the real McCoy

Fox Mulder all but threw a cardboard box on John's desk. John gave him a look and asked, "What's that?"

Fox pointed at the box, one hand on his hip and smug look on his face. Then loud enough for people sitting at their desks to hear, he said, "Those are all your shampoos, hair gels, conditioners, waxes and that clay thing you use. After all, being in the FBI is all about the look."

Next to him, Scully looked a little embarrassed with her 'I do not know this guy' smile. "What happened to 'we're not making a scene', Mulder?"

Fox smiled. "We're not making a scene, Scully, I am."

John got up from the desk, so he and Fox could be eye to eye. He smiled. "Thank you, I appreciate it."

Fox stared at him and then smiled. "Oh, I get this. This is where he's polite and I look like that freak that works in the basement."

"Okay, time to go," Scully said, pulling Fox's arm.

He pulled away. "No no, I'm cool, we're cool, right?"

John nodded. "Yes, we're cool. Thank you for bringing by my stuff."

Fox gave a bright smile. "Any time. I'll bring your well worn copy of Sleepless in Seattle later," he said loudly. John heard a few snickers. Fox walked away with Scully at his side, glaring and shaking her head.

John couldn't resist. He shouted out. "Thanks. I'll keep your dresses ready!"

Fox turned around, walking backwards and clapping. "John Sheppard, everyone, FBI."

Lorne sidled up to John. "You know, you could've let him walk away. You just had to add the thing about the dresses. Seriously though, is all this junk yours?"

"Listen, Lorne," John said ignoring the questions. "We're partners, right? Friends?"

"I told you before, we can't kill him and make it look like suicide."

"We're FBI. Cover-ups are in the manual."

Lorne pointed at John. "No." John sighed and sat down as Lorne nosed around in the box and pulled out a tub. "This clay stuff really work?"

“That guy's such a jerk,” John said, slumping in his seat as Lorne opened up the tub of clay, giving it a cautionary sniff.

“How do you use something that smells so bad on your hair?” Lorne asked, replacing the lid and tub. “Hey, we've got a new case no one else wants.”

“It's not sewage related again, is it?” John asked.

“Worse,” Lorne said. “Someone took a shot at some Russian pianist. We're babysitting.”

John slumped further into his chair. “I hate babysitting.”

Lorne dangled a pair of panties in front of his face. “Hey. These yours?”

John glared at the panties and called Fox an asshole.

They arrived at a plush building, smelling of coffee and still reading up on the details of their case as they rode the elevator. There were policemen stationed outside the apartment door, rolling their eyes at Lorne and John when the FBI badges came out. The apartment interior was spilling with expensive minimalism, a grand piano taking the place of pride in front of glass doors that opened out onto a balcony overlooking the city. The other most noticeable thing about the apartment was a large portrait over the fireplace of a man with intense blue eyes, sharp features and a focused edge about his mouth.

John turned away from it when he heard arguing before a pair of doors opened and the man in the portrait walked out, followed by a pair of plain clothes detectives (John was judging by the donut pouches and creased coats). They stopped when they saw John and Lorne. John stared at the angry man. He didn't look any less attractive than his portrait, just a little less hair on top perhaps. And a whole lot more angry.

Meanwhile, Lorne said, “Mr. Ridley McCoy?"

"Rodney McKay!"

"I'm Agent Evan Lorne, this is my partner Agent John Sheppard." He flipped open his badge at the same time as John. "F... BI."

"Oh god," McKay looked twice as distraught as minutes ago. Then he realised John was kind of staring at him and stared back. After a while, he finally snapped and said, “What?”

John cocked a thumb at the portrait. “You keep a painting of yourself on the mantel?”

McKay's features softened into some kind of despair before he said, “No no no,” and turned to the detectives. “He's going to keep me safe from lunatics trying to kill me? I don't think so.”

“Also, you're not as Russian as I expected,” John added, while Lorne possibly planted his hand on his own face.

McKay spun around and stared at John. “Oh, this is not happening!”

John gave McKay his most charming smile. “I think it is.”

While Agent Lorne seemed to be doing important things like checking the apartment for security risks and asking pertinent questions about anything that might compromise Rodney's safety, Agent Sheppard was sat on the couch staring at the portrait on the wall.

“I swear, it follows you around the room,” he said, tilting left and right.

Rodney stepped between Sheppard and the portrait. “People are trying to kill me.”

“Any reason why that might be?” Sheppard asked with a curious little frown.

Rodney felt his stomach drop. “You're kidding me, right?”

Sheppard made a face. “We're kind of only here to take a bullet for you. No one's actually told us more than they really have to, which leads me to believe it must be something big and something someone would like to get credit for while Lorne and I--”

“Take a bullet me for me, yes,” Rodney said thoughtfully. “So, you'd do that? Take a bullet.”

Sheppard shrugged. “Kind of part of the job. Everyone else gets to do all the cool stuff like tapping phones and violating civil rights.”

Rodney nodded. “That is good to know. Can I get you a highly caffeinated beverage to keep you alert and on your toes?”

“No, I'm good. How about you tell me why you're not Russian?”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “I'm supposed to be touring with the Russian Philharmonic. Doesn't mean I am Russian. Only problem is that since the minute we touched down in America people have been trying to ram me off the road, shoot out my tires and most recently shoot out the lights at a rehearsal, killing my piano in the process. It's why I'm hiding here instead of preparing to perform.”

John frowned. “Since you touched down?”

Rodney nodded. “I got back from Moscow about two weeks ago. I was coming back from dinner with my sister, in New York, when it happened the first time. This black car tried to drive me off the road. Only the police came out of nowhere. Thankfully.”

“So, you've been having problems since New York,” Sheppard said with a nod.

Rodney sighed. “I've been complaining about the Russian weather for two years. I can't think of a better place right now.”

Sheppard got up and gave Rodney's arm a nudge. “Hey. You got nothing to worry about. Lorne and I are going to make sure no one even gets within breathing distance of you. You're in safe hands McKay.”

Rodney nodded at Sheppard, swallowing as he wondered why he suddenly trusted this man so much. To be honest, it was probably for purely shallow reasons.

Later on, John kind of felt bad about his promise. In the middle of the night a fire alarm emptied out the whole building and John found two intruders in the apartment, dressed to be shadows in the dark. Shadows with guns. Lorne took one of them down while John managed to get the other one before McKay switched the lights on and pretty much endangered all their lives. A gunshot rang out, the lights went back out and John was chasing someone out of the apartment before a blow to the head had him falling on his face and rolling down a fire escape.

As ever, when John came to he was glad he'd simply sustained a blow to the head rather than something more fatal. The lights were on and he could hear Lorne on the phone and the murmur of police officers. Lorne was throwing a magnificent hissy fit, telling someone to shove the classified parts of the case up their ass since he, McKay and John could have been killed.

John opened his eyes when he felt someone toying with his hair. Fox had never toyed with John's hair, but that was probably because he loved his own so much. John saw McKay sitting on the coffee table, peering at John's head.

“Hey,” John said, squinting at the other man as he slowly began to sit up.

McKay shoved him back on the couch. “You have a pretty nasty bump on the head. I'd stay where you are.”

John grimaced, feeling for the bump and finding a sizeable and tender mound near the back of his head. “What happened?”

“Well, apparently, they got into my apartment,” McKay said, looking a little shaken.

John watched the other man closely. “Yeah. They did.”

McKay seemed to deflate where he sat. “What do they want from me?”

“Well, considering me and Lorne are being kept out of some kind of loop, I figure there's some big reason,” John said. “We just need to find out what it is.”

McKay nodded. “Right. If we make it that far.”

John sat up, a bit more determined. “I've got an idea.”

Rodney stepped into the motel room and instantly wanted step right back out. He could tell this was one of those places that turned up on TV shows that took great glee in pointing out all the invisible bodily fluids not cleaned away.

Sheppard turned and looked at Rodney. “Coming in?”

Rodney looked at the doorway where he stood. “In? There?”

Sheppard sighed, taking Rodney's arm and pulling him into the room. “Look, I know it's not much, but for now, it's the safest place for you.”

Rodney swallowed. “Not according to the documentaries I've seen.”

“And look,” Sheppard said with a grin, walking to the other side of the bed and pointing to a coin slot. “It vibrates.”

Rodney stared at the bed and thought of how many people must have used that bed. While it vibrated. Then for some reason he looked up at the ceiling and wondered if anyone ever cleaned it. “This is turning out to be a really bad day,” he said weakly.

Sheppard came up to Rodney and placed his hand on Rodney's shoulder. “Got a quarter?”

Sheppard seemed too at ease in this motel room, whereas Rodney found it hard to navigate the room without touching anything. There was a small bathroom the size of a closet and Rodney decided against using the facilities. They looked clean in the way something looked dirty despite looking clean.

When he came back out, he saw Sheppard lying on the bed, tie loosened and jacket thrown over the back of a wooden chair in front of a small wooden table. Sheppard was lying back with his eyes closed, sighing a little.

“Are you sure that's sanitary?” Rodney asked, making a face.

Sheppard opened his eyes and lifted his head to look at Rodney. “I'm pretty sure nothing in this motel is sanitary.”

Rodney closed his eyes, swallowed and took a deep breath, ignoring the part of his brain that said germs, germs, germs, other people's germs.

“Come on, I'm kidding,” Sheppard said, getting up from the bed as it stopped vibrating. “Hop on. Give it a shot.”

Rodney blankly stared at the bed. “I'd rather not, thank you. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'd rather stick my tongue in an electrical socket.”

Sheppard looked around the room. “I wouldn't. You have no idea what other people might have stuck in there before you. You hungry? Lorne should be back soon.”

“I think I just lost my appetite.”

Sheppard offered a smirk, opening his mouth to say something else that would freak Rodney out when someone knocked on the door. Instantly, Sheppard pulled out his gun from his holster, body trained and ready as he headed to the door, motioning to Rodney get out of the line of fire if someone were to take aim from the door.

“Who is it?” Sheppard called out.

“It's me and Scully. Open up, jackass,” a toneless voice called back.

Sheppard made a face and lowered the gun, turning to Rodney to say, “It's Agents Mulder and Scully. Nothing to worry about.” Sheppard started to open the door and paused, turning back again to say, “And Mulder's a total ass.”

When the door was opened, a man barged right into the motel room, a petite woman walking in behind him slowly, looking incredibly bored.

“You have my information, Agent Mulder?” Sheppard asked innocently.

The man, who Rodney assumed was Mulder launched into some huge complaint just as Scully came to Rodney's side and said, “This won't take too long, Mr. McKay. It usually tapers off after a few days of intense domestic squabbling.”

Rodney frowned at her. “Domestic squabbling?”

Scully nodded. “Yes. They're calling it a relationship. That's probably the crux of the problem.”

“...and now all my shirts are pink except for this one!” Mulder snapped at Sheppard who smiled and shrugged. “Oh, you think that's funny? You're a funny guy?”

“Maybe you just don't have a sense of humour,” Sheppard drawled.

“Not many people do after watching Sleepless in Seattle thirty-seven times,” Mulder said, making Sheppard stiffen, his mouth clamping into a thin line.

“Stop telling people that,” Sheppard warned. “It's not funny and it's really old.”

“So is telling people my first relationship was with a blow up doll called Brandon,” Mulder snapped.

Scully yawned and turned to Rodney. “How are you doing, Mr. McKay?”

Rodney blinked. “I'd rather be at home.”

Scully nodded. “You know, I think I saw this motel on the evening news.”

“That's... not comforting at all,” Rodney said.

She smiled and patted his arm. “Well, hopefully whoever's trying to kill you will hear Mulder and Sheppard and run for their lives.”

Rodney stared.

“Hey, is that my shirt too?” Mulder snapped. “You're wearing my shirt?”

Sheppard said, rather snidely, “I can't remember. On account of them all looking the same.”

“It's the FBI, Naomi, not a catwalk,” Mulder said. “I want it back.”

“You can't have it back, I'm wearing it,” Sheppard said, giving Mulder a 'you are totally stupid look'.

“Well take it off,” Mulder said with a nod.

“Forget it!” Sheppard replied.

“Oh god... I hate it when they do this,” Scully said.

“Do what?” Rodney asked and then saw Mulder go for Sheppard's shirt buttons and Sheppard go for Mulder's hands and suddenly they were wrestling each other, Mulder trying to get the shirt off and Sheppard trying to pull off Mulder's jacket for some unknown reason.

“Shouldn't we stop them?” Rodney asked, wincing when Sheppard went down hard with a thump, Mulder on his back and pulling the shirt out of his pants, Sheppard trying to drive his elbows back into the other man.

“They usually wear themselves out in a few minutes,” Scully said, taking out her cellphone. “You had dinner yet?”

“No,” Rodney said, watching Sheppard buck Mulder off and try to move out of his grasp, only Mulder caught him by the waistband of his pants and brought him right back down, both of them calling each other colourful names.

“Pizza sound good?” Scully asked.

Rodney winced at the sound of something tearing. “Seriously, I think they're going to kill each other.”

Scully turned away and ordered the pizzas just as Sheppard grabbed Mulder's tie in an attempt to pull it off his head. It was perhaps the most girly fight Rodney had ever seen. These were the people protecting him from death?

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Lorne said, suddenly walking in and shutting the door behind him, dropping a bag of groceries on the floor. Scully shut her phone in time to see him and smile.

Lorne asked, “What the hell is going on here?”

“Ordering pizza. We're starving,” Scully said, motioning to herself and Rodney. Lorne gave her a look and she sighed, rolling her eyes. “Fine.”

Lorne grabbed Sheppard around the waist and pulled him off of Mulder as Sheppard reached out for the other man. Mulder lunged up from the floor, but Scully stepped in his way smoothly, placing a hand on his chest.

“Out of my way, Scully, I'm on fire.”

“No you're not, Mulder, I didn't see you land a single slap,” Scully said, earning a glare. Then she reached up and yanked off his tie from around his forehead where it had been stuck for the last minute.

Meanwhile Sheppard shrugged off Lorne and smoothed down his torn shirt. Both men glared at each other. Sheppard was about to head in Mulder's direction, but Lorne grabbed him and shoved him towards the corner of the room, making him face the wall and patting his shoulder.

Mulder opened his mouth to say something and Scully said, “Mulder? No.”

Mulder stopped, biting his bottom lip and then nodded.

Rodney sank down on the edge of the bed and sighed. “I'm screwed.”

“NID?” McKay was asking fifteen minutes late.

Scully had managed to establish a no-fight zone and gather agreement on pizza toppings before they sat down to the reason she and Mulder were there. She and Mulder were sharing the foot of the bed, John lying near the coin slot and Lorne and Rodney occupying chairs.

Mulder was nodding as he spoke. “It took a lot of digging through various layers of subterfuge, but it looks like the NID has taken a recent interest in Mr. McKay's activities since about two weeks ago. But, I haven't been able to ascertain exactly what their agenda is yet.”

McKay looked stricken where he sat on the chair by the bed. “ This doesn't make sense.”

John gave a slow nod. “Layers of subterfuge are kind of his area of expertise. I'd go with it.”

Fox shot John a dirty look as McKay slumped a little. “This makes no sense. I'm a pianist. What the hell do I have to do with this NID?”

“Well, that's the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question,” Scully said simply.

Mulder grabbed a slice of pizza and got up. “Look, if we get more information, we'll let you know. Someone's obviously trying to cover something up here.”

Scully got up and wrinkled her nose at McKay. “Mulder hates that.”

“Hate deception and conspiracy, Scully? Yes, yes I do hate that. A man's life is at stake here.”

“You want to drive down to that library to check on that tip now?” Scully asked Mulder.

Mulder seemed to forget McKay and headed for the door as he said, “Let's move.”

Sheppard rolled his eyes as Mulder and Scully left, Lorne closing the door behind them. He came back and sat down on the edge of the bed newly vacated by the departed agents. “How are you holding up?” he asked McKay.

McKay made a face. “There are gun toting maniacs after me and I have no idea why. Take a wild guess.”

John took out a quarter from his pocket and held it out over the small slot on the box by the bed. “Come on, take your mind off of things. I swear, it helps.”

Lorne was doing more of his obsessive perimeter scouring while Sheppard lay on the bed, Rodney beside him, bed happily vibrating under them.

“So, you and Agent Mulder,” Rodney said. “Problems?”

“Not really,” Sheppard said. Then quite nonchalantly he added, “Well, one. He's an ass and I hate him.”

Rodney nodded. “Oh. He seems complicated.”

Sheppard turned to look at Rodney. “Yeah?”

Rodney nodded. “Sure. Kind of intense.”

Sheppard pointed at Rodney. “Yes. Too intense. Waking up in the middle of the night and coming back freezing cold kind of intense.” Rodney chuckled. “Not to mention he has duct tape on his window and a thing for Scully.”

Rodney raised his brows at Sheppard. “Oh?”

Sheppard narrowed his eyes. “Oh, he has a thing. Trust me.”

“I dunno,” Rodney said. “Agent Mulder said I shouldn't do that with anyone.”

Sheppard snorted. “He says that a lot.”

John had a hunch early in the morning and when the black car turned up in front of the motel, three men running inside and then reappearing outside several minutes later, John was glad his hunch pay off.

“That is not good,” Lorne said flatly from behind the steering wheel of their rental.

“Of course not,” McKay said from the back seat. “It's great. We're out here alive instead of in there being killed. Now let's celebrate by driving to the border.”

John turned his seat to look at McKay. “It's not good because they knew where we were, Rodney.”

McKay looked frustrated and tired. “So... so let's go somewhere without telling your superiors. It's obvious the people after me have someone on the inside.”

Lorne poked John's shoulder and he turned back to see the black car in the distance drive away just as his cellphone rang. He picked it up and tried not to make too many faces as he listened to Mulder. Once Mulder had finished making everything twice as long as it had to be, John finally did roll his eyes and snapped the phone shut. He looked at Lorne who had a knowing smirk on his face.

Then John turned to McKay and said, “McKay, what exactly is the nature of your sister's employment with the Air Force?”

McKay frowned at him and Lorne, shrugging and answering, “I dunno. Deep space telemetry or something.” Lorne and John watched him for a moment longer. “What?”

“Look, you said yourself, all this stuff started happening after you saw your sister in New York. Doesn't it strike you a little odd that that FBI swooped right in on this instead of giving the police a chance to screw up first?” Sheppard asked.

Rodney was still rifling through his things to find a picture of Jeannie, pretending not to listen. “Well, for what's it worth, I'd rather not be protected by people who are going to screw up.”

Sheppard grabbed Rodney's hand before it reached for another desk draw. Sheppard gently pushed him away from the desk, stepping between it and Rodney.

“Rodney,” he said, the name rolling off his tongue like he'd known Rodney forever. “My superiors aren't going to tell me anything considering they think I'm a colossal screw up who doesn't even deserve a basement filled with crazy cases no one else wants. If you know anything, you have to tell me, or I can't help you. Look, you've got the FBI hanging out with you, you've got the NID sniffing around and every time we report our position to my superiors the people after you turn up. We need answers to make these people go away. There's no reason any of these people should be in your life. You know, unless you're some kind of spy or something.” John was quiet for a moment, frowning at Rodney. “You're not, are you?”

“No!” Rodney snapped.

“Hey, it pays to make sure,” John said.

“Look, Jeannie says she's involved with deep space telemetry, but she's never really been talkative about her job and for Jeannie to not be talkative about something, that's weird. You think she might be in trouble?”

John shook his head. “I wish I had an answer for that.”

Rodney blinked. “That's... not comforting at all.”

“Look, forget the picture. For all we know, the minute we run it through they might pull us off the case if they think it's too big for me and Lorne,” John said. “Cheyenne Mountain, right?” Rodney nodded. “Right. Well, I'm sure she has an answering machine.”

“What about Agent Mulder? He'll let you know if he finds anything, right?” Rodney asked.

John's ears seemed to colour as he looked shifty. “He's kind of following up a weird case right now.”

“What do we do until then?” Rodney asked. “We can't stay here. Not while people are after me. Oh my god, your kooky ex is right. We can't trust anyone.”

“You can trust me and Sheppard, McKay.” Lorne walked into the study. “Let's get out of here. I called the office and told them we're headed to a safe house.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Which is stupid because one of your guys is forwarding everything you know to the NID or whoever's after me or both if they happen to be the same people.”

Lorne shrugged. “I know. I didn't say we were going there. Come on. I have an idea.”

John watched with amusement as Lorne's young niece settled on the couch, sitting next to Rodney, and just watched him. Rodney turned to her and offered a polite if uncomfortable looking smile before saying, “Hi.”

John held back a smile as the young girl nodded, saying in the politest five-year-old tone, “I'm Stephanie. Are you Uncle Lorne's friend?”

“Well, I like to think of myself as a friend of anyone who wants to save my life,” Rodney said candidly.

John felt someone pulling his sleeve and he looked to the side to see Stephanie's brother leaning against the armchair. He simply said, “Your friend's weird.”

“Well, Ryan, he's a little tense at the moment,” John said with a nod. “Like that time you broke your uncle's phone and then we pretended we didn't know what happened.”

Ryan grinned, stifling a giggle behind his hand before running off into Lorne who simply picked him up and threw him over his shoulder, affectionately asking him if he was being trouble before putting him down and letting him run away. Lorne sat down on the couch, pulling Stephanie to him who happily snuggled up to her uncle's side and set to smoothing her doll's hair.

“We okay?” John asked.

Lorne nodded. “We're good. In fact, we're staying the night here.”

Rodney looked at Stephanie and then Lorne. “Is that safe?”

John didn't know if Rodney caught the lie in Lorne's eyes as he replied, “Don't worry, McKay. You'll be fine.”

“What about your sister and the kids?” John asked.

“They're staying over at a friend's house tonight,” Lorne said, giving John an even look.

Rodney looked to Lorne and John. “What?”

Rodney really wanted John and Lorne to quit telling him to relax. If they had any observation skills at all, they would have known that telling a McKay to relax usually made him or her do the opposite. Like seek out a baseball bat in someone else's house and cling to it before going to bed. There was nothing to relax about. He was stuck in someone else's house and lying in a racing car shaped bed. No world class pianist deserved to die like this. At the very least, John should have offered to sleep with Rodney.

Rodney frowned up at the dark planetary ceiling wondering when the least the FBI had to offer had started to look like less hair with comforting smiles and more lean slim man that had a totally hot frame for those stuffy suits. Especially when he did that thing with the hands on the hips that pushed his jacket back. Rodney didn't exactly know what was so attractive about that, but it sure has hell shut him up in the middle of not relaxing. Many times.

Agents Sheppard and Lorne were downstairs, where he had left them looking cagey and about as unreadable as a long book in the middle of nowhere. Not very. They were up to something, tense and a little worried. It made Rodney tense and worried. He had specifically told the first FBI man he met that he was already tense and worried and that joker had gotten him babysitters who couldn't hide a rattle let alone their reservations about Rodney's safety. Right now the only thing that was calming Rodney the slightest amount was that hand on the hip thing. Also maybe the odd bottom lip licking thing. Okay, maybe quite a few John Sheppard things.

Rodney sighed, holding the borrowed baseball bat closer. For once he wasn't going to complain that hockey was better than baseball. He wouldn't have felt half as safe with a hockey stick in his hands. Not that it mattered because the loud thunder like noise downstairs wasn't made less terrifying holding a bat. Rodney sat up in the little bed, bat close to his chest and listened to the noise. Loud thumping. Shots fired. Definitely shots fired. And John was down there. Well, Lorne too, but especially John. Not that one person could be in a place more especially than another... still. John.

Rodney swallowed down his fear, gripping the bat. It was stupid going down into the fray, but if John and Lorne got hurt, the attackers would come up anyway. Also, Rodney was pretty sure that Agents Lorne and Sheppard would come to his aid whether they were armed with heavy artillery or blunt toothpicks. So he crept out of the room and towards the stairs as quietly as possible, bat ready to swing. Edging down he could make out shapes in the dark. Someone was standing with their back to the stairs, holding out a gun in front. Rodney swallowed, really not wanting to kill another human being, but... damn it he had a gun.

Rodney swung hard and the man fell. He stood watching in the shadows for a moment. The fallen man lay on the ground, still. And then groaning quietly. Not dead, good enough. Rodney jumped over him and took the gun, continuing to stay in the shadows, out of harms way where he could more efficiently cause harm.

“Hey! Over there!”

“Crap,” Rodney muttered when he caught a shadowy hand pointing at him.

Thinking fast, Rodney flung his bat across the room where it hit the pointer in the head, sending him to the ground. Rodney stared into the dark for a moment before realising there was a gun in his hand and then rolling his eyes at himself.

“Rodney! Get down!” John yelled from somewhere before someone was flying right at him and a gun was going off and there was more yelling and the lights were coming on and there footsteps and angry voices everywhere.

Rodney would have gotten up and freaked out, not that he needed to get up to do that - he'd been doing that in various positions for several days now – only John was lying on top of him, his curvy mouth making shapes against Rodney's throat. Shapes that would have felt pleasant if there weren't a corresponding quiet moan that wasn't quite held back.

“Oh my god,” Rodney spluttered, grabbing John firmly and turning so John lay on the floor. Rodney sat up on his knees and looked over John, finding a big read splotch spreading further across his white shirt, just above his hip, all up his left side. “Lorne,” Rodney managed to grate out, hating the dazed and pain filled look in John's eyes.

Lorne came to his side in seconds. His face looked as though someone had taken a swing at him and there was definitely a damp patch on his arm where something had made a hole in his jacket.

“Vests,” Rodney spat. “You're supposed to wear those stupid vests.”

Lorne was busy being pale and shaky as he pulled out John's shirt and examined the wound before sighing a little as he took off his jacket and rolled it up before stuffing it under John's head. “No time for that, McKay. This was all went down pretty quick. Get me a towel or something will you? Hey, someone call an ambulance.”

Rodney stared at John a little more. He little slightly less dazed and a little more annoyed. “Is he going to be okay.”

Lorne made a face. “He gets shot a lot. That's pretty much the only place he hasn't been shot. It was going to happen sooner or later. He's going to be fine.”

Rodney sighed, sinking against the wall as someone waved a towel in front of him. He took it and handed it to Lorne before looking up and saying, “Thanks, Jeannie.”

Then he froze for a moment before he began to shout. A lot.

“Did we get them?” John asked, not really sure if he'd already asked that.

“With a little help,” Lorne nodded from where he loomed over John.

The ambulance took another corner fast, making John want to throw up. “Hey, could you tell those guys to go slower?” he complained. Someone shut his mouth by putting an oxygen mask over it.

Lorne stared at him before looking away and staring at the pretty red-haired paramedic. She smiled and said, “Don't worry. I think your friend's going to be okay.”

Lorne smiled and nodded. “Hopefully. Hey, it's Katie, right?”

Katie might have beamed. “I wasn't sure if you remembered. You're Evan, right?”

“Right,” Lorne said, looking a little pink. Pink FBI agents, John thought. No wonder he and Lorne got the crap pile of cases, with the exception of Rodney of course. “You were the paramedic when that whole tree thing happened.”

John grimaced. Ugh, the tree thing. All over the papers. They couldn't go anywhere in the country without people saying 'hey Agent Sheppard, hey Agent Lorne'. It was so going to be an early retirement for them.

“Yeah,” Lorne laughed a little nervously. “That was pretty embarrassing.”

Katie squeezed Lorne's arm. “No, of course not. I think it made the FBI much more human and accessible.”

Lorne nodded. “That's what I told my superiors.”

Katie smiled. “I'm sure they agreed.”

Lorne frowned. “Actually, they told me that wasn't really the image they were going for. So, anyway, you still with that guy?”

Katie made a little face. “No. We had to call it off. He had to go to Peru. Well, he said he had to go to Peru, I think he just got sick of me.”

“No way. How could anyone get sick of you?” Lorne asked and either Katie had already pumped John full of good drugs or Lorne was actually glowing around the edges.

“Well,” Katie said looking a little embarrassed. “I kind of ran into him at Shiro's a week after we split.”

“Wow,” Lorne said. “What a douche.”

Katie nodded, wrinkling her nose. “Yeah. So, are you still seeing--?”

Lorne held up a hand. “No no no. No. You were right. Relationships in the work place always go bad. I mean, take a look at this guy,” Lorne said with a chuckle, cocking a thumb at John.

“You know what, Lorne, you're the douche,” John mumbled, his words probably lost in the oxygen mask.

Lorne patted him on the arm. “That's right, buddy, we got the bad guys.”

“You're an idiot too,” John said.

“So, listen,” Lorne said. “If you're not busy, how about we go see the Russian Philharmonic? They're in town, I've got two great tickets.”

Katie frowned. “Oh. I heard performances were cancelled. Something about Rodney McKay being very sick.”

Lorne waved it away. “Nope. I'm pretty sure everything's going to be back on track. I know people.”

Katie was biting her bottom lip for a moment before she said, “I'd love to, Evan. Oh my god, Evan, are you bleeding? Why didn't you say something?”

“Oh, it's nothing. Just a scratch. Didn't even feel it,” Lorne said.

When John laughed like a hyena into his oxygen mask, Katie stared at him and Lorne discreetly gave him the finger.

The ride to the hospital had consisted of Rodney shouting at Jeannie and a whole bunch of people he didn't know. There was more shouting at the hospital and then a little tired shouting outside of John's room. When the doctor said John would be fine, Rodney finally sank into a chair and stopped shouting to say, “Fine. Talk.”

Jeannie sighed and sat down next to him. She didn't much look like she'd been working with deep space telemetry. She was wearing covert mission type gear, Rodney had seen a gun in her hand and he had apparently knocked out one of her good friends, a very nice understanding lady called Teyla.

“Look, Mer, I can't tell you a lot,” Jeannie said quietly.

“People were trying to kill me. A man got shot saving my life. Screw your secret Wonder Woman lifestyle,” Rodney said tightly. Jeannie stared at him for a while before grabbing his arm and giving him a rope burn, causing him to shriek.

An agent assigned to John's room walked over and said, “Mr McKay. This is your last warning. Any more noise and I will be forced to sedate you.”

Rodney stared, holding his arm. “She started it!”

The agent held up a hand. “Inside voice.”

“This is my inside voice,” Rodney muttered as he returned to his post. Rodney glared at Jeannie. “Fine. Without divulging your precious secrets, using as less time as possible and only using the name Rodney, what the hell is going on here?”

Jeannie was looking at him, guilt in her eyes and no smart remark bouncing off Rodney's head. “I work for the Air Force. It's a top secret program. That's all I can tell you about that. The people chasing you? It was a mistake.”

Rodney stared. “Excuse me? A mistake. A man died!” he snapped.

Jeannie frowned. “No one died.”

“Fine, a piano died. A grand piano, one I love. Also, a man almost died.”

“The doctor said it was a pretty superficial wound,” Jeannie said.

Rodney stared some more. “Right. And you know all about that because you get shot all the time.”

Jeannie didn't say anything, but for the smallest fraction of a moment, her eyes widened, she swallowed and her mouth thinned out. She licked her lips and then smiled, just as she was about to lie about something.

“Oh my god,” Rodney murmured. “You've been shot? Why are people shooting at you?”

Jeannie moved a little closer, smoothing her hand down his back. “Hey, it's okay. I'm okay.”

Rodney deflated in his seat, leaning forward and cupping his face in his hands. “Great. While I'm sitting around playing a piano, people are trying to kill my sister.”

Jeannie pinched him, which made him a little angry at her, but just not as much as she probably wanted. “Rodney. You're not sitting around playing a piano. You're doing something you're great at and something you love. So am I. And I can take care of myself. I wouldn't give up this job for anything. Not even a Nobel.”

Rodney stared. “Are you on drugs?”

Jeannie grinned. “Just the good kind.” Jeannie looked at the FBI agent and added, “Oh, and legal, absolutely legal. I meant like a natural high, because that came out sounding totally wrong. I'm a Canadian citizen.”

Rodney slumped backwards in his chair, looking at Jeannie. She looked good. Happy. Healthy. Smug. Smug was always a good indicator of McKay health. “So, why was I being chased?”

Jeannie scrunched up her face. “Well, without divulging too much... I know a lot about stuff no one else knows. Stuff some people would like to know more about. Somehow these people managed to get a few specifics. A location, the name McKay, a date.”

“They saw us at the restaurant,” Rodney said.

“And they followed the wrong McKay,” Jeannie said. “They thought you were the guy they were looking for. When actually--”

“You were the guy,” Rodney said.

“The NID was tipped off that... a man whose identity I can't reveal, was looking for me so I could complete a project for him. The NID were trying to get to the people after you, to get to the project.”

“They were waiting for me to be kidnapped?” Rodney stared.

Jeannie shrugged. “I don't know. They're suddenly not very talkative. Your friends contacted Cheyenne and left a message for me when they couldn't get any answers. It was pretty short and succinct actually. NID, Rodney McKay, big trouble in little China. NID and Rodney McKay was all I needed to hear.”

Rodney finally mustered up a smile. “So, you turned up to save the day. Wonder Woman after all.”

Jeannie smiled back. “Yep, that's me. Anyway, you can go home and be safe now.”

“Not going to be easy knowing you're not,” Rodney said, feeling his face warm. Jeannie looked like she was going to comfort him, so he added, “So, do they know who was tipping off the bad guys?”

Jeannie shook her head. “No. The FBI are saying it's under investigation.”

Rodney snorted. “Totally burying the truth. Agent Mulder was right.”

Jeannie straightened up, “Agent Mulder? He's... he's not here is he?”

Rodney frowned. “He called to say he was on his way. Why?”

Jeannie looked shifty. “Oh, nothing. We're just not supposed to talk to him. He's kind of--”

“Intense?”

“Yeah,” Jeannie said with a knowing nod. She reached over and grabbed Rodney's hand and smiled then. “Hey, can I still visit for Christmas?”

Rodney narrowed his eyes at her. “So, who's this Teyla?”

Jeannie snapped her hand back and went back to looking shifty. “That's classified. I mean... a friend, a really good friend. Oh... shoot.”

When John saw Rodney again, the other man looked awful. There were dark circles under his eyes, his hair was extra fluffy and he needed a shave. John smiled and wiggled his fingers in a wave of sorts from where he lay.

“You okay?” John asked. “You don't look okay.”

Rodney seemed to think it over. “I feel awful. But, it's the least awful I've felt in weeks. So, you actually totally took a bullet for me. I don't know what to say.”

John shrugged. “I get shot a lot.”

Rodney looked past John's bed to see Lorne, passed out in a chair, his jacket acting as a useless blanket, arm sitting atop it with shirt sleeve torn to reveal a bandage. “You both got shot.”

“Hey,” John said. “The bullet just skimmed him. It went through me. There's a big difference.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Fine. You win the getting shot game.”

John smiled in victory. “So. Any idea what's going on?”

Rodney made a face. “Yes. And it's all very classified apparently.”

John felt that disappointment that came with all crap cases that ended up good and then ended up on someone else's desk.

Rodney was watching him. He sat down on the edge of the bed, “Well, apparently, my sister works for some top secret government project and in her words, knows a lot of stuff about important stuff and these people were out to get her, but went after the wrong guy and the NID were chasing me, to get to them to get some important project while the FBI were subverting the course of justice for their own agenda. In a nutshell,” Rodney said.

John stared. “Whoa.”

“You don't usually get cases like this, do you?” Rodney asked.

John shook his head. “Nope. It's why Lorne's exhausted. That and I think he made out with the paramedic who brought us here.”

“Lucky bastard,” Rodney said.

John was just about to ask Rodney if he was disappointed this whole ordeal hadn't ended with a make out session for him too when that goober Fox walked in with Scully, Fox looked quite exhilarated whereas Scully look fed up and tired. Both of them were covered in blue goo. They were so doing it.

“What the hell happened to you?” John asked.

Fox looked like he was going to explain, his eyes lighting up. Scully grabbed his arm and shook his head. “We are never going to talk about this. Ever.”

Rodney was sniffing Fox's shoulder. “Why do you smell like jell-o?”

“This is not the smell of jell-o, my friend, This is the smell of success,” Fox said, gripping Rodney's shoulder and leaving a trail of blue slime when he let go. Both men shared an awkward look for a moment.

Scully came around to Lorne's side and told John, “I heard you did good.”

John smiled. “Yes, we did.”

Scully smiled back. “Congratulations. You need a new partner?” She asked, eyes momentarily flicking to Fox.

John wrinkled his nose. “I'm kind of happy with Lorne.”

“A little too much if you ask me,” Fox said with a stupid smile. Then maybe a little confusingly gentle, he said, “Well, I'm glad you're okay. How about you leave off moving out for a bit? Until you're better.”

John shook his head, but smiled. “I'll be okay. I'll stay with Lorne.”

Fox nodded, not even pretending to put up a fight. “Okay. Well, let me know if you need anything.”

Scully gave John's knee a squeeze, smiling as she left, Fox following her out. Maybe they weren't doing it. It was all very confusing.

“Hey,” Rodney said. “Here's an idea. I'm kind of petrified of going back to my apartment right now and there's a guest bedroom. I wouldn't mind a little company. If that's not too weird for you.”

John thought about the fact that most of his belongings were under his desk and in his car. Also, Rodney was kind of... John kind of liked him. A lot.

John said. “Not weird at all. Also, I'm pretty sure it'll make Agent Jell-o jealous as hell.”

The thing Rodney noticed two days later was that out of all the boxes Lorne had put in John's temporary room, a lot of the boxes seemed to be labelled 'Fox's stuff'.

Rodney looked at Lorne as he shoved a final box into a corner, another of 'Fox's stuff'. Lorne just sighed and said, “Don't ask.”

Rodney nodded and followed Lorne out into the apartment. “Hey, you want a drink or something?”

Lorne shook his head. “Nah, I've got to run. Seeing Katie in a bit. Oh and, thanks for organising the tickets.”

Rodney gave a nod. “Well, thanks for getting in the way of oncoming bullets.”

Lorne gave a chuckle, patting John's shoulder as he walked into the apartment and Lorne left. John pointed at the door. “Some lady just yelled at me.”

Rodney shrugged. “She hates anyone coming in and out of this apartment. Mostly me. All your stuff's in your room.”

John nodded and sat down in the armchair in front of the TV. “Thanks.”

“Just one question--”

“Stuff I'm going to destroy or sell on eBay,” John said with a sweet smile.

Rodney considered that and said, “Well, whatever aids your recuperation.”

“Want to help?” John asked.

Rodney considered this too. “Yes. Yes, I would.”

A week later, after much shredding of garments and selling items on eBay, John was slumped on Rodney's big expensive couch, staring at a big expensive fireplace that had a big expensive portrait of Rodney over it. Rodney was calmly walking back and forth, cup of coffee in hand, looking very at ease, more than he had been in the last few days. Looking... normal. He had on a pair of dark cargo pants and a plain black T-shirt with writing too faded to read now. He was frowning into the distance, mumbling to himself. Then he sighed and finally looked down at John.

"Also... in the right light, you and Agent Mulder look creepily similar."

"Only because he uses my products," John said. “Maybe it's time to stop selling his stuff on eBay.” God how he hated that stupid 'I Want To Believe' poster.

"Also, I don't think he's jealous of you moving in with me. Your plan might be failing here," Rodney said thoughtfully, taking a seat next to John.

John gazed at Rodney, breathing in the expensive cologne, noticing his sturdy forearms, the muscle flexing. He really was pretty hot when not panicking.

"What?" Rodney asked quietly, noticing John staring. "Are you okay?" he said, looking at John's side. John nodded slowly. Rodney sighed and leaned back, patting John's leg. "I think it's time you gave the guy his ties back and moved on Agent Sheppard."

John grimaced. "They're kind of in pieces now."

Rodney seemed to find that too amusing. "Oh well. I'm sure they weren't very nice anyway. Also, you're quite the bunny boiler, aren't you?"

John made a face, sighing and looking at the magazine on the coffee table. “It was pretty much over the minute we started. I'm not even sure why we're so mad at each other."

"Hmm," Rodney mused. "I wish I could provide some insight into odd relationships, but honestly? I have no idea. From where I'm standing, two hot guys got together and realised there wasn't much beyond the hot."

John turned and stared at Rodney, who instantly appeared to regret what he said. "You think I'm hot?"

Rodney looked surprised. "Um... well, well yes. Of course."

John glared. "You could have said something."

"What?" Rodney looked confused. "Why?"

"I dunno. You know, it's not been a very good time for me lately. What with breaking up with Spooky and getting shot."

"Spooky?” John just shrugged. “Are you saying a compliment wouldn't go astray?" Rodney asked, very amused.

John nodded. "Sure. Everyone likes compliments."

"Well, I do apologise, miss."

John rolled his eyes. "Very funny. Hey remember that guy shooting up your piano during your rehearsal? Wasn't that funny?"

Rodney gave a dead serious look. "No. Not at all."

John smiled in victory and got up, holding a hand to his side. "Okay. I gotta go do a thing about an apartment."

"Hey, there's no rush," Rodney seemed to say too quickly. “It's just been days.”

John nodded. "I know, still, I don't want to impose."

"Well," Rodney hesitated. "I'd be lying if I said it hasn't been good having you here. Usually it's just me. It's been very good actually, come to think of it."

John nodded slowly. "Yeah. Except for that time your neighbour yelled at me."

"Mrs Myers? She does that to everyone," Rodney said, waving a hand at John. "I'm just saying. There's no rush."

John nodded and smiled. "Thanks."

Rodney got up and rubbed his hands together. "Now. Any garments you'd like a hand in shredding?"

John smiled at Rodney, knowing he had someone special.

Rodney sat up with a start like many of the nights since the whole ordeal finally came to an end. Only on this occasion, someone was sitting on his bed watching him. Rodney felt an odd warm presence on his arm, like someone was still shaking him awake.

Rodney swallowed, taking a deep breath. “Woke you, huh?”

The shadow nodded. “Just a bit. You all right?”

Rodney gave a nod. “Great. You know, not dead is always great.”

Another nod from the shadow before John suddenly fell back on the bed and swiftly moved under the covers, moving a pillow into better place under his head.

“Wha... what are you doing?” Rodney asked.

“Sleeping,” John said simply. “Look, I'm here, I'm tired and if you start yelling again I can just kick you.”

Rodney stared at the settled lump, nodding mutely and lying back down. Moments later his heart calmed and he closed his eyes again.

“That sounded pretty bad,” John said quietly.

“Yeah,” Rodney said.

“What'd you dream about?” John asked.

Rodney tried not to dwell on it too much. “Mostly? Jeannie getting shot. Sometimes you. Even Lorne once. Lots of shooting actually.”

John didn't say anything. Something Rodney appreciated a great deal. Though, a moment later he gave Rodney a friendly pat on the chest, his palm warm and reassuring. Rodney, possibly in a more than friendly manner, grabbed John's hand and maybe held it to his chest for a moment. He considered it a good sign when John didn't pull away.

Next morning, Rodney found John in the living room, absently drinking coffee and staring at the portrait above the mantel piece.

“I know,” Rodney said with a smile. “It doesn't even look like me.”

John turned around, surprise making his eyes look clear and bright. He shrugged, offering a soft smirk. “I prefer the real McCoy.”

Rodney snorted and headed to the piano, his face a little too flushed for such a cool morning.

It was the middle of the night when John jerked awake because he was dreaming about getting shot again. In the midst of it all, Rodney was playing a piano, Fox was quite heroically running towards John and Scully was dressed like a geisha. He woke up sweating and disoriented, but the piano didn't fade with his dream.

He sat for a while, listening to a slow sombre piece drifting into the room. It was light, the notes tinkling, but slow, lower notes accompanying, mournful. It was a terribly sad piece for three in the morning. Terrible and beautiful. John got up and made his way into the living room and saw Rodney sitting at the piano, lit by the moonlight outside the balcony windows. He didn't look as though he'd slept, still dressed as he was in the day. The lights were turned off and yet, his fingers seemed to move across the keys like they didn't need his eyes.

His head was bowed and it made John wonder if he was playing in his sleep. John slowly edged to the piano and just as he reached it, Rodney jerked up straight and stopped playing.

"Jesus. You scared the crap out of me," he said.

John nodded to the piano. "What's going on?"

Rodney sighed. "I woke you. Sorry. I uh... I couldn't sleep and sometimes I play."

John poked Rodney's shoulder so he could sit next to him. He experimentally poked a key on the piano, receiving a flat response like the piano knew it shouldn't have been touched by him. “It's good. A little sad though,” he said, playing the same key over and over.

"What?" Rodney said, obviously distracted. Then his hand closed around John's, stopping the noise.

John nodded. "What you were just playing."

Rodney seemed to think about it. “Oh. Well. Maybe. Nightmares can do that.”

"Want me to cheer you up?" John nodded at the piano.

Rodney looked a little shocked. "You play?"

John gave a serious nod. "Are you kidding? Like the wind."

Rodney smiled and then shrugged. "Okay. Play."

John made a show of breathing in deep, placing his hands and then playing. After a moment, Rodney was laughing. "Chopsticks. Funny."

John chuckled and stopped playing, turning to Rodney. "Play that thing you were playing."

Rodney shook his head. "No. It's not even real. It's just... it's nothing."

"Come on, don't make me beg here. Just play the damn thing," John said, bumping Rodney's shoulder with his.

Rodney looked pained, making a face, looking as though he was going to say something. But then one hand fell on the keys and as he began to play, the other hand just drifted up of its own accord. His fingers seemed to move so slow, as if coaxing the sound from the piano, not telling it what to play. His hands seemed weightless, suspended, nails glinting from the light of the moon. Rodney was lost in whatever this was. Whatever he was playing had him pulled under and John felt something in his throat, closing it up.

John let his fingers close around Rodney's hand, pulling it from the piano and holding it tight. Then he moved towards Rodney, his heart still beating out the remainder of Rodney's song. He found Rodney's mouth, closed his eyes and sighed. Rodney's mouth was still against his, horribly still. Then a moment later, it moved into a gentle kiss, Rodney's other hand cupping the back of John's neck.

"All you had to do was tell me to stop playing," Rodney whispered against John's mouth.

John shook his head, uncertain why and silenced Rodney with a firmer kiss, letting go of his hand to hold Rodney's face, kissing him and frantically asking, "This... is this okay? I wanted to... before... I--"

"Yes yes," Rodney answered hurriedly. "Me too, god."

Rodney stood up from the piano stool, pulling John with him and they stumbled their way through the dark into Rodney's bedroom, landing on his bed, still holding onto each other, reaching out to touch anywhere, everywhere. Rodney pushed up John's t-shirt, carefully mouthing the skin around the bandage on his side. John pushed him back and unbuttoned his cargo pants. They were only partially down with Rodney's boxers when Rodney rolled onto his back, pulling John on top, scrambling to push down his sweats and boxers.

They both lay with pants around their thighs, T-shirts still on. John sat up and straddled Rodney, pulling off his T-shirt and then pulling up Rodney to get rid of his one too. John pushed Rodney down on the bed with a kiss and Rodney gripped John's ass, pulling him close so their cocks were snugly fitting against each other.

John started to move against Rodney and Rodney moved up to get closer against John. John panted against Rodney's mouth and Rodney urged him on with 'God' and 'yes' and 'John' and John moved faster, his skin burning and sweating, his mouth greedy for Rodney's skin, greedy for the feel of his fingers as they moved up and down his back, strayed down the crack of his ass. Rodney stiffened and gasped as he came, warm and wet, up on John's stomach. John moved through the slickness of the come and slid his stomach against Rodney's, touched chest to chest and then came when Rodney's fingers threaded through his hair to hold him still for a kiss.

He fell flat on Rodney, burying his face in Rodney's neck, mouthing the heated skin and eventually falling sleep where he lay. When he awoke, Rodney had his chin propped up on a curled fist, John the focus of all his attention.

“Morning,” John said, body still blurry with sleep.

“Hey,” Rodney said with an amiable smile.

John squinted at him under the bright gaze. “You're up. Nightmares?”

Rodney slowly shook his head. “No.”

John smiled. “Okay. Good.”

Something apprehensive flickered in Rodney's eyes. John stroked a finger under Rodney's chin, pulling it forward and leaning up to press an unmoving lazy kiss to the other man's mouth. Rodney responded by deepening the kiss, pushing forward until John's head was back on his pillow and he was sighing in a lazy heap.

“Can I ask you something?” Rodney asked, nibbling somewhere under John's ear, sending delightful little shivers all the way to his toes.

“Sure?” John said, busying himself by stroking all reachable expanse of skin.

“If this turns sour, you're not going to take an axe to my piano, are you?”

John shoved Rodney off with a grin, getting up from the bed. “I'm taking a shower,” he said, before throwing a pillow at Rodney's smug face. After a moment he poked his head back into the room and said, “That was an invitation.”

Katie and Lorne were in the kitchen, pretending to do useful things while probably making out. Rodney was rummaging through a box of 'John's stuff', taking out a model plane which looked positively ancient and meanwhile John was being the least useful person even though it was his new apartment they were helping him move into. He was sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand, flicking through a golf magazine, while sitting on a pile of golf magazines.

“That magazine is like five years old, why do you still need it?” Rodney asked.

John shrugged. “I dunno. It's still interesting.”

“Golf isn't interesting in the present, let alone five years ago,” Rodney said. A knock at the door didn't rouse John from the couch. Rodney narrowed his eyes at him. “I'm beginning to see why Agent Mulder's not so cut up about being single again.”

“Which is more than can be said about his ties,” John said, continuing to read.

Rodney shook his head and went to get the door. Opening it he found a very familiar sight. “Talk of the devil,” Rodney said. “John, you have a visitor.”

John skidded to a halt at Rodney's side when he saw Mulder and Scully. Scully was checking her finger nails. Mulder was holding a box in his hands.

John gave him a big smile and said, “Hey, Fox. I see you got your stuff back.”

Mulder turned the box upside down and tipped out the contents, various shredded garments. Then he looked at Rodney and said, “Good luck, buddy.”

Mulder stomped off past Scully. She turned and smiled and John and Rodney, telling them, “Have a nice day.”

Rodney smiled and closed the door. Turning and looking at John he said, “You know, on account of the fact that I am now too afraid to ever break up with you, I'm thinking we should look into a bigger place.”

John arched an eyebrow at Rodney, offering a smirk before he walked off back to the couch and his magazine. Rodney looked around the messy living room, the shredded ties and shirts at his feet and heard the clatter of breaking glass in the kitchen.

Maybe it wasn't as thrilling as his days as a Russian spy, but it promised to be way more exciting.

- the end -