Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Dr. Rodney McKay (the original, thanks) stands in a memory made real, unable to deny that reality despite how often he’s dreamed this exact scenario. Well, except for the soldiers pointing guns at him. That’s never in his good dreams.

Still: he’s here, in Atlantis.

Out of an abundance of caution, Rodney drops the radio from his shaking hand. Despite John’s order to stand down, the gate room guards are likely to have twitchy trigger fingers. He knows how this looks.

Behind him, the wormhole vanishes, and he relaxes a little. That was well under five minutes. The universe he left should be fine.

Slowly—because he’s still a coward, after all these years—he turns to face John Sheppard.

The sight knocks the breath from him. John, alive. Here. Rodney’s eyes burn, and he cannot stop his grin.

“Hi, John. You look good.” He does. He’s so much more vibrant than Rodney’s faded, worn memories.

The younger McKay steps between them. “Excuse me? Are you going to explain who the fuck you are?” McKay taps his comm. “I need anti-Replicator weapons to the gate room immediately—”

“I said stand down.” John sidesteps McKay and approaches Rodney. He’s staring with wide eyes and something almost like a smile at the edges of his lips. “You look just like the hologram.” John jabs him in the chest with a few fingers. “You’re real.”

“Yeah, I am, and did you have to shove me that hard? I’m old and frail.”

John snorts. “How did you get here?”

“What’s the date?” Rodney asks, suddenly remembering things might not be safe. Not yet.

“We got Teyla back, and her son. You—McKay delivered the baby.”

“Yes, yes, I was very heroic.” McKay rolls his eyes. “Sheppard, is this the older version of me? The one you said was bald?”

“You told him I was bald?” Rodney can’t summon much affront. He’s too relieved. “Wow, I’ve missed being negged by you.”

For one horrible moment, Rodney fears he’s said too much—it’s bad enough he’s staring at John like he’s the center of the universe. But John and McKay both give him confused looks.

“Negged?” McKay asks. “What the fuck is that?”

“Future slang,” Rodney says, hurriedly. He can’t remember exactly when the term got popular, but the Atlantis expedition isn’t on the cutting edge of Earth pop-culture. “Not important. Come on, I’m guessing you want me in the infirmary getting scanned.”

John stills in a way that, despite twenty-six years passing, makes Rodney’s adrenaline spike, because it usually means violence is about to break out. They’re not on a mission, though, and as far as Rodney can see, he’s the disaster du jour, not a Wraith attack—or Michael.

Before Rodney can ask, John snaps back to normal and smiles.

“Come on, buddy, let’s get you cleared so we can debrief Woolsey.”

“Woolsey?” Rodney can’t hide his grimace. “He’s in charge? Is—did Sam—?”

“Colonel Carter was reassigned,” John assures him.

“Thank Christ, I was worried it didn’t work.”

John claps him on the shoulder, more gently than Rodney remembers. “It worked. You got me back in time.”

“I think you mean we did,” McKay says, trailing behind them as they make their way to the infirmary. “Since we’re allegedly the same person.”

“Let it go, McKay,” John says to him.

McKay sulks; Rodney’s never seen it from the outside. It’s kind of cute. He knows it’ll annoy him soon, but now everything is rose-colored and perfect. He’s home. Those meddling kids really did it.

He floats on a cloud of good feeling until he walks into the infirmary and hears her voice.

“Colonel, someone said we had a potential Replicator incursion?”

Emotions hit him in a wave so strong he stops walking. Jennifer is here. Of course she is. Rodney stares at her. John hovers slightly in front of him, eyes downcast. He says something Rodney can’t hear over the roar of blood in his ears.

She looks healthy. Not sick, obviously, and now she might never be. He’s relieved, but beneath it is the old grief. The love, and the hurt, and the bitterness. After she died, he tried to carry their best days with him, to remember her as she’d been. Over and over, though, he thought of her in that hospital bed at the SGC, forcing a promise from him he already knew he’d never keep.

She didn’t outright say don’t waste time saving him, but eventually that was all Rodney could hear when he replayed the moment. She never could understand what John meant to him—or maybe she understood it perfectly, years before Rodney himself caught up.

But that Jennifer Keller is gone, and the woman standing before him hasn’t lived through the tragedy. John saved her, like everyone else.

Rodney glances at McKay, wondering if knowledge of their relationship has gotten him too in his head about things, or if it’s made him bold. They could be dating already. The thought makes him a little sad, because Jennifer never really knew him. It’s not his place to meddle, though, or judge. Maybe this time will be different for them. Better.

Jennifer approaches him, but he doesn’t catch what she says until she repeats it.

“Dr. McKay? Are you feeling all right?” She looks at him like he’s a patient. Like he’s a stranger. He supposes he is, to her. An old man who resembles her coworker or boyfriend or whatever they are to each other.

“Just a little overwhelmed by all this. Being back here again, after so long.”

“Come on, you remember how the scanners work?” She leads him deeper into the infirmary. John and McKay hover far enough away he can’t hear their hushed conversation. McKay is obviously pissed, gesturing emphatically as he whisper-shouts. He really was (is?) handsome back then.

“I haven’t forgotten a thing,” Rodney says, lying down on the scanning table. “You’re going to take a blood sample after this, then you’ll give me a lollipop when I don’t complain too much.”

“It really is you,” Jennifer says. She starts the scan.

“How much did John tell you about…?” Rodney asks, unable to keep quiet any longer. For better or worse, he’s here, now, and there’s no going back, even if he wanted to. He needs to get the lay of the land if he’s staying on Atlantis.

“About the future?”

“Your future, specifically.” Rodney stares at the infirmary ceiling, marveling at how it still looks so familiar.

“Oh, not much. Apparently there… wasn’t much to tell.” Her voice gets small, and sad. “I died from complications of treating people Michael infected with the Hoffan drug.”

“That’s it?” The scanner moves down his body. He wishes he could see her face.

“Yep. I could tell there was more, but… I’m not sure I want to know.”

Her message is clear: she doesn’t want Rodney telling her. His mind reels. She has no idea what she is—was—could have been—to him. It’s a bit unethical of McKay not to inform her, considering, but he’s not terribly surprised by that. Anything to improve his chances with the kind of woman he thought he should be with.

Still. He kind of wants to kick his own ass.

The scan, of course, reveals he’s not a Replicator, and the bloodwork comes back as he expected.

“There’s a compound in your blood that’s not in our database,” Jennifer says, and McKay pounces on it.

“See? He can’t be trusted—”

“We just talked about this, McKay,” John says slowly. “He’s from the future. Yes, he’s really you, and no, he’s not going to try to replace you. He saved me, and everyone else. Be nice.”

To Jennifer, Rodney explains, “It’s probably my blood pressure medication. I don’t think it’s been invented yet.” He fishes around in his duffel and withdraws the pill bottle. “You can analyze it. And, uh, see if you can synthesize more? I only have two weeks left.”

“Wow.” She takes the bottle, smiling. “Futuristic medicine. That’s kinda cool. We’ll get more made for you, Dr. McKay.”

Deftly pulling on a fresh pair of gloves, she opens the bottle and shakes a single pill out, then sets it in a tray. She caps the bottle and hands it back to Rodney. Everything about her is professional, but tinged with her usual warmth—what she shows everyone.

“He good to go, doc?” John is suddenly standing right next to him. Rodney is surprised, but not startled. He could stare at John all day—not that he would. John would definitely notice, and Rodney isn’t looking to torch that bridge. He spent twenty-five years trying to get his best friend back. He doesn’t want to lose him again to something as inconvenient as unrequited love.

“He’s all yours, Colonel.”

Despite Rodney’s resolve, the words fluster him. If only, he thinks.

Holy shit, two Rodneys.

John does have other thoughts during the briefing with Woolsey, of course, but that one keeps coming back, on a loop. While he listens to the older McKay (McKay Prime? Original? Old McKay seems a little too rude; he’ll figure out a good name for him) tell the story of his long journey here, he can’t stop his gaze from flicking between the two of them. His McKay, and this other version who’s older and more worn, but softer, too, in unexpected ways. A man who lost everything and spent decades trying to undo it.

Trying to save John.

Normally, John carefully rations the time he spends looking at McKay, making sure it remains plausible for the way a friend looks at another friend, but today he allows himself to throw the rules out the window. He doesn’t think anyone would fault him for staring. Woolsey is staring, too. It’s only the four of them in this meeting, but John knows as soon as the older McKay (nickname pending) is given permission to roam Atlantis freely, everyone will do their fair share of gawking, at least for a few days. Until his presence becomes just another weird quirk of life here.

They’ve hosted an alternate version of McKay before, but it’s clear Future McKay is here to stay. He went through a great deal of trouble to get here, according to him. Though, as his story unfolds, John finds himself suspicious. He glances at his McKay (nope, absolutely not, he can’t start thinking like that), and can read the same in his expression.

Regular McKay (not his, never his), starts to speak, but John coughs and draws his attention, then shakes his head. It’s just an instinct, but John doesn’t want to have the you’re full of shit conversation with Future McKay in front of Woolsey. Or anyone else.

“Then I was finished building the Starbridge, and the right type of solar flare was about to happen,” Future McKay says. “I went through, after setting the whole thing to self-destruct once the wormhole closed. You know the rest.” He gestures to the conference room. “I made it.”

“All that effort, just to check your work.” Woolsey sounds impressed rather than dubious.

“My timeline is… there’s nothing there for me. Everything is here.” Future McKay’s gaze flicks to John, just for a moment, and his heart stutters. Holy shit, two Rodneys. He’s not sure how he’ll survive.

“We all owe you a great debt,” Woolsey says, and from him it sounds like a massive understatement. “I’ll have to report this to the SGC and my superiors at the IOA, but for now, we’ll assign you quarters. I don’t think a guard will be necessary.”

“Don’t worry,” John says affably, “I’ll keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble.”

“Me, too,” Regular McKay adds, hostility plain in his voice.

John wants to remind him about their talk in the infirmary, but Woolsey is here, so he stays quiet. For now. McKay needs a beat to adjust to the presence of an older version of himself. The last time another Rodney was around, it didn’t go so great, but this is different. Rod had been noticeably distinct from the start, but Future McKay is merely an older version of Regular McKay, their mannerisms remarkably similar.

Future McKay catches him staring, but rather than look annoyed or suspicious, he smiles.

God, this is going to kill him. Get it together, John, he mentally harangues himself, Future McKay has had a very difficult twenty-six years. Don’t make it worse for him. Be fucking normal.

 Woolsey dismisses them, and John lets himself hide behind the mundanities of onboarding a new expedition member. He gets Future McKay suitable quarters—some of the nice ones, with a balcony and everything—and requisitions the basic amenities. Bed, dresser, uniforms.

Both McKays (holy shit) follow him, eerily silent. Their lack of bickering worries John, but he doubts it’ll come to actual violence.

Their last stop is the mess, because John knows both Rodneys are hungry without having to ask.

“So it’s true,” Ronon says, approaching from the opposite direction. “Old McKay is here.”

“In the flesh,” Future McKay says. “You’re somehow taller than I remember.”

“Did I really die taking out a Hive?” Ronon asks.

The grin on Future McKay’s face falls. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s how I’d want to go.” Ronon claps Future McKay’s shoulder hard enough to stagger him. “Glad you got Sheppard back to us. We stopped Michael, and now we can kill even more Wraith.”

Regular McKay rolls his eyes.

The mess is still serving lunch, thankfully. John and Regular McKay were on their way here when they were diverted to the control room for an unscheduled incoming wormhole, which derailed their plans.

There are plenty of turkey sandwiches left, but only one cup of blue jello. Both McKays reach for it at the same time.

John pushes past them and grabs it for himself, hoping to head off any argument. He has, unfortunately, underestimated the Rodneys.

“Really?” they both say, in exactly the same tone.

“You’re not going to eat that,” Regular McKay says. “You took it so we wouldn’t fight over it.”

“No, I wanted it, and you were too slow.”

Regular McKay makes a grab for the cup. “Come on, me and—myself—will split it.”

“There’s no way to evenly divide jello, and I don’t wanna hear you bickering about who got the bigger half. This is mine.” To emphasize, he licks it.

“Ugh, you are disgusting, Colonel. What kind of grown man licks something to claim it?”

“You’re both acting like you’re twelve,” Ronon says, brushing past them.

Future McKay laughs softly, and John glances at him to find a fond expression on his face.

Yeah, this is definitely going to kill him.

The quarters Rodney was assigned are almost entirely bare when he arrives, though someone has moved a few pieces of basic furniture in while he had lunch. There is, at least, a bed, and a beautiful view of the city, which he stares at for a moment, knowing John and McKay could mock him for it and not caring.

Home. He’s home.

He thought he came to terms with it in the gate room, but it keeps hitting him, over and over. The people he lost. The people he saved. It threatens to drown him, so he forces himself to think of practical matters.

“I should unpack,” Rodney says, voice only breaking a little. He clears his throat. “You don’t have to babysit me. I still remember my way around the city.”

“You know we’re guarding you,” McKay huffs. “If you so much as look too hard at part of the city’s systems—”

“I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

“Right, we’re supposed to believe you’re me from the future.” McKay crosses his arms. “Do you have any real proof in that bag of yours?”

“Nothing that you wouldn’t write off as fake.” Rodney probably should have planned for this eventuality, but he was more focused on preventing the Starbridge from exploding or tearing a hole in the universe.

“What about cool future snacks? They have to have iterated on Cheetos in your time.”

“They got rid of the best kinds, actually. Oreos, on the other hand…”

McKay perks up. “Future Oreos? Can I have some?”

“The only future snack here is me, sorry. You’ll have to experience the new flavors with the rest of Earth as they happen.”

John and McKay give him weird looks. He sighs. He didn’t think language changed that much in twenty-six years, but it has.

McKay starts to say something, but John cuts him off. “Give us a minute, McKay.”

“Fine.” McKay glares at Rodney. “Don’t let your guard down.”

He leaves, and the door shuts behind him. The silence in his wake is heavy. Rodney tosses his duffel on the bed and unzips it. When he packed, he was half certain he was going to his death in an unfortunate wormhole accident. He’s still a little shocked it worked.

Slowly, John approaches, and Rodney can feel his presence like physical contact, though he’s standing over a meter away. He tries to ignore the way it shivers over his skin. Being near him after so long is overwhelming.

“Listen, I… I haven’t said thank you. For what you did. For everything you—you gave up. I know it was for the galaxy, but—”

“That was how I justified it,” Rodney admits, because he’s too old to lie about this, and he thinks it’s safe enough, considering they’re best friends. It’s a normal thing to do for a best friend. “In the end, what kept me going was you. Trapped in a future that could’ve been horrible in a thousand ways. I wanted… I needed to save you.” He stares at his open duffel. Shirts stare back at him. The top one is old and faded; it used to belong to John. Rodney took a few things from his quarters when he decided he was leaving Atlantis forever. The same shirt is undoubtedly in John’s room, colors brighter and fabric thicker. Probably still smells like John, too. These lost the scent decades ago.

He should put the shirts away in a drawer. He’s terrified to turn around because it means seeing John’s expression.

John’s silence wraps around his throat like a noose. Rodney casts his mind about for any other subject, fearing he’s miscalculated what’s normal for best friends—they saved each other’s lives so much, surely giving up over a quarter of his isn’t such a big deal, but the silence says otherwise.

“Are McKay and Keller dating?” he asks, desperate.

“No.” John’s voice is strained.

“Ah, got too in his head, huh?” Rodney forces a chuckle. He pulls out the small stack of shirts and finally turns, though he still can’t make himself look at John. “Sounds like me. If someone told me I got together with a hot blond—”

“Didn’t tell him. I kept details to a minimum.”

Now Rodney does glance at John. He’s staring at the wall, jaw clenched.

“Oh. So, we’re the only ones who know?” Rodney has got to pull himself together, or John is going to realize and have him sent to Earth. He didn’t anticipate this, when Dani suggested trying to come here. All his focus was on ensuring John got back alive and saved Teyla in time. He didn’t think about how hard it would be to stand this close to the man he’d loved at an impossible distance for so long. “I mean—I need to be up to speed, so I don’t say anything to anyone I shouldn’t.”

“Yeah, we can keep it between us. Let that play out naturally, if it’s going to.” John shifts his weight. “Need help unpacking?”

It’s a pretty obvious attempt to once again change the subject, which surprises Rodney. He didn’t think talking about McKay’s potential romantic conquests would be so annoying to John. Probably came too close to an actual emotional conversation. John always deflected when Rodney talked about Katie, too.

“There’s barely anything. I can handle it. It’s—it’s nice to have you here to talk to, though. I missed you.” Rodney can’t help the words spilling out. His face heats, and he pulls things from his bag without really seeing them—

Until his fingers brush paper, which he doesn’t recall packing. He pulls out a stapled packet, and a floral scent fills the air—some kind of perfume he doesn’t recognize.

“What’s that?” John steps closer.

“No idea.” Rodney fishes his reading glasses from the pocket of his cardigan, bracing for John to poke fun, like usual, but he’s silent. Rodney puts them on and examines the first page.

It’s incomprehensible until he reads the handwritten note at the top.

Hey babygirl, thought you could use some stock tips. Printed it out because I wasn’t sure if modern flashdrives work with old-ass tech. Lotto numbers won’t be the same, because of chaos theory and quantum physics blah blah, you know why. But big things like tech company giants and housing market crashes should still happen. No reason you can’t retire rich. All my love, Dani XOXO.

Beneath this is an honest to god kiss, in bright red lipstick, like in the movies. He can’t recall Dani ever wearing any particular shade of lipstick. He touches it gingerly, but she sprayed something on it to keep it from smudging, then doused it in perfume, by the scent of it.

The columns of numbers and letters are stock names and prices. These appear to be from mid-2008. He flips to the last page. 2034.

“Who’s Dani?” John asks, snidely.

Right, this. He knew John would have to be told eventually, considering he heard Rodney talking to someone on the radio after he came through the wormhole.

“I wasn’t completely honest in the briefing with Woolsey. Dani is the woman who helped get me here.”

“Close friend of yours?” He raises his eyebrows, glancing down at the red lip-print.

With a jolt, Rodney realizes how this must look to an outsider—he knows Dani called him babygirl and kissed the page as a joke, even if he doesn’t really get her generation’s humor, but to anyone else—

“She’s—she was—my student. Did the hologram tell you I taught at a community college?”

“Yes. Didn’t mention you slept with the coeds, though.” John is outright scowling now.

“I didn’t sleep with her! She and her friends took my class, but early in the semester I went to Atlantis and installed the hologram and everything else I needed to save you. When I got back I—I wasn’t my best. I thought I’d failed, and I took it out on the students. She broke into my apartment—don’t give me that look—and catfished a general and found out about the Stargate Program—”

“She went fishing with a general who, what, told her everything?” John doesn’t buy it.

“No, no, catfishing is a type of online scam. You pretend to be someone else to con people out of money, or in this case, information.”

“What general did this college kid scam?” John asks, alarmed.

Shit. Rodney doesn’t want to get Lorne in trouble for something he hasn’t even done yet. “Don’t worry about it, kitten.” The words slip out automatically.

“Kitten?” John is reaching new heights of derisive sarcasm today.

“It’s—future slang for best friend,” Rodney lies, hastily. “Doesn’t matter, the point is, Dani found out about the SGC and cornered me in my office—I know, I know, I thought she was trying to seduce me, too, but it turns out she’s gay—and she basically forced me to go along with her insane plan to get rid of me. To send me here. Home. To you. Also she made me give her and her friends A’s in the class,” he adds, because this is spiraling out of control, and John is still furrowing his eyebrows at Rodney.

“The only reason you didn’t sleep with her is because she’s gay?” John asks acidly.

“No—I don’t sleep with my students. Even if Dani hadn’t been a lesbian in my Physics 101 class, I probably wouldn’t have. She’s too young for me. And a theater major. What do you care, anyway? That was literally all a universe away.”

“I don’t care.” John’s gaze flicks to the papers Rodney still holds. “Just seems a little implausible. What with the kiss and the pet name and the perfume. You don’t have to lie to me.”

“Are you kidding? I’m a terrible liar. That hasn’t changed. I wouldn’t even try to. Not to you. Not about this.” Rodney will keep his own secrets, sure, but the rest is John’s. “Why is the thought of me with an attractive woman so annoying to you? It’s not like you have a chance with her. She hasn’t even been born yet.”

John’s hands curl into fists, but before he can reply, the door whooshes open. McKay leans in.

“Are you two done? We’re supposed to be in a meeting soon.” McKay glances at his watch.

John’s whole body relaxes, and he turns and gives McKay a little smile. “We’re done.” He pauses at the door and says to Rodney, “I wouldn’t wander around the city too much. Not yet.”

“I’m fine here.” He means it. He has a lot of processing to do.

They leave, and Rodney is alone, but it’s a state he’s used to by now. He opens his balcony door and lets in the ceaseless sound of the ocean moving far below, listening as he finishes unpacking.

Dr. Rodney McKay (the original, thanks) has one of the least productive afternoons of his career as the Head of Science and Research in Atlantis, not counting all the times he was injured or sick. He can’t focus, because there’s another version of himself walking around who’s twenty-six years older, and everyone is so happy to have him here.

In the evening, he leaves his lab and heads for Teyla’s quarters. The team made plans to visit her before the time-travel fiasco, and Rodney refuses to break them, even if everyone else is too busy high-fiving McKay for saving the galaxy.

When he arrives at Teyla’s, he finds he’s the last to show up. Ronon, Sheppard, and McKay are inside, sitting on cushions around Teyla, who’s grinning and holding Torren.

Rodney hovers in the doorway. No one has noticed him yet. If he leaves, it’s likely none of them will care, or realize he’s absent, since he’s already there, technically.

He hesitates too long, and Teyla glances up and sees him. She smiles and, hands full, motions him inside with a nod of her head. Unable to run away, he slinks into the room and settles on the floor, sitting slightly outside the circle they’ve made.

“I heard it has been quite the strange day,” Teyla says. She glances at McKay. “I was just thanking your future self for his part in rescuing me.”

Of course she was. “Yeah, well, the rest of us did the actual rescuing.”

“Catch me up on what’s been going on since the timeline changed,” McKay says. “I want all the tea.”

Teyla frowns. “I am afraid I did not prepare tea—”

“Oh, no, not literal tea. Forgot you won’t know what that means. It’s gossip.”

“Why didn’t you just say gossip?” Ronon asks.

“It’s really common slang in the future.”

“What does tea have to do with anything?” Rodney can’t help but engage with this nonsense.

“I don’t remember. Something to do with Kermit the Frog.”

“Who is Kermit the Frog?” Teyla asks, delicately.

“He’s great,” Sheppard answers, “We should get some episodes of The Muppet Show for Torren when he’s older.”

“I still don’t understand the connection,” Rodney cuts in. “Is he a spokesman for a tea company in the future?”

“No, it’s complicated. There was a meme and then people started using the frog and tea cup emoji to mean gossip.”

“Emoji?” Sheppard asks, drawing the word out incredulously.

“Another word for emoticons.”

“Those little smiley faces you can send in emails,” Rodney explains.

“Try to keep the slang to a minimum, Future McKay,” Sheppard says.

“That’s what we’re calling him?” Rodney asks. “It’s a mouthful.”

“You’re Regular McKay, which is a whole extra syllable,” Sheppard says. “Stop complaining.”

“Regular? Why not Original?”

“Cause you’re not a bucket of fried chicken.”

“Technically, I’m the original,” McKay says. “If we’re talking causality.”

“I think I should have some say in what we call me,” Rodney complains.

Sheppard rolls his eyes, then asks Teyla how she’s been sleeping (badly), and conversation moves on to focus on the baby. Rodney has previously found how obsessed everyone is with the newborn annoying, but now he’s happy to make little Torren the center of attention, because at least it’s not McKay with his stupid cardigan and his gray hair and the smug way he looks around Atlantis, like he owns the city.

Torren has been sleeping in Teyla’s arms, but he stirs awake and, miraculously, doesn’t cry.

“Would you like to hold him, Rodney?” she asks.

McKay answers first. “No, thank you, I’m not good with kids and—and you better hand him off to someone else.”

“I’ll do it,” Rodney says. Hah. His older self isn’t superior in every way after all. “I’ve held him before. I was actually the first person to ever hold him.”

“We know,” Ronon says. “Don’t tell the story again.”

Teyla hands Torren to Rodney, and the baby is already heavier than he remembers. Squirmier, too. Rodney thinks about pawning him off on someone else—maybe Ronon—but Torren stares up at him with huge, curious eyes, and Rodney can’t help his smile.

“Hello again,” he says softly. “Remember your Uncle Rodney?”

Torren babbles, hands reaching up. Rodney brings a finger close to one of those little fists, marveling as Torren grabs him. His grip is stronger than he expected.

“He likes me,” Rodney says, glancing up at the group. Teyla looks pleased. Even Ronon is smiling at him, and Sheppard—

He’s wearing a strange expression Rodney can’t read: eyes half-closed, brow relaxed, lip quirked on one side. In any other context, Rodney might call it besotted—

Oh, right. He’s looking at Torren and his cute little fingers curled around Rodney’s. Everyone loves babies.

He glances at McKay, bracing for judgment or jealousy, but McKay is staring at Sheppard with wide eyes and slightly parted lips.

With a lurch, Torren tries to fling himself to the ground, and Rodney barely keeps hold of him. “Uh, someone else want a turn?”

Ronon takes him, and Rodney relaxes, doing his best to ignore McKay for the rest of the evening.

His first night back in Atlantis (back home), and Rodney can’t sleep. It’s not the mattress, which is surprisingly firm, or the difference in sounds (his apartment was always noisy with little creaks, a loud AC in the summer, and a rattling radiator in winter), or the utterly surreal nature of the day he’s had.

It’s John. Or, more specifically, it’s how John was looking at McKay while he held Teyla’s baby. It’s also the fact John didn’t tell anyone about Rodney’s relationship with Jennifer, and the way he reacted to the stupid lipstick kiss Dani left on the stock-price spoiler sheets. It’s so many moments of their history that Rodney plays back, though now he can’t be sure of how accurate his memories are. He knows human minds are even worse than hard drives—accessing memories degrades them, and he’s spent most of the last twenty-five years reliving the good days.

Mostly, though, it’s that look. Rodney has seen it before, a hundred times, on the faces of his students as they awkwardly flirt with each other. The word that comes to mind is besotted. John was besotted with McKay. Which makes absolutely no sense.

Unless—

Rodney sits up, letting the sheets fall from his chest. An unfamiliar sensation flutters in his stomach. It’s been so many years since he’s really felt it, he almost doesn’t recognize it as hope. When he went to Atlantis to install the hologram, when he helped Dani build the Starbridge, when he walked through it himself only hours ago—he never once felt real hope.

Now it buzzes inside him.

“This is crazy,” he says aloud, getting out of bed.

“I probably imagined it.” He puts on jeans, too frazzled to change his t-shirt, which used to belong to John.

“I should take some melatonin and go back to bed.” He pulls on his boots.

“No idea what I’ll say to him. He’s probably asleep.” Rodney glances at his dark, nearly empty quarters, then leaves.

He doesn’t pass anyone on his way to John’s. He remembers the route perfectly, even after all this time, even coming from a new direction. His feet know where to take him.

It’s not like he’s going to see John for his own sake. He’s under no illusions about his appeal, or lack thereof. Maybe if he’d pulled this off ten years ago. Now, he needs to know so he can tell McKay—or force John to tell him.

If he’s right. If not, well. Hopefully John won’t sucker punch an old man.

He’s at John’s door before he can talk himself out of it, so he knocks. Rodney expects to wait a while—maybe long enough to give up—but the door opens almost immediately. John is right on the other side, still wearing his uniform, his hair somehow more mussed than normal, like he’s been running his hands through it.

“Rodney.” For a moment, John stares, then he seems to remember himself and steps back. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed—wanted—to talk to you.” Rodney steps into John’s quarters, trying not to stare. It’s all how he remembers—of course it is. Barely any time has passed, from the perspective of everyone in the city but him. “If it’s too late—”

“No. I was just—it’s not too late.” John retreats. Hovers in the middle of the room, like he’s the stranger here.

“I have to ask you something, and maybe it’s ridiculous and you can laugh at me and call me an idiot—and maybe this is me being from the future, where some things are different and more relaxed and—and my perspective has shifted a little, over the years—but I can’t sleep and I saw how you looked at him earlier and—are you in love with McKay? The other one, obviously. Not me.”

Through his ramblings, John’s eyebrows slowly rose, eyes widening, but now his face is blank.

“Am I… in love with McKay?”

“Yes—that’s—that’s what I asked.” Rodney wants to run away. Maybe not literally, but he does want to rush out of the room and hide in his quarters and pretend this never happened. Bad idea, bad idea. What was he thinking. Of course John Sheppard, the galaxy’s most eligible bachelor, is not into his best friend and teammate.

“We aren’t having this conversation, Rodney,” John says through clenched teeth and an empty smile. “Why would you ask me that?”

Huh. That’s not the outright denial he expected. I’m not into dudes or Pfft, McKay wishes would be more in line with a straight man laughing off Rodney’s suspicions.

“Are you asking me why I came to a ridiculous conclusion, or do you want me to tell you where you slipped up so you can correct the behavior?” Rodney can’t believe his boldness, but he really is tired, and this is keeping him awake. He has to settle it definitively.

John goes perfectly still.

“To clarify,” Rodney says in a rush, “I don’t care—I mean. I don’t mind. If you are. If you are, you should tell him. He might freak out at first, but he will want to know. Trust me, as someone with the benefit of hindsight.” God, he should stop talking.

“Hindsight?” John takes a step closer.

“I forgot you did that.” Rodney holds his ground, barely.

“Did what?”

“Pretend to be dumber than you are, just to remind me at the worst possible times that I can’t really get anything past you.”

Miraculously, John cracks a genuine smile, but his words are halting. “It’s late. Maybe you oughta… go. Get some sleep.”

“That’s still not a denial. I’m—I’m bisexual. Just so you know. I always was, really, even before I realized it. In case that affects whether or not you’ll tell him. About how you feel. If you feel that way.” Rodney should leave. It’s not running away, now, because John is politely kicking him out.

He impolitely refuses to budge. John stares at him. Rodney stares back.

“Give me a yes or no answer,” Rodney says. “Then I’ll leave. Are you in any way attracted to or interested in McKay?”

John closes his eyes, and it’s answer enough.

“Hah! I knew it. Tell him. Doesn’t have to be now, or even soon, but… he deserves to know. You both deserve it.” Rodney turns to the door, all his triumph giving way to exhaustion. It’s kind of funny, in a way, to learn this now. When it’s far too late to matter to him.

It’s fine. He’s always known he wasn’t saving John for himself.

A hand closes around his wrist, stopping him from opening the door.

“Rodney…” John sounds a little like he’s dying.

Slowly, Rodney faces him, terrified to meet his eye but unable to stop himself.

“Are you—you’re—why do you think McKay deserves to know?”

He really walked right into this one. “Because I’m in love with you, and he is, too. He just… doesn’t realize it yet. It took losing you for me to understand.”

John stares at him with wide eyes. Then he surges forward, hands rising to thread through Rodney’s hair, and pulls him into a kiss.

It’s rough, desperate, hungry. He lets himself indulge for a moment—it’s so much more than he ever thought he’d get—before pulling away.

“What—what are you doing?” Rodney has no idea how he’s out of breath already.

“‘M trying to get you hard so I can suck you off,” John says.

“What?” Rodney’s voice goes a little shrill.

“You came to my quarters in the middle of the night and told me you’re bi and in love with me. What the fuck did you think was gonna happen?” John stares at him, eyes burning.

“I wanted you to tell the other McKay! I’m—you don’t want me, John. You want him.”

“Don’t tell me what I do and don’t want.” John steps forward, forcing Rodney’s back against the door.

Rodney glances at the control mechanism, worried it’s going to read their movements and open, spilling him outside.

“Don’t worry,” John says in a low voice that very much does worry Rodney. “It won’t open unless I want it to.”

That sentence shoots straight to his dick,  because he’s effectively trapped here, with John, who by his own admission plans to blow him. Half his fantasies start like this.

“Why?” is all he can manage.

John steps closer, resting their foreheads together. He’s softer, suddenly. “You saved me. You saved everyone. Lemme thank you properly.”

That dissolves the rest of his protests, and his good sense. All the reasons this is a terrible idea, and unfair to the other McKay. He nods.

“Always good to be appreciated,” Rodney says, voice dancing on the edge of hysteria. He wants this so much he’s worried none of it is real. Pressing his palms into the door, he focuses on the texture of the metal. This is happening. He’s in Atlantis, it’s 2008, and John Sheppard is sinking to his knees while Rodney can only stare.

“God, you’re beautiful—handsome—I meant handsome. Can’t believe that you’re really here. That I’m here.” Rodney can’t keep control of his mouth as John unbuckles his belt and deftly pops open his fly, then unzips it. His hands brush Rodney’s already-stiffening cock. “Fuck, it’s been a while since someone’s done this for me. I’ve imagined this so many times—basically this exact scenario—while jacking off—is that weird to admit?”

John pushes Rodney’s pants and boxers down, staring at his cock like it’s something worth admiring. “Not weird. It’s kinda encouraging. I better work hard to live up to the fantasy.”

“Jesus,” Rodney breathes. John leans in and runs his tongue up Rodney’s shaft. Slowly. Rodney has to lock his knees to keep from sliding down the door. “Are you going to tease me all night or what? I—well, I guess I don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow, but I bet you’ve got meetings and missions and paperwork and—counting bullets or whatever you people do in the armory.”

John pauses, his lips mere millimeters from the tip of Rodney’s cock. “Counting bullets?”

“There’s no blood left in my brain. What do you want from me?” Rodney stares down at him, still feeling like any second he’ll wake up from this very vivid, pornographic dream. He lifts a hand from the door, hesitantly, almost unsure if he’s allowed to touch John, as absurd as it seems. Without second guessing himself, he slides his fingers through John’s soft hair, tugging him forward. When John resists, staring up at him insolently, Rodney tightens his grip, pulling.

John moans, and his lips part. Rodney pushes John’s head forward again, and this time he relents, taking Rodney’s cock into his mouth. John’s hands grip his hips, holding him against the door.

“Forgot how good this feels,” Rodney babbles. “Actually, scratch that, I’ve never had a blowjob like this.”

John takes him all the way to the base, then pulls back slowly, lips parting from his cock with a soft pop. He’s showing off. It’s working. “Never had your dick sucked by a guy?”

Rodney snorts. “Are you kidding? I cleaned up on the apps, and it was almost always guys. Once my hair started going gray, I couldn’t fight them off.”

“Apps?” John is pissed now, that much is obvious. Maybe bragging about his sexual exploits isn’t the best idea while the love of his life is on his knees trying to blow him.

“Like online dating, but mostly for one night stands. Meaningless sex. It was all meaningless, except for my work trying to save you.”

“Don’t try to distract me by making me feel indebted to you for that.”

“I didn’t mean to—look, the point is, it’s different because it’s you. Getting my dick sucked by my best friend who I am also in love with. That’s why it feels so good—or it would, if you’d get on with it.”

John rolls his eyes.

“You don’t get to be jealous of the people I slept with in another universe.” Rodney grabs John by the hair again, pulling even harder, guiding his mouth back to the head of his aching cock. It works, and the smug pride that fills him feels almost as amazing as John’s mouth and tongue and the back of his throat. Almost. “You could have been doing this the whole time, but you were too chickenshit to ever make a move on me. That’s on you—oh, fuck, John, you’re complaining about my body count but there’s no way you’re this much of a natural. You really put in your ten thousand hours—this is expert level fellatio—stop trying to derail me by getting me off, it won’t work. I’m still pissed at you for hiding this from me. How long have you wanted to do this?” Rodney can’t stop running his mouth. He usually has more control during sex, but this is John.

John starts to pull back. Rodney stops him. If John’s trapping him here in this room, he can very well finish what he started without so many conversational interludes. John growls in the back of his throat, but keeps the same rhythm with his mouth and tongue. God, he really is beautiful, with his lips stretched around Rodney’s spit-slick cock, his face flushed, brow furrowed like he’s still angry and he’s taking it out on him in the best possible way.

“That was a rhetorical question. It’s obvious you’ve wanted me for a while if you’re settling for this version.”

John’s fingers dig into his hips, and it manages to shut Rodney up for a few minutes. He watches, panting, heart racing, as John swallows him whole, nose buried in the silver hair around his cock, over and over, drool dripping down to his balls, which John fondles with one hand while still keeping Rodney pinned against this door. He wonders what someone walking by in the hall might hear.

This is dangerous—it’s not allowed, he recalls with a jolt. John is doing this at great personal risk, all to thank him, but it feels like too much. More than he deserves. Twenty-five years of his life in exchange for the best head he’s ever gotten. No question he’s coming out on top.

The heat crescendos, and Rodney finds his voice in time to warn John, who doesn’t let up, though Rodney drops his hand from his hair. He grabs John’s shoulders instead, barely keeping his feet as he spills down John’s throat while babbling—something. He can’t really hear himself.

John must enjoy whatever he says, because he moans a little before slowly pulling off Rodney’s cock. His lips are red and swollen and Rodney wants to stare at them forever. He wants to kiss John and taste himself on his tongue, so he does, jerking John up to standing. John’s mouth is hungrier and more desperate than before, the salty tang of come heavy on his breath. Rodney palms John’s cock through his pants. It’s hard, twitching beneath his fingers.

He pulls back enough to hoarsely whisper, “Get undressed, then on the bed.”

John stares. “You don’t have to—I meant it when I said I wanted to thank you—”

“Shut the fuck up and do what I say, Colonel.”

His words make John rock back, throat bobbing as he swallows. “Jesus christ, Rodney.” John doesn’t elaborate on the thought. He does, at least, follow directions, stripping out of his clothes in record time.

Rodney pulls up his own pants, hastily zipping and buckling, and follows John to his bed. John sits with his back against the wall, dog tags dangling over his stomach but otherwise bare. Rodney takes a moment to appreciate the sight. This is a one-off thing, he knows. Rodney is just a willing appetizer before John goes after McKay and gets his man.

John already looks wrecked—disheveled hair, bruised lips, hairy chest rising and falling rapidly, cock standing at attention between his muscular thighs. Maybe Rodney got too greedy with the strip-down order. Now that he’s seen this sight, he’ll always crave it.

“You gonna do something about this, or not?” John prompts.

“Stop trying to rush my process.”

“I can get myself off—”

“Don’t you dare.” That finally gets Rodney moving, which was probably John’s plan. Asshole. He climbs onto the bed and kisses John, still marveling that he can. His hands roam over John’s chest, his sides, hips, cock, cataloging details, finally accepting—completely—that this is real, and not some elaborate hallucination he’s having as he bleeds out on the warehouse floor, impaled by debris from a Starbridge explosion. These details are new, unexpected, nothing he’s imagined before. John’s hot, sweaty skin, the coarseness of his hair, the texture of his scars, the shape of his cock. His mouth, so yielding as Rodney strokes him everywhere. The scent of him beneath his aftershave and the smell of gunpowder.

It’s all new. Rodney drowns in it. He pulls back, gasping, and once again forces his mind to practical matters to keep it all from overwhelming him. His roaming gaze lands on a scar that looks fresh. He touches it carefully.

“What happened here?”

John looks up at him, annoyed. “Got hurt. ‘M fine now.”

“How’d you get hurt? Does—will this irritate it?”

“I said I’m fine.”

Rodney glares at John until he elaborates.

“Got it trying to find Teyla. The building was rigged to blow. Got pinned under rubble.”

Cold seeps through Rodney’s blood. “Oh, fuck, I had no idea—”

“You woulda told me if you knew. Not your fault. It was mine. Shoulda seen it coming.” John looks away. “When I was trapped I thought you—McKay was dead. Thought everything you did for me was pointless, because I fucked it up anyway.”

“John—”

“Are you gonna do this, or not?” John interrupts.

Right. Rodney focuses on the task at hand. John has a very nice cock that needs sucking. Rodney lowers himself and gets to work. He’s not as skilled as John, but he’s done this enough to be confident he won’t completely embarrass himself.

Oral has never been his favorite, no matter the genitals situation on his partners, but he believes strongly in the concept of if you’re going to do a thing, you might as well do it right, so he’s always tried to bring a level of dedication to this if he can’t muster that much passion; it’s a matter of personal and professional pride. He’s not sloppy about anything. He refuses to start now.

As he does his best to deep throat John’s cock—he’s never successfully desensitized his gag reflex—he finds it hard to maintain the detached focus he normally brings to oral. He’s too keyed up, pulse still racing, whole body hypersensitive. He can’t imagine getting hard again, but he wants to. The taste of John, the way he moves beneath Rodney, breaths hitching, hips bucking up like he wants to fuck Rodney’s mouth—he’s out of his mind. He doesn’t care that his knees and back ache; he could do this for hours.

“God, Rodney,” John pants, hand resting on the back of Rodney’s neck. “I—I hate the idea of you sucking off other guys, but—I can’t—argue with the results of—all that practice.”

It should have been with you, Rodney thinks, and now it can be, for him. He wouldn’t change a thing, because all of it led him here, kneeling between John’s thighs, the closest he’s ever gotten to worshiping something.

“’M close.” John’s voice is half whine. “You don’t have to—”

Rodney ignores him, savoring the sounds he makes as he tips over the edge, and the taste of his come. He sits up, back protesting, and wipes his mouth with his hand. “Not half bad for an old man, huh?”

“You’re not that old.” John’s eyes are half closed, his lips parted as he catches his breath. “Come here.”

Rodney moves forward, accepts the soft kiss John gives him. Its tenderness surprises him almost more than the rest of the night’s events.

“This isn’t settling,” John says, eyes closed.

“What?” Rodney is kneeling over John, which is getting uncomfortable. He shifts until they’re sitting side by side against the cold wall on this bed that’s too narrow for them both. Rodney wraps an arm around John’s shoulders, pulling him close.

“Earlier, you said I was settling for you. It’s not true.” John glances at him, then looks away. “You’re still him. You’re still my Rodney. And I—you were right. Your question, earlier.”

“You love him?”

“I love you both.” John delivers this line to the wall on the opposite side of where Rodney sits, as if he can’t bear to have Rodney in his peripheral vision while he admits it.

Gently, Rodney turns John’s chin so he can meet his eye. “What was it like, forty-eight thousand years in the future?”

“That’s your follow up to a love confession?”

“I confessed first, and your response was to pin me against a door only you can unlock.”

“It wasn’t that dramatic,” John huffs, “But, fine, the future was… horrible. When I got there and found the control room empty, and the ocean gone, I was terrified. I’ve never been so relieved in my entire life as I was when I heard your voice over the radio.”

“The ocean was gone? I didn’t plan for that.”

“We figured it out. Obviously.” John cups the side of Rodney’s face, staring at him with shining eyes. “I’ll probably have nightmares about it for the rest of my life, but you got me back.”

Rodney kisses him again, because he wants to, and he can. Then he asks, “How long have you been into me?”

“You’re unbelievable, McKay.”

“I’m going to assume since the day we met, then—”

John looks caught out.

“Holy shit, really? Love at first sight?”

“It wasn’t love, asshole.” John slaps his shoulder playfully. “I just wanted you to bend me over that Ancient chair and fuck me. I was going through one hell of a long dry spell. The love came later.”

“How much later?”

“I shouldn’t be encouraging this.”

“Twenty-five years, John. You owe me.”

“How long are you going to trot that out to get your way?” John is smiling despite the bite in his words.

“At least another twenty-five years. Come on. Indulge me.”

“Fine. When you walked into the middle of that deadly shadow-creature-thing to try to save everyone on Atlantis. That’s… that’s when I started to fall for you.”

“Oh.” That was so long ago, but Rodney still recalls the visceral terror of it, and the calm certainty that he was the only one who had a chance of stopping disaster. There’d been no question. “You should tell McKay all this. It’ll sweep him off his feet.”

“You really think he’s ready for that? Were you?”

Rodney frowns. As much as he wants to tell John that yes, of course the McKay of this moment in time is fully capable of understanding his own queerness and accepting John’s love, it wouldn’t be true. “He’ll freak out if you come at him directly. We have to boil him like a frog.”

“Does that have something to do with the tea thing? The boiling-a-frog metaphor?”

“I don’t think so. Anyway, I know I’m susceptible to FOMO.”

John groans. “I thought I banned you from using slang no one else knows.”

“Come on, that one’s easy. It stands for fear of missing out.”

“You think we can, what? Make him jealous?” John raises his eyebrows.

“He’s already jealous. I can up the stakes. I’ll seduce him, fuck him a couple times, teach him how to suck dick, let him fuck me some—are you okay?”

John is coughing, choking on his own saliva apparently. “’M fine. Just. Imagining that—keep going with the plan. Seems really solid so far.”

“You don’t think I can seduce myself? I’m offended.”

“You’re not worried he’ll think it’s weird or gross?” John asks.

“I know he won’t, because I don’t, and we’re the same person, separated by a few decades.”

“Decades during which you were fucking your way through every gay guy within a hundred miles.” John is still mad about the apps, which is kind of endearing, in an obnoxious way.

“Grow up. If you had access to Grindr, you’d be with a different man every night. It helped me scratch an itch every once in a while, and I stopped using it years ago.”

“It’s called grinder? Wait, never mind. I don’t want any details. Get back to the FOMO plan.”

“At his age, I was in full denial, but it only took a guy buying me a few drinks and blowing me in the washroom to realize. I can be that person for McKay.”

“Drunk sex in a public restroom?” John wheezes. “That was your first time with a guy?”

“You had four years to romance me, and you failed to do so. Sorry I didn’t wait around for rose petals and champagne and gentle lovemaking.”

John leans back and scowls at Rodney. “I didn’t wanna risk our friendship. Among other things.”

Rodney’s stomach twists. “I was joking, John. I didn’t mean—I know why you never told me, even if it makes me angry that you were planning on spending the rest of your life that way.”

John’s gaze flicks down, then he freezes. He’s staring at Rodney’s chest.

“What? Did I get come on my shirt?” Rodney glances down, then realizes his mistake. He’s wearing John’s shirt. The decal on it is faded almost to invisibility.

“Is that… mine?” John reaches out as if to touch the worn fabric, but stops.

“Yeah, well, I borrowed a few things once I realized you weren’t… coming back for them.” Rodney doesn’t know why this is so embarrassing, but his face is hot.

“Sure. Makes sense. Didn’t think they’d hold up.” His eyes roam over the shirt, then snag on the spot Rodney knows has a visible mend. He fixed it himself, and he’s never been that good with a needle, even after watching ten instructional videos.

“I—I did my best to preserve them. Only wore them when I was really, uh, missing you, which sounds so depressing when I say it out loud and I also had a panic attack the first time one of them got a hole but I managed to keep them all wearable, and the flannel I borrowed, too, but I guess you don’t exactly need them back since you have newer duplicates here.” Rodney should really have learned when to stop talking by now.

Every word he rambles makes John tense up more. He springs out of bed, grabbing his boxers.

“What’s wrong? Are you mad I took some of your things?”

“No, Rodney.” John turns, wearing only boxers and those fucking dog tags. They’re like a burning beacon, symbolizing why John is here in the first place, and why he can’t be happy. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Oh, right, that’s why Rodney stopped having hope. It hurts so goddamn much when it gets ripped away. He stands and approaches John. He’s never been a quitter, not for the things that matter, and he’s not starting now.

“Do what?” Rodney demands.

“Us. You and me. Me and him.” John rubs his eyes. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me. There’s a reason I don’t do relationships. I’m not really worth the trouble.”

“How is you telling McKay how you feel going to cause him trouble? Look, I get that it—it won’t be easy, considering, but—spoiler alert—Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is going away in a couple years. You won’t have to hide forever.”

Something crosses John’s face too quick to parse, then it’s blank again. “This… plan is a bad idea. We should leave McKay to either figure it out or not. I don’t wanna back him into a corner.”

“If you don’t want to tell him, I will.”

“No you fucking won’t,” John nearly shouts. “It’s—it’s my call who I tell. Jesus, I never should’ve opened the door. Shouldn’t have told you anything. You can never drop things.”

Rodney swallows. He’s seen John terrified before—they nearly died enough it’s a familiar expression—but this is worse. The animal panic of a man about to lose everything.

“Fine, I won’t tell him. But I’m doing the plan, and he’s going to realize how he feels.”

“Doesn’t matter how either of you feels. We’re done, Rodney.” John shakes his head and turns away. “Don’t come back here in the middle of the night again.”

“Because you’re not worth the trouble?”

John doesn’t answer. He picks up a t-shirt and pulls it on. It’s the same one Rodney is wearing.

“Twenty-five years, John. I get to decide what’s worth my efforts.” Rodney heads to the door. This time he’s really leaving, even if he has to rewire it to get out.

The door opens without resistance. As furious as he is, Rodney smiles to himself, because John might be getting cold feet now that the post-orgasm haze is wearing off, but Rodney knows FOMO will work on John, too, and he can boil two frogs in the same pot as easily as one.