begin.

"Nooo, Galileo, it's not time, yet. Go away!" Rodney batted at the paw touching his leg and then realized it was a hand, a very masculine hand, and bolted upright.

"You like to dream you're with famous scientists?" John looked down at him, smirking.

"Funny man." Rodney yawned. "My cat, Galileo, likes to wake me up too early."

"Then I won't be jealous," John said, almost too softly, and walked away. "Breakfast is served," he threw out while Rodney was still blinking like an owl and trying to believe his ears.

Rodney leaped out of bed, suddenly wide awake. "Coming! I'll be right there!" He shaved hastily, nicking himself once, and cursing at the sting as he applied his aftershave. His feet were rubbed red in places from yesterday's jaunt, so he applied powder and slipped on a fresh pair of stockings before putting on a clean shirt and trousers. Nothing was to be done about the wrinkles, but he thought he still cut a fine figure looking in the mirror. The day in the sun had lent a nice, rosy cast to his complexion, and he felt fit as a fiddle as he made his way downstairs.

A chorus of greetings met him when he entered the dining room. The chair next to John had been left unoccupied, and Rodney blushed a little as he sat down. Did they all know his burgeoning feelings for John? Did John tell them to leave the chair empty because he wanted Rodney there? Did John really feel the same, or was it mere happenstance?

Honestly, romantic feelings were such a bother sometimes, Rodney wondered why the books made such a huzzah about them.

"If you don't mind me saying so," Ellison started, his even, white teeth making short work of a crust of bread, "it seems a bit early for you folks to be making a return visit."

Teyla looked across at John, then said, "We ran into an unexpected expense."

Blair rushed to say, "And it looks like they need to train their new partners, too." He patted Jim's arm, and Jim settled back in his seat, seemingly satisfied. But then he tilted his head, going still.

Ronon seemed to hear whatever it was as well, although Rodney couldn't. But then Ronon and Jim jumped to their feet, and everyone else followed.

"What? What am I missing?"

"Stay here," John said, and went to grab his stick.

"Oh, no I'm not," Rodney said, running to his ruck sack. He pulled out his Derringer and followed the pack of them out the door.

Ronon and Jim were already in the distance, with John close behind them. Blair and Teyla were neck and neck, so Rodney kept them in his sights and ran after them, cursing his stupid shoes as he did so. Next time he absolutely was getting a pair of Ronon's bespoke boots. Especially if he'd be able to run like that.

The others turned a bend in the path that narrowed up the mountain trail, and Rodney heard shouting and then silence. He pulled up short and peered around the corner of stone to see Ronon and Jim pushing back two ruffian-types in khaki uniforms while John and Teyla stood in front of an elderly man and woman, both bloodied. Blair comforted the couple, who appeared to be having trouble standing.

Rodney moved forward, his hand on the Derringer in his pocket, until he could see John's face and catch his eye.

"...think you're doing! Have you lost all decency?" Jim yelled.

The bigger of the two ruffians looked down, shuffling his feet, but the thinner man, a weasel-eyed gibface with a heavy beard, puffed out his chest and said, "We don't take orders from you! Only from Ladon Radim himself."

"Yeah, well I'm not ordering you; I'm telling you nicely," Ronon said, and his voice was nothing short of a growl. "Leave the people of Cascade alone. Or we'll be coming to tell you not-so-nicely."

From the look on Weasel's face, he took Ronon's meaning, because his throat moved in a gulp, and he and his fellow turned and headed back up the mountain path.

Rodney eased his sweaty hand off his pistol and turned toward John, who looked down and then back up at Rodney's face.

"And just what do you have hiding in there?" John's eyes held a glimmer of something Rodney wanted to bottle up and place on his desk to treasure on his bad days.

"Are they all right?" he said, gesturing to the old man and woman presently being assisted by Teyla and Blair down the path. John bent down and picked up their packs then bumped against Rodney, seemingly unintentionally, as they joined Ronon and Jim on the way back down.

"I hope so. We got there pretty quick; Ronon and Jim even quicker," John said with some chagrin.

"I still don't get how they both heard what was happening. They must have ears like cats!"

"Among other things," John said under his breath.

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing. Look, let's get back and pack up. Hopefully, those two louts won't be on guard at the turnpike when we arrive later."

"Oh, shit. I hadn't thought of that."

"Thanks for the back-up, by the way," John said, and Rodney's breath caught, just for a second.

"Any time."

Jim and Blair decided to stay behind to take care of the elderly couple.

"Sorry we can't come with you to the pass," Jim said. "We want to get these folks back to their village."

"Not a problem," John said, giving Jim a handclasp and getting pulled into a hug. "Thanks again for hosting us," he added when he caught his breath. Jim's hugs were something else.

Jim took him by the arms and said, "Do me a favor and do some scouting while you're up there. Radim's people are getting bold. We might have to do something about him before he gets to be too much of a problem."

The sinking sensation in John's gut got worse. "Will do." He stepped back and let the others make their goodbyes. John stepped over to Blair and thanked him for dinner.

"I liked the spice you used," John said. "Where did you get it?"

Blair grinned in appreciation. "Not a mile from the lodge. Some type of wild ginger. I've added it to my herb book."

"I should start one. In all the free time I have," John said, and Blair laughed.

Everyone seemed to be waiting for a signal, so John whistled, and they set out for the road. This final leg to the pass was only about two hours by foot. John found himself beside Ronon, and couldn't resist poking at him.

"You didn't think to mention you knew Jim and Blair?"

Ronon's smile was sly. "I told you I could keep secrets."

"No kidding." They walked a few minutes in silence. "So you met them during the war."

Ronon grunted an affirmative, then said, softly, "They were good friends when I needed them."

John nodded but didn't respond, waiting him out. The sky was slightly cloudy, but it was a sunny day, with the occasional cool breeze. The trees rustled softly around them as they walked, and John identified the calls of warblers and tanagers and smiled. Every time he went out on the trail he was reminded how much he loved it.

"My wife was a medic during the war." Ronon's voice went thick. "She went missing."

"Damn," John said softly. "Did you ever find her?"

"No. She was assumed Killed in Action. She was my Guide."

"Oh, jeez, Ronon." John couldn't imagine surviving that. He walked a little closer and let his arm bump against Ronon's, the only way he could convey his sympathy.

"I will see her again, someday," Ronon said.

"I know, buddy."

A hummingbird chose that moment to buzz in front of them, hovering by their heads for long enough for John to marvel at its brilliant colors before shooting off into the brush.

"Did you see that hummingbird?" Rodney said by this elbow. "Remarkable plumage. That's the male, of course. The female is boring in comparison."

John smiled at Rodney's chatter. "You would say that."

"Oh, would I?" The flirtation in Rodney's voice was unmistakable.

"I think the females are lovely," Teyla said. "Their coloration is just more subtle. Perhaps it takes a keener eye to appreciate it."

"Oh-ho! Now we'll have it," Rodney said, and launched into a diatribe about sexual dichromatism as discussed by Charles Darwin in On the Origin of Species. John listened, fascinated and absolutely charmed by McKay's passionate lecturing. Teyla also seemed interested, and added her own observations from the field, while John and Ronon shared wry looks.

It certainly made the hike pass more quickly, and soon enough they wound up the final elbow turn to the turnpike of the pass. All chit-chat quieted as they reached the queue of people waiting at the passage through the building that was set into the mountain.

John counted easily twenty ruffians in makeshift costumes—they could hardly be called uniforms, being differently-colored sets of coats and pants—milling about the passage and going through travelers' parcels. Another group of goons handled the carts and wagons passing through the turnpike. John squinted upward at the turret standing at the top of the building, a good 300 feet above them. The walls of the turret were round; the only means of access had to be from a staircase inside. Which meant anyone inside could fire down on the turnpike until any rebellion was smothered.

"The turret is the key," Ronon murmured, and John nodded.

"Next!" the gate goon called, and Teyla stepped forward with John beside her. "Imports?"

"No imports," Teyla said. "We are merely visiting friends in the valley."

"Oh, really," the goon said, and waved at her bag. "Show me. And be quick about it."

Teyla opened her bag, and he pulled out the silk sacks, which held her clothing bundled inside. He raised his eyebrows and dumped her clothing out onto the street, but found nothing to remark upon, so he tossed her the ruck sack and waved her on. Teyla hastily gathered up her clothes while John stepped forward and offered up his bag. He'd similarly packed his clothes in his silk bags, so the goon gave them only a spurious look before tossing them down onto the street to dig deeper into John's bag and coming up with his food supplies. He found nothing more than dried fruit and nuts and John's canteen, so he snorted in disgust and shoved his pack at him, pointing at Ronon.

John didn't waste a moment gathering up his clothing, grateful beyond measure their little trick had worked. The big bag of spice that he'd hidden in his dirty clothing had gone undetected. He walked calmly down the road and joined Teyla in waiting for Ronon and Rodney just past the first turn into the valley.

"I can't believe that worked," he said under his breath.

"They are especially stupid," Teyla replied. "Not that we couldn't afford a small fee for the spice."

"It's the principle of the thing! They have no right to charge a tax on our goods."

"No. They do not," Teyla said, sounding quietly furious. "And what they did to that elderly couple was unconscionable. Elders must be respected."

John growled his agreement.

"Let's go," Rodney said, adding to John, "You were right to have me leave the Derringer with Blair and Jim. They're confiscating weapons as well."

"Pissants." Ronon spat.

"This way." Teyla led them down the seldom-used, rocky trail that went sharply down into Drake Valley.

"Never been down this route," Ronon said, looking perturbed. "No one comes this way."

John shared a look with Teyla. "Yeah, we know."

"That explains why your 'secret' has been kept all these years," Rodney said, sounding excited.

"Sure enough," John said, and helped Rodney over a boulder. "Next time, wear better boots."

"I know! I know." Rodney put his other hand over John's, giving it a squeeze of thanks before going ahead. "Ronon's promised me a pair."

"Are you a cobbler, Ronon?"

"The proper term is cordwainer," Rodney said fussily, and John laughed.

"Have it your way."

"Yeah, I make boots. Made these."

"Nice work."

They stopped a few hours later for a meal, trading some of Teyla's fruit and nuts and John's dried beans for Ronon's jerky and Rodney's bread. It wasn't a bad chow.

"So," John said slowly while everyone finished up. "We should talk a little bit about why no one usually comes this way."

"And whether you truly wish to join us for the rest of our journey," Teyla said.

"Are you kidding? Do you think we've come this far only to bow out?" Rodney looked ready to spit.

"Let's hear 'em out," Ronon said.

John took a deep breath. "When the magicals cleared out, not all of them left."

"I knew it! I knew the puffs were magical! But they're not alive, are they?"

Shrugging, John said. "No. But they grow in a cave where the magical lives. And it's...the dangerous kind."

"Stop beating around the bush," Ronon said.

"We steal the stuffing from a dragon," Teyla said.

Ronon and Rodney stared at them.

After a moment, Rodney said, "You've been stealing from a dragon."

John nodded helplessly. "It's not as dangerous as it sounds—"

"Oh, no! I'm sure it's a breeze. A walk in the park, as it were."

"More like a run, but yeah."

Ronon started laughing.

"Ronon! This isn't funny." Rodney shoved him.

"Let's do it."

"What? Are you joking? It's suicide!"

"Why? These two have done it at least a couple of times, haven't they?"

"Three times, yes," Teyla said.

"Come on, McKay. You said you had to know the secret. This is the only way." Ronon grinned, and Rodney groaned loudly.

"Oh, lord, I did say that, didn't I? And it's true. I do have to know."

John's heart beat a little happier. For a moment there, he really thought Rodney would just up and leave, possibly never to speak to John again out of sheer disappointment.

"Great! Let's pack up and go. We'll tell you the rest on the way."

"Where is this place, anyway?"

"It's called Drake Valley." John rubbed sand into his dish, cleaning it out quickly and tossing it into his bag.

"Of course it is. No wonder people don't visit."

"Dragons don't eat humans; that's just a myth," Ronon said. "They don't eat anything at all. They live on air."

"Watch me be the one human that will prove the exception," Rodney said, so woefully that John had to laugh.

He almost didn't mind what lay ahead.

They all crouched behind a boulder outside the cave mouth. Rodney's heart was beating so hard he could swear he could feel it pulsing in the back of his throat. He wasn't sure how he'd roped himself into this, but now that he was here, he felt he could stand outside his body in fear.

"Here's yours," John whispered, handing him a large silk bag. "Remember, hold the bag open over the filling and use the silk glove to push it into the bag. As soon as it loses contact with the pile it will try to fly, so keep the bag over it."

"Right. Got it." Magic obeyed its own rules. You just had to figure them out, Rodney knew that. "And where will you be?"

"I'll join you as soon as I can." John took a big bundle of something that smelled especially pungent and tucked it under his arm. "Here I go. Wait for Teyla's signal, then follow her inside."

John then left the three of them there and snuck into the opening. According to what Teyla said, the dragon slept most of the time, being older, and rarely left her cave. But someone entering was definitely enough to awaken her, as the sudden roar echoing from the cavern attested. Then John came running out of the entrance at top speed, the smelly bundle tucked under his left arm as he pelted past them and down the path.

A few moments later, a magnificent dragon came running after him, gorgeous golden scales burnished by the afternoon light as she charged after John on four thundering, clawed feet.

"Now!" Teyla whispered, and as soon as the dragon passed they went running into the cave. "This way!" Teyla said, taking them on a twisting course to the right, over a natural stone bridge spanning a small, trickling rivulet, and then down toward a large glowing pit. A pit entirely full of the puffs.

"A trove!" Rodney marveled. "They grow here? So many!"

"This is why John and I aren't concerned," Teyla said. "We don't think the dragon would even miss the paltry few we take."

"Let's get to it," Ronon said. "It won't take long for the dragon to catch up to him."

"John can throw the ball of spice quite a distance." Teyla started filling her sack, careful to keep it over the pit so the puffs stayed in contact with the ones inside. "The dragon then starts playing with it and, once it gets it open, likes to roll around in the spices for a while. John will have time to come back and assist us."

"How in the world did you figure out the dragon likes spice?"

Teyla giggled. "When we first found this filling, we didn't know a dragon lived here. John threw his bag at it thinking to save his life. The dragon went digging for the spices he was carrying."

"Lucky."

"Something that could only happen to John Sheppard, I promise you." Teyla finished filling her bag and then cinched it closed, saying, "When you are done, be ready to remove some if you start to float."

"If we start to whaaaa—" Rodney watched, gobsmacked, as Teyla started to float up into the air, the bag above her like a hot air balloon.

"See? Too much," she said, loosening the opening to let a few puffs escape then cinching it again. She floated back down and stood with her arm still up in the air, the balloon above her.

Rodney's mouth would not close. Ronon looked absolutely delighted and kept shoving puffs in his bag, double-time.

"What did I miss?" John said, suddenly appearing. Teyla passed him his bag and he efficiently started filling it up. "Get going, Rodney. She'll be back in ten minutes, fifteen at the outside."

"We are almost done," Teyla reassured him.

"You can fly," Rodney said, his mouth dry. "All this time, and you had the power of flight. And you didn't tell anyone. The entire scientific community could have benefited—"

John shot him a cross look. "And how soon do you think before someone came and tortured us for the secret and then killed the dragon so they could mine the stuffing?"

Rodney's mouth snapped shut. "A fair point," he said begrudgingly after a moment. "But it's not like you can just sit on this forever."

John's nose twitched in acknowledgement.

"I suppose not," Teyla said. "We will have to handle it carefully."

"I'm done," Ronon said, and with that he jumped up only to slowly land again.

"Nice. I think I'm done, too," Rodney said, closing off his sack. His feet immediately left the ground, and John grabbed him by his jacket tail. "Thanks." He got rid of some puffs and then tried again, jumping a little only to float back down.

"Tighter," John said, cinching Rodney's sack with all his might. "I'm full up, too. Let's get out of here before Lulu comes back."

They all walked bouncily out of the cave, their feet barely touching the ground for steps at a time. Once they were all out and safely out of sight, John and Teyla showed them how to affix their balloons to their ruck sacks using the clever straps they'd included, so they wouldn't have to hang by their hands. Rodney was hard-pressed not to call them both geniuses as they walked straight up the mountain without breathing hard.

"This is where we take a turn," John said, gesturing to what looked like no path at all, just the sheer side of the mountain sprinkled with trees.

"What's this?"

"This is where we bypass the turnpike by going around."

"How? How can we possibly—"

He was interrupted by Teyla taking a jump and floating majestically to land next to a tree trunk. She gave a wave and then pushed off again, landing further away at the base of another tree.

"Woo-hoo! Ronon took three steps and jumped, soaring past them and flying to land on a rock at least a hundred yards away.

"Shall we?" John said, offering his hand. Rodney was absolutely terrified, but at the look in John's eyes suddenly felt possessed of the same sense of derring-do that had served him during four years of warfare. He took John's hand and ran with him, making the leap of faith. They landed soft as petals in the scree on a crag, and then leapt again.

Together, all four of them continued to jump from rock to rock and tree to tree around the side of the mountain until they landed above a familiar view. Leading them through a stand of trees and down a winding path, John pushed them through a final curtain of dead brush and lo, they stood on the edge of the main road back to the turnpike.

Below ran the path to Jim and Blair's house.

"Remarkable," Ronon said.

"You gave the turnpike a miss altogether," Rodney marveled.

"Come on. I'm starving," John said.

They bounced along the path to the lodge and, before they could knock, Jim opened the front door. He didn't look at all happy, though.

"Come inside. I have bad news."

Dahlia drifted into his chambers and Ladon rushed over to help her to her seat.

"You look far too pale, my poor sister. Come, have some wine. Was it a bad night?"

"No worse than ever."

"But you are getting worse. That stupid doctor is incompetent." Ladon poured her a glass and offered it to her. She held it to her lips. Oh, her wrists were so thin!

"We knew there was a price to pay for the magics we used, my brother," she said.

"But not this! Not you!" He knelt by her side and took her thin hand in his.

"I'm not going anywhere. Not if I can help it." And her eyes glittered with the fire of a dragon.

"Come let me call for the doctor. At least your pain will be eased."

"All right," she said, and he waved to the guard.

If he lost his sister, the whole world would pay.

"Not the whole town!" Teyla looked righteously appalled. John couldn't believe his ears.

"Was it retaliation for our interference?" John asked.

"We thought maybe so," Blair said, looking exhausted. "But then why not attack the lodge? It's no fort. We might have defended it for a while, but not against twenty."

"But then the Marshals would have come in force," John said with assurance. "And us too."

"I know you would, friend." Jim clapped him on the arm. "But they've gone too far now. These are my people. This is my territory."

"Right." John took a deep breath. "We'll need arms."

"We have them. Stored here after the war."

John's forehead ached. "And we'll need people. I'll talk to Lorne and Ford."

"I'll bring Tyre," Ronon said.

"I'll bring my prototypes," Rodney said, and John beamed gratitude at him as best he could.

"So. We'll all reconvene at the lodge."

"I'd better do some hunting," Jim said, and Blair made a face.

Who could survive on just vegetables? The man was a mystery.

They slept that night at the lodge, the balloons safely stored in one of the guest rooms.

"I know you have misgivings," Teyla said as they sorted out their packs. She passed him his nightshirt, which had somehow gotten tangled up in her pants. "But this is a very different situation."

"Right: this is worse. It's only the people I care the most about." John shrugged out of his blouse and into his nightshirt. He had no modesty in front of Teyla, who'd seen him at his worst. In fact, she'd held him together, and he'd done the same for her.

"I worry about you. You have nothing outside work and sleep. Don't punish yourself for something that wasn't your fault."

"I worry about you, too, Teyla. Maybe it's time to move on from Kanaan. Maybe he doesn't intend to come."

Teyla sighed and rubbed her face listlessly.

"But things are bound to get better," John added.

"They are already better since we discovered the cavern." She slipped her rucksack under the bed and went to the washstand to pour some water.

"Lorne seems to fancy you."

Teyla regarded John in the mirror. "Oh, yes, I'll take up with the brewmaster. That will do my reputation some good."

"He's a good man," John defended him.

"I'm sure he is. But as a mother alone in a small town, I have to be very careful. It's unfortunate, but true. And don't think I didn't notice how you twisted the subject away from yourself, John Sheppard. Usually you do it much more cleverly than that."

"I don't know what you're talking about." John joined her at the wash table and stole some of her tooth powder, dipping his brush in the water and sprinkling the powder on.

"I'm sure you don't." Teyla sounded amused, though, so John counted it a win. He finished brushing his teeth and wished her a good night, then went to his room. He was somewhat disappointed to note Rodney's lamp was already dark; he'd wanted to wish Rodney a good night as well. But there was always tomorrow.

Tomorrow, when they'd go south to gather fighters.

John fell asleep planning the attack.

Rodney rushed through his front door expecting Galileo to come running to him, having missed him terribly. Instead, he found Radek and Galileo snuggling on the couch. Traitors!

"You told me Leo hated you," Rodney seethed. "You said he hissed whenever you went near him!"

"I exaggerated, perhaps. Otherwise, you would never let me house-sit, and I so enjoy having electricity at my fingertips." Radek smiled toothily.

Apparently, Galileo finally noticed Rodney's presence because he trotted over and stropped against his shins. Rodney wasn't foolish enough to turn down the invitation, and he scooped Leo up into his arms for a hug.

"I missed you too, you big furball."

"I take it your trip was a success?"

"More than a success. And I have permission to bring you into it, but only if you will assist with our plans."

"Plans? What are these plans?"

"We're going back to war."

The next week was too busy for more than hurried meetings and notes in passing, but Rodney's chest ached every time he saw John and how much more drawn he looked, the shadows under his eyes attesting to his lack of sleep. Rodney wasn't sleeping much, himself, what with working with Radek every moment to assemble munitions, but he liked to think he was used to it; it was only when Radek shoved the back of his chair, waking him from a doze at his lab table, that he realized he couldn't go on like this. He had to get a solid six hours in, at least. With one day left until their departure back to the lodge, he slunk back to his bed for some real rest, his finished pieces but one all stacked in a cart by the door and waiting for transport.

He next awoke to a crash and angry shouting. Someone grabbed his shoulder, and he tumbled to the floor.

"What? What is it? What's happened?" Rodney said, still muzzy. He looked up into the face of Gene Bates, the town sheriff. "Bates. What do you want?"

"Get up, McKay. You're being charged with the crime of witchery."

"Witchery isn't a crime." Rodney's brain felt hollow on not enough sleep.

"It is now. Weir and the rest voted two days ago to make it so."

"They can't...do that, can they? And anyway, there's no witchery, here. I already told them that. It's just electricity."

"I don't judge; I just bring 'em in." Bates hauled him up, making Rodney groan.

"Watch the shoulder! And let me get dressed, would you please?"

"Two minutes. I'm counting off."

"Fine, fine." Rodney shucked his nightshirt and swiftly put on a fresh pair of pants and a pressed, clean shirt. He was grateful to have clean laundry as he probably wouldn't have much time after haranguing Weir for this latest fiasco before he had to pack up and leave for the lodge. A brief splash of water on his face later, he was ready to go.

"Hands behind your back."

"Oh, surely you jest—you're putting me in irons?"

"I'm just following orders. You might have a concealed wand."

"The only thing I'm concealing is my outrage, and that is only masked by my furious contempt! I'm no wizard or witch; I'm a scientist!"

"Orders are orders, Dr. McKay," Bates said, and hauled his arms back. And so, Rodney was subject to the indignity of being marched out of his own home and into a jail wagon. His face flushed with humiliation and he was only glad his home was off the beaten path and the only witnesses were a couple of street urchins, who disappeared the moment Bates looked their way.

"I will make Weir pay for this," Rodney swore as he stepped into the wagon. "She will rue the day."

"Somehow, I don't doubt you," Bates said, shutting the door behind him.

The only problem was the waiting.

Rodney sat for hours in the lock up, a relatively clean room with a small water closet, but utterly devoid of any amusements. The small, inset window had bars across it, interfering with the view of the square. He had no pencil as they'd taken his, as well as his journal, leaving him alone with his thoughts of vengeance and little else. He did think about the upcoming raid and what his role would be—he hoped his weapons would come in handy, and that he would be stalwart and brave for his friends' sakes. He didn't want anyone to be hurt, John in particular.

Someone was always hurt, though. He thought of young Galt, and the misfire that had ended his life, and had to close his eyes.

Time passed, and kept passing, and how was he supposed to defend himself against this ridiculous charge if they didn't present him before his accusers? Rodney gnashed his teeth and stood up to pace some more.

The door outside his room opened and someone entered—a maid with a tray of food that she slid underneath the slot in the gate and then backed away. She left without saying a word, and Rodney grimly took up the tray and started eating the terrible gruel they'd served him. Honestly, pigeon pie. The carrots were mushy, of course. And then after dinner, anxiousness took him again.

He might at least have a friend visit and tell him they were attempting to free him.

Night fell, and Rodney took off his jacket and used it as a blanket of sorts on the cot, the small, lumpy pillow serving to remind him that John still owed him a replacement pillow for his lost one. How did they keep the pillow from flying off the bed, and Rodney's head with it? John had said something about wool stuffing. Of course! The puffs were less powerful when separated. That gave Rodney the perfect idea...

Morning brought him awake with a painful beam of sunlight stabbing him between the eyes. Here it was, almost twenty-four hour later, and they still had him in this tiny room. He was tempted to start yelling until they agreed to see his case.

Also, he was hungry again.

Breakfast came an hour or so later while Rodney was refining the new structure of the flying mechanism in his head. He'd need John and Teyla's contributions on the textile side, but they could easily convert their existing silk balloons to the purpose. He happily tucked into his eggs and fried potatoes while thinking about it. At the least, it would give him further opportunities to work side-by-side with John.

An hour or so after breakfast by his pocket watch, the door opened again and Bates came in with his irons in hand. Rodney put on his jacket and straightened himself before allowing Bates to put them on, this time with his hands in front of him, a courtesy he appreciated.

"Your friends are here; they've come to present your case. They brought some hoity-toity lawyer."

Rodney beamed. "Well, I hardly need a lawyer. Their case is fraudulent."

"Councilwoman Weir doesn't think so."

Again, Weir and her shenanigans. What was she up to? Rodney wondered.

Bates guided him to the council chambers, which had been rearranged into court seating. The chambers were full of spectators, and Rodney felt a chill on the back of his neck. Weir was more serious about this than he realized if she'd brought in a district judge. Why was she so dead-set on prosecuting Rodney for witchcraft, a crime that wasn't even a crime? Anger expanded in his chest until he saw John standing on the side of the defense with a small crowd of people beside him. John gave him a relieved smile, and Rodney smiled back then lifted his iron-bound hands.

John's smile turned dark with anger. Somehow, it relieved some of Rodney's rage. He saw a tall man beside John wearing a ponytail and Windsor glasses perched on his nose. His expensive-looking frock coat and cravat labeled him as a lawyer, and Rodney felt somewhat relieved—not being interested in the law, he hadn't bothered to learn much of it. Certainly not enough to defend himself in court, even against spurious charges. Let the experts in such mumbo-jumbo handle it.

Elizabeth Weir, turning to watch him enter, looked extremely disgruntled, and Rodney crowed within. She thought him isolated and friendless, did she? Next time, she might pick her targets more wisely.

Bates left Rodney beside his attorney, who introduced himself as Peter Kavanagh, Esquire. Hurriedly, he filled Rodney in on the case, making him gasp in alarm. John reached over the barrier to squeeze his shoulder, and Bates warned him back.

"The court will come to order," Bates said. "All rise for Judge Henry Thompson."

Everyone got to their feet, and the judge, a gray-haired, portly man with stern features, swept in and settled behind the bench like a puffed up crow.

Rodney sat down and felt a little helpless about his situation.

"The prosecution will make its opening statement."

Woolsey stood. "Your honor, in due course, the prosecution will prove that Dr. Rodney McKay, seated yonder, did engage in supernatural and odious practices which endangered the lives and eternal souls of himself and those around him. So abominable is the name of the Witch and Warlock, much more we religious of Mankind, that it behooves us to judge such persons as harshly as is in our nature to do so, for the more execrable the crime, the more critical the care we should have in handling such persons in our society to prevent the spread of such social disease." Woolsey shook his head, and had to pat his brow with his handkerchief.

Rodney looked over at Elizabeth in disbelief. What swill had she fed Richard that he was in fear of his mortal soul from Rodney's electrical lighting?

She stared back at Rodney with pure venom, and he glared even harder back.

"The prosecution will prove, through use of witnesses, the evidence of evil done by the Warlock Rodney's hands, and how such witchery is thus deserving of the full measure of the law. Thank you," Woolsey said, bowing his head and sitting down.

Kavanagh stood. "Your honor, though no doubt Mr. Woolsey believes passionately what he says, I'm afraid he's been led far astray by evildoers hoping to profit themselves, not only by besmirching Dr. Rodney McKay's good name, but by changing the very laws of Lanta in order to do so.

"In due course, the defense will provide real documents, not just word of mouth testimony, that will prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Councilwoman Elizabeth Weir manipulated her own cohorts into changing the law in order to persecute Dr. McKay on a shallow pretext of witchcraft."

Elizabeth shouted her protest, saying, "I'll sue you for defamation next!"

The judge banged his gavel, and quiet settled.

"By all means, try it," Kavanagh said. "Because next the defense will be happy to provide bank documents that prove Councilwoman Weir then bribed various 'witnesses' to attest to supernatural sights and sounds emanating from Dr. McKay's cottage when, in fact, all they could possibly see was the electric lamps glowing from his windows."

"Lies! Lies! All of it!" Elizabeth screamed.

"Order! Order in this court!" Judge Thompson continued to bang his gavel over the whispers and laughter following Elizabeth's outburst. Rodney stifled his own laughter by clapping his hand over his mouth.

"Finally," Kavanagh continued when quiet reigned, "we are able to prove the communication between Councilwoman Weir and Ladon Radim which started this all: his request that she procure Dr. McKay's property and waterwheel generator, for which Radim promised she would be 'generously compensated.'"

Judge Thompson's poor little gavel couldn't begin to make a dent on the pandemonium that ensued. Weir flounced out in a hurry, Woolsey staring after her with doleful eyes, and it was a long, long time before the judge could bring order to the court.

In the chaos, Rodney felt John's hand squeezing his shoulder again, and he smiled.

Rodney shook hands with Kavanagh, thanking him profusely. The man was puffed up like a pigeon but he certainly knew his law. He accepted Rodney's thanks—and generous remuneration—and left with his hat perched at a jaunty angle.

"We have to get a move on," John said, giving Rodney a boost as he climbed aboard the wagon. "We have to pick up Lorne on the way and we have to get your things as well."

"If by 'things' you mean highly volatile weaponry, then yes. And I'd better pad them well for the trip."

"You do that," John said, his voice admiring. "You can tell me more about your volatile weaponry on the way to the lodge."

"See? I knew you would be interested," Rodney said, shaking his head at the double entendre and turning to Teyla. "Give the man a bomb and he turns into a softy."

Teyla laughed. "He is somewhat predictable."

"Hey! That's possibly true," John said thoughtfully. "But no need to point it out."

Rodney leaned against John in the front of the wagon, happy to be reunited with him, even for the painfully short drive to Rodney's cottage.

"Here we go," John said to Rodney. "And be quick about it. I'll give the horses some water."

"I'll only be a moment." Rodney dashed inside and threw his pack and blankets on top of the hand cart holding his munitions. The last of his inventions would have to wait until after this battle; unfortunate, since it really was a top-notch idea. On the other hand, he wasn't sure the world was ready for a timer bomb the size of an apple.

"Be good," he said to Galileo, giving his head a rub and a scratch behind the ears. Galileo yowled plaintively, but Rodney knew he'd be cuddled on Radek's lap within the hour, so he had absolutely no temptation to fall for the cat's dramatics.

Rodney pushed the cart out to the wagon and John helped him load the boxes into the wagon atop the layers of blankets and clothing piled there. "That should be sufficient padding," he said, satisfied. "Where to, next?"

"We pick up Lorne and Ford at the brewery." John clucked to the horses and they were off.

"Isn't Ford kind of young for a raid like this?"

"According to Lorne, Aiden assisted Sumner's aide-de-camp."

"And they want to fight with us, just like that?"

John gave him an incredulous look. "Are you joking? After Radim tried to railroad you into prison so he could steal your home and inventions? They know this is just the beginning. Radim wants all of Lanta."

"Of course he does," Rodney said wearily.

John bumped shoulders with him, and Rodney leaned back in. After a moment, John's arm came around him, settling him close. "Why don't you rest? You've had a difficult couple of days."

"Don't mind if I do," Rodney said, and drifted off to the creaking of the wagon.

When he awoke it was nighttime and John was nudging him awake at the lodge. Teyla, likewise asleep and bundled behind him in blankets, yawned and accidentally punched him in the back.

"Okay, okay, I'll help you up," Rodney said jokingly, and she took his hand and stood. Together they stepped down from the wagon to assist in the unloading.

"Blair has lots of food waiting," John said, and Rodney's stomach growled with approval as he and John walked his final load in carefully.

"Put it down gently," Rodney said. "These are fuse bombs."

"Fuse bombs," John said, a light in his eyes. "How big?"

"Fist sized. Light 'em and throw. Since we'll be throwing from high up, they won't be able to return them."

"You truly are a devil in an innocent form, as Woolsey said." John grinned.

Rodney poked him in the head. "You're the one with the horns," he returned, and John laughed.

"Guys, dinner is served," Blair yelled.

They sat down at the table, shuffling for seats side-by-side. It was probably the first time in a while so many had been to the lodge. Rodney looked around the table and was impressed by the light-hearted banter going about. As if they weren't going to leave at midnight for a death-defying raid against greater numbers.

Opposite Rodney was an unfamiliar face, and Rodney nodded a greeting. "Rodney McKay," he said.

"Tyre Baccay." His dark eyes crinkled. "Ronon says you are the weapons-maker."

"Yes, I—among other things, yes."

"Good. We will need such an advantage." He bent his head to his meal.

Rodney did the same. The meat was something slightly gamey but very tender. The vegetables were fresh and slightly crisp. The bread was, as always, fresh and had a perfect crust. Jim was an extraordinary baker.

"The balloons will give us an advantage. We'll infiltrate the turret and take out Radim first." Ronon held his crust like the tower. "Then fire down on his soldiers below." His knife was the gun.

"An obvious strategy," Tyre said. "But what is our back-up plan?"

"A strike team at the base of the tower goes in and fights up to the top while some stay in the entry. It's enough of a chokepoint to defend. Then a pincer from top and bottom," John said, demonstrating with two forks."

"Good," Teyla said. "But best not to engage close-quarters unless necessary. Keep the shooters to the forest and fire toward guardhouse."

"And what of Radim?" Blair asked.

John scratched his head and shrugged.

Jim spoke up, "If he lives, we deliver him and his men to the marshal service for their crimes. If not, so be it."

"Acceptable."

"Then let's get some rest, people," Jim said. "We leave at midnight."

Everyone said their goodnights. Many had chosen to double-up in the rooms for sleep in order to conserve firewood, and Rodney jittered nervously as he and John entered their bedroom. The fire was banked, and John bent to stoke it with a few good logs and some kindling. It roared up, lighting John's features, his unusual ears and his strong jaw.

Rodney swallowed and went about with his nightly routine, cleaning up and brushing his teeth, changing into his nightshirt without daring to watch John do the same.

"Are you angry with me?" John said.

"What? No! Of course not. I meant to thank you, actually, for what you did for me—hiring the solicitor, going out with Ronon to gather all that intelligence..."

"The intelligence was mostly Ronon. All I did was lean on the telegraph operator."

"Well, thank you for leaning. And for the lawyer. And for being there. All of it." Rodney finally turned and looked.

John had shed his shirt but not yet put on his nightshirt. Rodney had never thought to see John naked again, to see his strong chest and scarred abdomen. Hands moving of their own volition, Rodney stepped forward and ran his fingers over John's chest to clutch his arms.

"I didn't think you'd forgiven me," Rodney whispered, conscious of their neighbors.

"For what?" John licked his lower lip. "There's nothing to forgive." He bent then, and Rodney moved to meet him, their mouths touching—oh, it was exquisite, his heart rushing with the brushing of their lips, the teasing of their tongues. John's arms wrapped around him then, and he bent Rodney back over the bed, dropping him down onto its plush softness and pressing him into it with his whole body.

"I was worried about you," John confessed in a low tone, his lips brushing Rodney's ear and making him shiver.

"I wasn't worried. Annoyed, yes. But I knew you were working to free me."

John lifted his head and gave Rodney a look of such affection his heart fluttered. "You better believe it," John said and dipped his head.

"Ohhh," Rodney sighed, his breath captured by John's mouth, his groans stifled by John's tongue pressing deeper between his lips. He felt his erection rise to meet John's trapped between them, and Rodney squirmed and wrapped his legs around John's.

This seemed to excite John further, because he gasped and ground down, the shelf of his pubis driving hard against Rodney's cock over and over. It was enough, more than enough, and he hoped John would keep just doing that, yes that, over and again—rocking with the smooth rhythm of his hips—until Rodney groaned just a bit too loudly and went over the edge.

John gasped and locked up, pulsing against him just afterward, then slumped in his arms.

"There," Rodney said, petting him slowly. "Not that we took a while to get back to this or anything, but I'm glad we finally got here."

John moved to the side, face pink and smiling, and regarded him. "Me, too." He brushed back Rodney's hair, his hand lingering on Rodney's cheek. "Next time, let's not wait as long." His expression clouded somewhat. "Assuming there's a next time."

"What do you mean?

John's hand dropped. "Just...we're going into some peril. Don't forget to bring your Derringer. That's all I'm saying."

"I won't." Rodney frowned, perturbed, and John kissed his brow.

"Don't worry. I'll be with you the whole way."

"I know. Now, I don't suppose we could put on a fresh pair of drawers before going to sleep?"

"A capital idea." John grinned and rolled out of bed to offer him a hand.

Rodney couldn't help it, but he took their little adventure to be a good sign for the big one coming up.

"Rodney, psst, let's go," John said, shaking Rodney awake. The man was a stubborn sleeper, and barely roused.

"Nooo, Galileo, it's not time yet."

John grinned and gave Rodney's rump a slap.

"Ow! Hey!" Rodney's face popped out from under the covers. "What'd you do that for?"

"Because it's time to go, and Jim hands out demerits if you're tardy."

Rodney grumbled and got out of bed. John resisted the urge to smooth his ruffled hair, and instead handed him the clothes he'd laid out.

"Come on. We've got fruit and nuts for the road."

"First I've got to piss and, uh. Stuff."

"Then shake a leg." John headed out to go help with the other preparations. With a full moon out, it was easy to see the straps on the saddles and get all the weapons secured.

Jim tapped him on the shoulder. "John, I want you to meet Simon. Simon, this is John. He'll be leading the tower assault."

"Marshal Banks, I'm honored. Thank you for joining us," John said. "Jeez, Jim. You pulling any other surprises out of your pocket?"

"Just a few. They're meeting us on the road. No one is happy about the tariffs, and especially when they heard about the destruction of Newhelm."

"That's good. We need all the help we can get." John turned as Rodney joined them.

"Did you portion out the—good, great." Rodney patted the small leather bag tied to the pommel. "You only have three, so use them sparingly. There are matches included. Remember, the fuse is a fast six count so they won't have a chance to throw them back."

"Got it," Jim said, sounding amused. "We actually remember from the first two times."

"You can't be too careful! You wouldn't believe the foozlers I worked with during the Wars."

"Oh, I do believe it," Simon said, a grin sneaking around his ever-present cigar. John recalled seeing him with one in his mouth in every photo taken after a famous arrest.

"Are we ready to move out?" Blair said. "Because as much as I love riding horses, which is not at all, I would really like to get this part of the journey over with."

"We'll get our balloons and join you, although I think we should go ahead of the horses or we'll spook them," John pointed out.

"Understood." Jim and the others led their horses around the side of the lodge, and John and Rodney went back inside.

"Here goes nothing," John said, strapping on his balloon. He'd ditched all his clothing, spare water, and trail food; in exchange, he was armed with the special rifle Rodney had gifted him with, his revolver, and spare ammunition. His bounce was still excellent, and his excitement made him feel lighter than a feather.

He gave Teyla a look, one they'd shared too many times, this time joined by Rodney and Ronon. Impulsively, he offered his hands, and they all clasped them in a ring. Their balloons bumped together, and they all rose to the high ceiling of the lodge.

"I meant to warn you about that," Rodney said, pulling his hands away and drifting down. "The puffs give extra lift the closer they are."

Teyla laughed. "We are aware. Shall we go?"

They drift-walked out the door and started up the road, John whistling for Jim to follow. The horses' footsteps were muffled as they trotted in the soft dirt to the side of the main path. Speed and stealth was their friend at this point, as they wanted to catch the soldiers at rest. So they didn't speak except for the occasional side glance checking on each other's progress. After a while, John slowed to check in with the others, but Jim waved him on, so he bounced ahead again.

As they neared the quarter mile, the footsteps behind him disappeared, and John knew they'd dismounted and were walking the horses the rest of the way. He gestured to his team and they slowed to wait at the final turn.

Before them was the shoulder of rock that would turn into the foundation of the turret. John could see exactly where to land their first jump. He saw by the gleam in Ronon's eyes that he, too, was eager to engage. They waited for Jim and his crew to join them.

Lorne, on foot, dressed in the deep green of a forester and carrying a bow as well as a rifle, gave them a nod and disappeared into the trees.

Aiden, carrying a full sack of Rodney's apple bombs and a small slingshot to go with, likewise snuck off into the bushes to wait for the signal.

Jim, with Blair behind him a-horseback, gave John a nod. "I'll be waiting to hear from you. The backup plan is always an option."

"Here we go, then," John said. "Campaign Take the Tower is in effect." He gathered himself and jumped, making the shelf of rock in one hop, Ronon close at his side. He reached out and caught Rodney's arm when he wobbled, a little too close to the edge, and then moved over to make room for Teyla. Ronon had already moved on, shuffling all the way around and of sight. John followed him, then gasped a little at the sight of a shuttered window only ten feet above him. If they'd chosen the wrong time or the wrong day, it would be open, leaving them in plain view.

It wasn't though, and it made the perfect landing site. Ronon jumped there next, then hopped up to grab the next window sill.

Rodney whispered, "Wait!" to John, then shuffled next to him and grabbed him around the waist. Teyla joined him on Rodney's other side, and then the three of them floated up to the next window, pushed off gently there, and then flew all the way to the top of the turret in one glorious flight that left John feeling slightly dizzy. They almost kept flying, but he pushed away from Rodney and settled softly down on roof of the turret, only to land face to face with a soldier slumped fast asleep against the wall.

John didn't hesitate. He pulled his knife, knelt forward, and stabbed the man right in the throat.

Not a sound left the soldier but the soft gurgle of wet air mixed with his blood.

Behind him, John heard a soft gasp he knew had to be Rodney, but he couldn't afford to think about that, about anything else right now except getting all of them out of this alive and whole. So he wiped the blade on the man's makeshift uniform and stood, then removed his balloon harness, fastening it tightly to the iron railing mortared into the interior wall. He motioned to the others to do the same.

A moment later, Ronon floated over the wall, a disgruntled expression taking over his face when he saw the slumped soldier. But he quickly followed suit in removing his harness and tying it down while John prowled to examine the iron hatch that led to the inside of the tower.

Just his luck. It looked like it locked from the inside.

He rubbed his face, frustrated, but Ronon pushed him aside and leaned over to pull the door open a crack.

"Why do you think it took me so long to get up here?" he said quietly. "I went in through the window and unlocked the door."

John grinned and readied his revolver then motioned for Ronon to pull the heavy trap door open all the way. As soon as he did, John aimed his gun downward into the darkened stairwell.

The moon only offered some relief to the darkness here, but it was enough to see the stairs were empty of movement. He started downward, passing the empty loft quickly before traveling further down. Their prize, Radim, was likely in the wider, more fortified area of the tower, but John continued to be vigilant, grateful for his team at his back.

Four levels down, and nothing but floors stacked with trade goods—rugs, furniture, tapestries, luxury items like raw cotton, silk, imported delicacies, and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee, making Rodney whimper as they walked past and downward.

Five levels down and piles of beaver furs, making Ronon shake his head in disgust. Finally, approaching the sixth level, a lamplight wavered beneath a door, and he heard two women's voices.

Ronon froze, then his hand clenched on John's shoulder so hard the bones shifted.

"Ronon, what?" John whispered.

Ronon rumbled under his breath, a sound like a growl of pain, and then he said, his voice torn with it, "Melena."

"Your wife?" Rodney said. "Here?"

The next moment, Ronon rushed forward, and instinctively, John followed. Ronon burst through the door like it was paper, and John saw the two women fall back momentarily in fear. And then the blonde on the right wearing a ragged, thin dress, raised her hands and cried out, "Ronon! My Ronon!"

They embraced tightly as if trying to merge into one soul, and John's eyes teared up at their cries of happiness. But not so much that he didn't notice the other blonde attempting to slide away toward the second door.

"I don't think so," John said, corralling her with his revolver. "Come sit right here. Teyla? Please gag this nice lady."

The blonde's eyes went wide in outrage. "You will not g—mmphh!"

With Teyla's wool scarf stuffed conveniently in the lady's mouth, John felt free to ask her a question or two while Ronon and Melena had their reunion.

"Tell me, why is Mrs. Dex wearing a chain around her ankle? And believe me, if I see you taking a deep breath to yell, my friend Teyla here will punch you in the gut."

Teyla removed the scarf, and the woman said resentfully, "She's my medic. I have very poor health, and she's a good healer."

John stared. "Is there some reason you didn't just hire a doctor?"

She rolled her eyes. "A hired doctor would as likely kill me as heal me."

"I can understand the urge," Rodney said darkly.

Ronon shoved forward, his arm still around Melena. "Where is the key?"

"I don't know. My brother—"

Teyla slapped the scarf over her mouth to stifle her scream. Ronon was not gentle.

"Where is the key?" he asked again, releasing her wrist.

The woman looked up at him tearfully. "How could you? I'm ill!"

"So is my wife, who has been starved and chained like a dog for four years. Again, where is the key, or do you wish me to end your misery right now?"

The woman rose slowly and went to her writing desk to pull out a drawer, then pushed a button that made a secret drawer pop out. Melena gasped, tears in her eyes when the woman came back with the key.

Ronon snatched it out of her hand and offered it to Melena, who knelt down and removed the cuff from her ankle, kicking it away with disgust.

"You mentioned your brother?" Teyla said. "Would that be Ladon Radim?"

"Please don't hurt my brother!"

"You mean like the village he had razed just two weeks ago?"

"He...what?" The woman's dismay rang false to John's ears.

Just then Ronon waved his hand and ran to the window. "We've been found out." He whistled out the window, then ran and grabbed Melena. "Quickly. We need to get back to the top."

"Right. Let's go. And take her with us," he nodded at the woman. "What's her name?"

"Her name is Dahlia," Melena said. "And she is just as evil as her brother."

John made quick work of tying her hands behind her back. "Come on."

They started running up the stairs, stopping along the way to throw furniture across the doors to slow down any pursuers. Dahlia tried to drag her feet, but John just hoisted her by the waist and pulled her along. By the time they got to the trap door they could hear pursuit behind them, but it was too late.

With a mighty shove, Ronon had the trap door open, and then they were up and through and it was shut behind them. They weighed it down with the dead body of the soldier and then Rodney stood on it too, for good measure.

Far below, the fighting had begun. John unstrapped his rifle and took aim.

It seemed a lifetime ago he'd done this. The reflex was still there, as was the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. But he pulled the trigger just the same.

A ragtag soldier fell. And then another, and then another, all before they realized where the shots were coming from. More shots were fired from the trees, and then arrows. A bomb fell directly below and landed below the arm of the turnpike, turning it into wooden shrapnel. Jim rode by and drew the soldiers out and away from the tower. Tyre flung bombs with a sling, his precision deadly. John fired again, and Teyla fired beside him, her shoulder solid against his. Then Blair did something with a mortar and a flash of blinding powder that made a whole group of soldiers run for the bushes.

The few remaining soldiers cried out in anger and fear, milling about and looking for their leader.

"Fight! Fight you fools," Radim cried from his tower window.

But Jim, Tyre, Simon, and the rest of his marshal friends rushed the tower, and the last of the soldiers finally fled.

"Our friends are inside," Ronon yelled. "Time to meet in the middle." He turned to Melena. "Stay here. You're too weak to fight."

"Fuck no. I'm never leaving your side again," she said, and he laughed.

"You're right, my wife." He turned and shifted the body from the door before lifting the hatch. "Help me control this prisoner, then."

"With pleasure," Melena said, and she pushed Dahlia toward the trap door.

This time, going downstairs held less uncertainty and more anticipation. Dawn was starting to show its tendrils in the East, casting a bit more light through the narrow windows. Ronon went first, followed by Melena holding Dahlia like a shield, and then John, Rodney, and Teyla.

First they dismantled the hasty barricade they'd erected, and then they passed the floor where they'd encountered Melena. Below, John could hear fighting in the distance; from Ronon's posture, he could hear even better, and he didn't seem concerned. In fact, he started moving faster, practically bounding down the stairs.

"Jim and Blair have it almost in hand," he said over his shoulder. "But Radim is ours. He's locked up tight as a nut weevil on the next floor." They rushed down another flight. "There!" Ronon said, pointing.

But in their haste, they'd missed the soldier lurking on the landing below. John only just saw him as he raised his rifle with John dead in his sights.

"Damn," John said softly. What terrible timing.

A shot rang out, oddly muffled for such a small space, and the soldier pitched forward with a black hole centered in his forehead. John spun to see Rodney standing with his Derringer raised and a stunned expression on his face.

"I just...I had to," Rodney said.

"Yes. Thank you, Rodney," John said, putting his arm around him carefully. "Thank you. I didn't want to go just yet."

Rodney lowered his pistol hand then pulled back. "Well, of course not! And I wouldn't let you, you noodle head!"

John smiled, his heart still racing. He turned to the others, who looked equally stunned. "Shall we? And carefully?"

Melena, who still held Dahlia's arms tightly bound behind her back, said. "Let him see her in the doorway first, like this. That will stop him from firing."

"My brilliant wife." Ronon positioned himself to the side of the door and then pounded. "Radim. Your sister wants to have a word."

"I don't believe you!" came the cry from behind the door. "You've already killed her, I know!"

John rolled his eyes and gestured toward the gag. Melena carefully loosened it, wary of Dahlia's teeth.

"Well? Say hello?"

Dahlia shook her head.

"We could just dangle you out the window," Melena said thoughtfully. "Do you think he'd recognize your screams? Or mayhap I could apply a little pressure right here—"

Dahlia yelped.

"—on this major nerve."

"Brother, I'm here," Dahlia said.

"It causes a lot of pain but it's not harmful," Melena added, and Dahlia gave her a dirty look.

"Sister! You're alive!" A series of thunks, one-two-three, occurred, followed by two clinks, and then the door creaked open just a touch. "It's you?"

Ronon slammed the door open, bowling Radim over and sweeping the room with his revolver, his sword in his other hand. John followed on his left and knelt to put his gun to Radim's head just in case.

Radim yelped and curled into a ball. There were no guards in the room.

"Unbelievable," Rodney said with disgust. "All of this ruckus for a pigeon-livered pillbug."

"Disappointing, to say the least," Teyla agreed.

John just sighed and wiped his brow on his sleeve. All the rats would slink back to their holes, but the murdered still deserved justice. Where would they find it? With this pillbug at the end of a noose? With his corrupt sister in jail?

He looked at Rodney and thought of the two of them at home, and peace.

"Thank you, Marshal. When I saw you corralling those hicks, I knew the battle was all over."

"I think it was your sure shooting that did the job."

"Oh, please, can we stop the log rolling? Obviously, it was my superior munitions that gave us all the edge," Rodney said, curtailing John and Jim's little lovefest. Honestly, the credit never went where it was due.

"Absolutely, the rifle was the winner of the day," John said, batting his eyes, but it was far too late. Rodney knew a bribery attempt when he saw one.

"We'll be going now, with our thanks for the true hero of the day: Blair Sandburg, who fed us all that celebratory feast," Rodney said. "Thank you, Blair."

"You're welcome, Rodney," Blair said, scrubbing his nails on his vest. "I hardly ever get the thanks I deserve."

"That's because you live with a neanderthal."

"What's that?" Jim asked, and Blair and Rodney laughed.

"I'll tell you later, dear heart." Blair patted Jim's chest.

Poor sots. "Well, are we ready to go?" Rodney asked John, and John climbed up into the wagon and offered his hand. What a gentleman. "What happened to Lorne and Aiden?"

"They accepted Simon's offer to go visit the U.S. Marshal with an eye toward becoming deputies."

"That's fantastic! Good for them," Rodney said, settling into his seat. "You comfortable, Teyla?"

"Yes, thank you, Rodney. And thank you, Jim and Blair, for your hospitality, and for giving Ronon and Melena a second honeymoon here at the lodge."

"Huh. Wondered where they got off to," Rodney said. "And Tyre was going to show me how he worked that sling of his..."

Teyla smiled indulgently. "Come on, John. TJ is waiting for us."

"All right, jeez. I wasn't the one gabbing." John clucked at the horses, and they started rolling back toward Lanta. Rodney slid a little deeper in his seat and leaned against John's arm. After a moment, John's arm came around him and pulled him close and secure.

His buzzing mind finally able to rest, Rodney fell sleep.

Epilogue

"Are you sure about this? I don't want to make us a spectacle of the neighborhood."

"I'm quite certain. I've done all the calculations and worked out the math to a T. We just need the last half of a balloon. And that final bag of wool wadding."

John handed both over, somewhat hampered by the silk gloves he wore. "I swear to God, Rodney, if we end up flying into space, I'm going to—"

"We won't! Now sew this down! See, it's working."

"Huh. It does seem to be." John got to sewing, and if he could ever map out the stitch he used in such a way that Rodney could possibly understand it, he would try to replicate it with a sewing machine. But until then, their production output would remain bottlenecked by the speed at which John could stitch up the final product.

It was so frustrating.

An hour or so later, the final stitch in place, John looked up, rubbed his neck, and said, "So far, so good. You want to give it a test run?"

"Cover it first."

John rolled his eyes and snapped out the bed cover, then took a flying leap onto their brand new mattress. "Ohhhh. Oh my God, Rodney. When genius hits you, it doesn't pull its punches."

"Scoot over, it's my turn." Rodney plopped down next to him and luxuriated in the full-body goodness of an entire bed made of magic puffs mixed, very discretely, with stuffing.

Oh, he couldn't wait to see what this would do for his back overnight. These puffs were absolutely magical in every way. And his new pillow cradled his head just right, making his eyes roll back in pleasure.

"Um, Rodney? John rolled over and squeezed Rodney's arm, a telltale sign he had something less than pleasing to tell him. "So, I had a little talk with Simon about the cavern, and the dragon. And, uh..."

"Yes? And?" Rodney rocked side to side, completely confounded by how comfortable it was. Absolutely like floating on a cloud.

"And he told me the dragon is responsible for the stuffing."

Rodney frowned. "You mean the dragon makes it and will be angry that we steal it, after all?"

"No. Simon doesn't think so. In fact, he thinks the dragon won't care a bit. See, uh, dragons don't eat anything..."

"I know; Ronon told us."

"But they have to groom themselves after flying, so they lick their wings and their scales to get all the dust off..."

Rodney waved his hands in the air. Go on... He was getting awfully sleepy.

"And with the dust, they also lick magic off their wings, lots of magic. But eating too much magic makes them sick, so they have to, uh, chuck it up again, like a cat does a hairball, you know...?"

A terrible chill tingled up Rodney's spine.

"So, um, the puffs are basically magical, um—"

"John Sheppard!"

"—magical dragon puke?"

"I will kill you!"

.............................................
August 1, 2025
San Francisco, CA