Fic: Chain of Rocks Road (Gen, hints of slash, PG13)

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Title: Chain of Rocks Road
Author: dingochow
Recipient: seticat
Pairing: Team (gen), with established McShep and a dollop of Lorne/Zelenka
Rating: PG-13 for some salty language and a tiny bit of sex
Disclaimer: The following story is a work of fiction, meant solely for entertainment purposes. The characters and their common background are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions, the Sci-Fi Channel and possibly other very important people and companies. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Seticat wanted feel-good team gen with Zelenka added, or maybe some Lorne/Zelenka. This is all of that, mostly, although a little McShep wriggled its way in. It is a story, after all, and an AU to boot, and it's not entirely under anyone's control. (Least of all mine.) I hope you enjoy it. There really is a Chain of Rocks Road, but it is not exactly where I put it in the story. The rest of southern Illinois and its history are not exactly where they belong, either.
Summary: On his day off, a man called Evan Lorne trespasses on government property and encounters a band of possibly-desperate characters.

Chain of Rocks Road

Southern Illinois, November first
red leather leaves of oaks.
yellow leaves, unidentifiable, twisted, left only in the highest branches of other trees,
corn stubble a different yellow.
pale feathers of dry grass,
vines, lingering with green and cascaded with seed pods,
a few tiny blue grapes, purple asters,
an olive green river, in sand the same color as the dry grass.

It was a sketchbook, not a notebook, but years of writing reports had left him with a sort of comfort with words on paper. Even, or perhaps especially, when they were not the kind of words a military officer would be likely to need.

a National Park, late in the season

Evan Lorne slipped his little sketchbook back into the side pocket of his knapsack and ditched his crappy bike in the sumac and climbing rose growing against the fence. The thorns would be enough to discourage any thieves wandering down the fire road, and if any of them were dedicated enough to take it, they were welcome to it.

Admittedly, losing his crappy bike would probably lead to him losing his crappy job, but they (those mysterious powers of random disaster) were welcome to that too. There was always another bike in someone's garbage, another job where no one asked too many questions.

Of course, cutting a Federal fence in order to trespass on Federal property might get him into slightly worse trouble. But, hey, closed Mondays starting in November, and who wants to ride around to the main entrance anyway? He wasn't going to hurt their historical Indian mounds.

And he'd cut the fence weeks ago. He didn't even have the cutters with him, today.

No worries.

Winter was coming, but it was still comfortably far away. Everything crackled and smelled of smoke. Big black birds circled in the pale sky. Russet and sienna browns, ochre yellows, smoke blue, and olive predominated, as Lorne was expecting. He found a slight slope covered in tall grass, with a sightline into a creekbed where red sumac and some kind of red-orange berries gave him some interesting accents to pick up. He spread his paints around him and for an hour there was nothing but color and shape.

It was startling to see vivid cobalt moving through the yellow lines of grass. Lorne squinted to pick up the sleeves and collar of a man's shirt. The rest of him was part of the landscape: pants and pocket vest in shades of khaki, wild brown hair the color of the oak leaves. The man looked around him curiously. Lorne himself wore mixed camo, all of it washed pale; he knew from experience that if he sat still, it would take a dog to find him from the smell of the paint.

Funny coincidence, that thought. The man in the blue shirt, prowling around, reminded him of a dog searching for a good smell. Small, lightly built, solid. Intent expression, beautiful bone structure underneath a plain, tired, intelligent face. A few days of thick beard, brown and grey, and that cloud of hair, soft, chaotic. Light flashed off one lens of a pair of wire framed glasses.

At one time, Lorne would have pretended (and damn successfully), that his interest was purely artistic, but these days he had no reason to lie, at least to himself.

A crash through scrub hickory was almost certainly a deer. Lorne knew that, but the man in the blue shirt didn't. He moved compactly, pushing aside his vest in a practiced swipe to set his hand on the grips of a big pistol. Looked like an old model SIG-Sauer; nice piece, that, and not the weapon of a tourist or a dilettante.

Lorne's interest clicked up another notch. Small, smart, fierce: a geek with a gun.

He watched the sorting process in the other man's face. This was southern Illinois, there were likely to be large animals, but they were unlikely to be aggressive predators; there was no need to draw. He dropped his hand, then moved it to another holster on his other hip and brought out some kind of gadget. Lorne still knew almost all military and most scientific equipment on sight, and this was nothing he had ever seen before. It looked like a cross between a pocket computer, a GPS and a miniature radar installation; the other man was clearly scanning and making notes at the same time, pacing back and forth in a search pattern that looked like a classic flattened spiral. A crisp breeze was blowing, and when the man turned in his direction, Lorne heard him muttering to himself in some Eastern European language, maybe Russian.

Nothing sexier.

The search, apparently, was fruitless. After fifteen or twenty minutes, the man dropped to the ground a few yards from where Lorne was sitting. He wrapped his arms around his knees and looked out across the creek in its nest of trees to the hills beyond. This was no efficient visual search. From the look on his face, Lorne was pretty sure he was seeing something else, something very far away.

Nothing, apparently, could cure him of romance. He picked up his pad and some colored pencils and started drawing. He blocked in the landscape, the grass, the trees, but on a whim, he tried sketching the figure as a dog. Except he found himself drawing a wolf at rest, brown and tawny, ears up and alert, with the same almost-wistful expression on its face.

He was just winding up the roughs when his subject put his hand to his ear (it was almost a shock to see a human hand, even a hairy one, instead of a paw) and spoke into some kind of walkie-talkie headset. The man stood, dusting himself off, knee deep in the dead grass, and Lorne froze, not just from a desire not to be seen. But it didn't work; he turned to look Lorne full in the face, and Lorne was sure he was busted. But the blue gaze (perfect smoke blue) flicked over him and away, and the man was gone, striding through the grass without stealth.

It was easy enough to stifle his instinct to follow, but it hurt. Lorne stayed in his nest and finished his drawing, with smears of color and delicate scratches of ink. He couldn't answer 'why a wolf?' but it was the best image in the whole sketchbook.

After that, nothing. There was nothing more to see in the slope above the creek, but he didn't want to leave either, didn't want to ride back to the crossroads and sit in his room to drink or brood (or drink and brood) until it was time to go to work.

Pack up and walk then. Pack up and walk. At least this had turned out to be that rare thing, a day when something interesting had happened. He went looking for a field of ferns he'd seen the week before; they should be touched by frost by now, that perfect sere purple-brown.

Instead, he found more not-tourists in a clearing near the Mounds, clustered around what looked to him like any other boulder left behind by a glacier: A beautiful woman like a princess of Mars, amber skinned and amber haired, and three men: a tall, dreadlocked barbarian hero, a burly, balding mad scientist/engineer type, complete with goggles, multiple computers and an obvious bad attitude, and a swashbuckling rogue with spiky hair and a leather pilot's jacket. It was like the cast of a science fiction TV show (the so-bad-it's-good kind that people follow because they like the characters) had dropped down into drab old everyday life. They were in civvies, but barely. A little too much leather for a Monday morning, too much bare skin for the first of November. The combination worked, though, for the Martian princess's midriff underneath a lace-up leather shirt and the barbarian's muscular arms and shoulders.

Lorne couldn't scramble his little sketchbook fast enough. He concentrated on capturing their personalities in quick gesture drawings. The princess was serene and catlike, saying little but commanding everyone's attention when she spoke. The barbarian was a cat as well, but more like a tiger (or a lion with that mane), deadly and powerful. The mad scientist paced and shouted and waved his hands; the few words Lorne could pick up (he was the only one who was loud enough to hear from his hiding place) were a mixture of technical gibberish and good old fashioned military-style cursing. And the rogue slouched and smirked and bickered with the scientist. Lorne read a lot of the bickering as flirtatious. Maybe he was projecting himself and his personal tastes into it, but they did make an oddly attractive couple.

Lorne was lonelier, watching them, all of them, than he had been in a long time. Teamwork, and more than a little love: he knew first class small unit cohesion when he saw it. That, or a chance at that, had been the hardest thing to leave behind.

They seemed to be waiting for something; watches were consulted, and both the princess and the rogue tried with decreasing success to calm the scientist. The barbarian just leaned back and let things happen. Finally all four of them turned toward the treeline and greeted the man in the blue shirt, who trotted up to the other scientist and began berating him with explicit hand gestures. It was clear that in his opinion somebody had fucked up royally.

It took a few moments to sort everything out, and Lorne, yielding to his curiosity, moved to within earshot.

"You were wrong, Rodney. Is best to just admit, and move on. The day is going." That wasn't a Russian accent-- was it Czech?

"Yes, yes, it's Zelenka, the high tech bloodhound. Nothing can hide from your electronic nose, or your natural one, either." So the little wolf-geek was called Zelenka, and yeah, that sounded Czech. "Let's all bow down to your superior sensorium and search the Mounds."

"Which was where I said it'd be right from the beginning, McKay, if you remember correctly," drawled the rogue.

"Because that is where it would be, quote 'in an Indiana Jones movie' unquote."

"Hey, if it works." The rogue shrugged and grinned. He had dark brown hair standing up in soft spikes and a startlingly pretty face, but Lorne kept sneaking peeks at Zelenka, who was leaning on the rock and enjoying the show.

"Doctor Zelenka is right, the day is passing, and it was you, Doctor McKay, who said we could not spare a second day for the search." The princess stepped between Sheppard and McKay, and probably not for the first time.

"Let's listen to Teyla, McKay."

"Of course. I always listen to Teyla. Go, go, go, Sheppard. I don't want to spend the night in these ridiculous woods, which are no doubt full of pollen and wild animals and suffer from a severe lack of indoor plumbing and chicken fried steak."

"You heard the man." Sheppard? Why did that name, and maybe the hair, seem sort of familiar?

They slipped away with the ease of professionals long accustomed to the field. Lorne followed, lagging back and letting his SERE training take over. Teyla, the barbarian, and Sheppard rotated on the six and each of them let a hard eye linger on his position more than once. But if they made him, they didn't call him on it.

Inside the Mound complex, McKay and Zelenka immediately began stalking and prowling, respectively, with their computers and detectors, while Sheppard and the barbarian established a wide perimeter (with Lorne inside), and Teyla wandered through the site reading the informative signage and looking thoughtfully at the line the Mounds made against the sky. And a beautiful line it was. Lorne sketched it, and Teyla's face, and the barbarian's dreadlocks, and the poignant curve of Zelenka's back as he bent over a computer screen. He was going to have to buy another little sketchbook.

They didn't act like treasure hunters, or archaeological thieves out to despoil the Mounds, and Lorne wasn't a park ranger. There was a sort of freedom in sitting back and watching them work, as long as he didn't let the jealousy take over. Because what they were doing was very strange, and he was pretty sure it was something he could have been doing himself, if he'd made one or two different choices. And didn't that make him eat his own liver.

"Those are Ancient signals, aren't they?" Sheppard crowded against McKay to watch his monitor. Lorne could sort of hear the capital As. "Do you think the Ancients built these Mounds? They look sort of mysterious."

Teyla opened her mouth to protest, but Sheppard waved her quiet, and she smiled serenely in acknowledgment. He must be baiting McKay. It looked like fun.

"What are you, a quaint Victorian racist? Oh, yes, the legend of the Mound Builders, or rather, the myth of the Mound Builders. Because, of course, there's no way low technology people with brown skins could have built a well engineered complex of simple earthworks. So it had to be Vikings, or Celts, or the Ten Lost Tribes of Israel, or fucking *space aliens*. I hate to tell you, Sheppard, but while technology is a very useful and valuable tool, it's not worth anything without intelligence behind it. And if you have enough brains you can create the technology, or make do without. Somebody around here had plenty of brains."

"And brawn as well, to accomplish this without advanced machinery." Teyla looked admiringly at the top of the tallest mound. "And on behalf of brown skinned people everywhere, we thank you for your support."

McKay made a noise that sounded sort of like a humf, and sort of like an apology. "I'm sorry if my phrasing was clumsy, but it *was* intended as an anti-racist comment."

"Of course it was, McKay." The barbarian, who was pretty dark himself, had snuck up behind the scientist and made him jump.

"Don't gang up on the poor guy, Ronon," said Sheppard, with an elbow to the barbarian's ribs. Ronon elbowed him back and they scuffled a little, while McKay shook his head and Teyla pretended she didn't know them. "What I'm interested in," Sheppard went on when he was finished, "is where you got all the soft science stuff from."

McKay shrugged. "I did some research. So sue me."

Behind a berm and a few trees, someone cursed loudly in Czech. Lorne almost gave away his position going after Zelenka, but the others were half tripping over themselves to get over to him, and his missteps were lost in the general chaos.

Zelenka was standing, perfectly intact, in front of what looked like a blank earthen wall, hands on his hips, hair all over the place and glasses flashing in the sun. He looked extremely pleased with himself.

"While everyone is talking loudly about the building of mounds and playing in the dirt, I, bloodhound Zelenka, have been making discoveries by actually walking around and looking for what I was supposed to be looking for." He indicated what looked like a random clod of dirt on the surface of the wall. "Sheppard, if you would touch this, please?"

This did not seem to be an unusual request to anyone but Lorne, and Sheppard ambled up and put the flat of his hand on the clod. The other three pressed forward eagerly when a perfectly camouflaged door slid open, but no one seemed shocked or more than very mildly surprised. McKay and Zelenka leapt for the door, instruments at the ready, but Sheppard grabbed one with each hand and held them back, like it was something he did every day. He and Teyla went in first, while Ronon stood in the doorway as an anti-scientist barricade.

They emerged after a short time, and Teyla made a 'please come in' gesture. "Doctor McKay, Doctor Zelenka, I believe there are things inside you will want to see." Zelenka gave her a funny little European bow Lorne found charming, while McKay just rolled past them like a cannonball. Sheppard sent Ronon inside after them. ('Good', he heard McKay mutter. 'He can move the heavy stuff, like that rock for example.')

Teyla and Sheppard stayed outside. She paced and looked at the trees, the plants, the sky; he sat with his back to the warm earth of the wall, basking in the late autumn sunshine with slitted eyes. Lorne knew they were both more watchful than they looked, but he managed to close in enough get an idea of what was going on inside.

He could hear perhaps three quarters of the words, but he understood maybe one out of twenty, not counting the Czech, which was all gibberish, though very attractive gibberish. Console, crystals, electrode, don't do that, idiot. (That was after a shower of red and blue sparks and a bellow that had to be Ronon.) Then there was a long period of rather intense and quiet conversation, where Zelenka and McKay were finishing each other's sentences. The two scientists, in spite of their differences, were in synch in an almost spooky way. There were suspicious sounding grunts of satisfaction, there, that's it, yes, but then a torrent of Czech cursing broke the spell. Whatever they were doing in there was not entirely satisfactory.

Then something broke loose with an almighty snap, and McKay said something complimentary to Ronon. There was even a patter of applause. Words like storage unit, database, cross-platform compatibility, mirrors and handshaking started pouring out, with an overall tone of creamy satisfaction. "Was it good for you?" Sheppard shouted into the doorway, and everyone laughed. Soon Ronon emerged, carrying two large boxes which he sat down carefully next to Sheppard.

"That it?" Sheppard asked.

"Yep," said Ronon.

"Why are they still in there, then?"

"Leaving a surprise."

"Awesome."

Teyla came over and they poked at the boxes, talking very softly. Lorne was still focused on the door. McKay and Zelenka had stepped closer to the opening. Zelenka looked tired and a little deflated, but McKay was palpably smug.

"Maybe this archeology thing is a trend," he said. "This is the third cache we've found inside some kind of protected antiquity with a goofball legend attached to it. Because it's always so safe to stash your loot under the nose of a bunch of tourists armed with fake treasure maps and crackpot conspiracy theories."

"There must be a reason for it." Zelenka glanced at McKay slyly. "Maybe we ought to bring Dr. Jackson in to consult."

"That, that storyteller! Over my dead body, and I do not mean that figuratively …"

"I know, I know, said Zelenka. "You cannot both exist in the same room for long. There is not enough oxygen to keep you both talking, much less breathing." And he patted Rodney on the cheek, which made him puff up even more but also smile in a crookedly charming way.

Damn. Lorne should have known. Of course his wolf would have the king geek wrapped around his little finger. Those broad shoulders, and they finished each other's sentences …

But as the team was sorting to pull out, shutting the door behind them and policing the site down to the footprints, McKay attached himself to Sheppard again, pulling another strange little device out of his pocket and passing it over.

"Here."

"A present for me?" Sheppard grinned. "You shouldn't have, McKay. If I'd known I would have gotten you something."

"I'll take a rain check. Chocolate will do nicely. Does it do anything?" He looked eagerly at the little egg shaped thing in Sheppard's hand.

"Oh, yeah," said Sheppard, and the thing lit up, blue and amber. They shared an odd, private smile. Lorne was confused, and tired, and starting to be late for work. He'd suddenly had enough of these people, their cleverness, their shared history, their adventures and their small unit cohesion. He went one way and they went another.

He cut across the road halfway to the main parking lot at his usual place, and almost ran into McKay and Sheppard. McKay was standing on the rise, looking back toward the Mounds. Sheppard took one step toward him, a little tentative, then another, more confident. Then they were standing face to face and very close together.

"You were really worried", asked Sheppard, putting his hands on McKay's waist..

"Yes, well, maybe a little. A very small amount of worry. This was closer than I like. If we hadn't found that cache today, or in the next thirty six hours at the outside …" He put one hand on Sheppard's left collarbone, fussed with his jacket.

"Not gonna happen now." Sheppard slid his hands up from McKay's belt, up under his orange fleece jacket, and his shirt too from the looks of it, and caressed the small of his back. He was probably soft there, nice to touch, almost everybody was. McKay stopped fiddling with the place where the leather met the zipper and put both hands on Sheppard's neck, big thumbs behind his pretty ears, touching places that made Sheppard's eyes crinkle and his lips part softly.

Well, that wasn't the first time those two had kissed, that's for damn sure. He'd been right the first time, about the bickering. Of course, that only made it worse. Nice to know his way might be clear to learn more about Zelenka, when he was never going to see the man again.

Lorne trudged through the woods, no longer caring much if anyone saw or heard him. Back to normal, or what was normal these days. He very seldom came that close to what he couldn't have any more. He could stand to wait a while before he saw it again.

Time to sneak through the rusty gap in the chain link, pull his crappy bike out of the brambles, and ride down to the crossroads, back to the diner on Chain of Rocks Road. Back to his crappy life.

A diner, later that day

It's sort of homelike, if you squint. Normally, Lorne let himself be comforted by the smells, clanks and rattles of the diner at suppertime, but tonight he felt justified in being all sour and restless as he tied his apron and picked up his order pad. An hour ago, he'd been padding through dried leaves with practiced silence, using familiar skills that fit like his own skin. Or maybe fit like his old skin, not this one. He liked the old one better.

"Hey, not so much thinking," shouted JoJo, the owner, from behind the grill. "I pay you to take the orders, bring the food, not think. You don't be careful, you think your way outta a job. There's other people out there who can do it-maybe not so smart, maybe do it better."

"Maybe, JoJo, maybe."

"You wanna try me, scribbler ?

"Naw. Booth three wants two cheeseburgers with everything, one fry, one ring."

"Two cheese loaded, one fry, one ring. That's right. Just get 'em their drinks, and no thinking."

That's right. No thinking.

Of course that didn't last once Sheppard and his team, minus Zelenka, came crowding into the narrow vestibule, fogging the glass against the cool night. Sheppard and McKay were quarreling, or rather McKay was ranting and Sheppard was making smart remarks and looking at him in a way that would have gotten him court martialed under Don't Ask Don't Tell if they'd been military.

"This is a bad idea and you know it. We have what we came for, and you're always nattering on about keeping a low profile. Plus, if Zelenka was so big on us stopping here, why didn't he bother to come in?"

Lorne had wondered that too. He'd have liked a chance to stock up on a few more glimpses to keep his imagination going.

Sheppard leaned over McKay's shoulder and spoke temptingly. "Hey, we gotta eat. Maybe they have chicken fried steak."

"Patty melt," said Ronon. " French fries. Beef tips and noodles."

"The soup of the day," added Teyla. "Real mashed potatoes."

The old guys were filling up in the big booth, drinking coffee, so they ended up crammed into a four seater back by the restrooms. As it turned out, Sheppard had the chicken fried steak, and McKay the beef tips over noodles. Ronon had a patty melt plus bacon, and fries, and a half order of biscuits and gravy, Teyla French toast and a bowl of JoJo's famous so-called minestrone. Pilar took their order, but he couldn't help listening in, and when their plates came up he gave in to temptation. Pilar was getting more pregnant by the second and only shrugged when he offered to take the heavy tray.

There were a million different ways it could have gone down, but it was Sheppard, the rogue, the leader, who spoke to him.

"There you are, our mysterious watcher in the woods."

"So that's what you're up to," hissed the mad scientist. "Collecting more strays for your motley crew, and using Zelenka as your bird dog, if that's even the correct term."

"This guy's good," said the barbarian, through a mouthful of sausage gravy. "Took some spotting."

"You have an admirable capacity for stillness." The Princess nodded approvingly from behind her plate of French toast.

Evan clutched the tray in both hands. He'd been made, and that scared him, and that made him mad.

"You ... saw me?"

McKay snorted. "Really. Genius here. Sensors ..." He picked through his beef tips for a mushroom, then indicated the others packed tightly into the booth. "And soldiers, explorers, and so on. If we didn't keep track of our perimeter, we'd never get anything done."

"We'd be dead." That was Ronon.

"That, too," said McKay. "But you're harmless."

"I wouldn't say that, Rodney." Teyla spoke in her measured voice, like she was thinking about every word. "But it is what the watcher chooses to do with his observations that determines the potential for harm."

"Hey, the cops never showed up, park rangers, whatever. He didn't turn us in." Ronon squinted at him in a not unfriendly way.

"And we thank you." Teyla gave him a brilliant smile, and he felt himself blushing. Sheppard chuckled, but his eyes were keen and serious.

"Yep, ." he said. "Not exactly harmless, McKay. I recognize this guy, now that I see him up close. I saw your file once ..."

Lorne suddenly remembered that was where he'd seen Sheppard before, in Air Force dress blues.

"You might have, sir, ."

"Before you ran afoul of the UCMJ?"

Rodney snorted with pure contempt. "Don't tell me. Somebody asked, and you told?"

"No." Lorne normally didn't talk about this, but after today he was all what-the-hell. "I was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time, with the wrong guy, and the wrong person saw us."

"Sucks," said Ronon, concisely, and Sheppard winced. Had he run afoul himself?

"You're Colonel Sheppard, right ? James Sheppard?"

"John Sheppard. Not Colonel. This guy's Rodney McKay." He poked the mad scientist, who poked him back.

"*Doctor* Rodney McKay."

"And this is Teyla Emmagen," Sheppard nodded at the princess. "And Ronon Dex." The barbarian grunted in a friendly way and took a slurp of his milkshake. "And you're Evan Lorne. You were lined up to be my XO on that ... project."

"I would have liked the chance, sir."

"Hey. Not sir. Not anymore. Just Sheppard, or John if you want. Sit down and have something to eat, and we'll talk about it. I may not have a formal XO slot open, but there are plenty of chances out there."

"Sorry, Sheppard, but I'm working."

"Working!" snorted McKay. "Waiting tables in a greasy spoon in the middle of a howling wilderness. Not that I have a high opinion of the military mind in general, with a few notable exceptions, " this with a warm look at Sheppard who wrinkled his eyes back at him, "but you have got to be bored stiff."

"Bored, yes!" JoJo, huge and stinking of old grease, roared into Lorne's left ear, making him and everyone else in the room except Sheppard and Ronon Dex, jump a mile. "Bored and lazy and useless and a pain in my ass. No more, scribble boy, no more. Duffel bag by the back door, backpack by the back door. No more job, no more room. no more being bored. Gimme that apron, and get outta my place."

He grabbed at Lorne, who made a quick, low turn and got to the apron first, ripped it off and threw it in Jojo's face.

"Fine," the big man spat. "No fight, not worth it. You get out. Bags in two minutes, then I don't see your ass no more." He rolled away, leaving Lorne standing beside the booth in jeans, boots and a black T shirt. Lorne shivered in the steamy room; he felt oddly naked without the apron, without any kind of uniform.

"I can destroy his credit rating," said McKay in a perfectly matter of fact way. "Or maybe set the health inspectors on him. You probably know which would be more effective. Just say the word."

"Or I could pound him. It'd be quicker."

"That's subtle, Conan."

"Didn't say it was subtle. Works, though."

"Don't worry about it, Doc, Ronon. I've been wanting to do this for a while," said Lorne, and he was surprised as soon as he said it to find that it was true. Maybe it didn't have anything to do with Sheppard, his team, or the little thing that glowed in Sheppard's hand. Or the drawing he'd made of the wolf, or Zelenka's blue eyes (and where was Zelenka anyway?), or even JoJo. His anger, which had flared up white hot, had faded just as quickly. It was simply time to be moving on. "Sorry, but I know he means it about my gear. I live back there, or I did, and I better gather it up before somebody else does. Pilar will be over to get you some dessert. The chocolate sheet cake is good."

"Wait," said Teyla. "Doctor Zelenka is waiting with the car. His dinner is ready to carry out." She gestured at the counter, and yes, there were two foil containers steaming there, and a large coffee. "Why don't you take it to him and he can help you with your belongings?"

"Yeah," said Sheppard. "And then we can give you a lift to wherever you want to go."

"That's all right." Lorne's spirits had lifted for a moment at the mention of Zelenka, but that didn't mean he was in the mood to accept any favors. "I've got a bike; I can get to ... wherever."

"Don't be ..." Lorne was pretty sure the next words out of McKay's mouth were going to be 'a moron' or the equivalent, but Sheppard shut him up with a quick glare.

"Just do it, Lorne." Lorne straightened automatically. Sheppard could easily be his commanding officer, things being different, and his body knew it. "Take Doc Z his dinner, and don't run off afterwards. Something tells me he'll be glad to see you."

"He told me he likes the way you smell." said Ronon.

the parking lot of the diner

Outside, it was windy and getting colder. the last of the leaves were blowing across the tarmac under a thick swath of stars. Fresh air was supposed to clear your head, but it wasn't working this time. Lorne juggled his duffel and knapsack with the paper bag holding Zelenka's dinner.

It wasn't hard to spot Team Sheppard's ride. Armored Suburbans, painted dark blue or dark grey, or black, were instantly familiar to anyone who has ever worked for the government. There was something odd about their stances that distinguished them from their civilian relatives.

This particular one was crawling with rust. There was a dent in the rear bumper, the tint was peeling off the inside of the windows, and the passenger side front door was grey and shiny while the rest of it was vaguely black.

Zelenka was there, leaning against the shiny door. He was even scruffier than earlier, but it was a good look on him, both endearing and dangerous. He'd replaced his vest with a dark brown Carhartt coat with a corduroy collar and he was watching Lorne with a serious expression. Lorne watched back. It was easy to imagine that Zelenka's eyes reflected yellow like an animal's, but it was almost certainly a trick of the lot lights on his glasses. They stood there like that, time stopped around them, looking at each other, neither one hiding. Then Lorne broke the moment by holding out the paper bag. Zelenka's expression shifted from watchful wolf to smiling man. Suddenly he was very handsome, and Lorne found himself smiling back. He hadn't felt that smile from the inside in a while.

"It is good to see you," said Zelenka. "And even better to see my supper."

"Fried egg, bacon and cheese on Texas toast," Lorne replied, sounding absurd even to himself. "And double hash browns with JoJo's famous sausage gravy."

"This JoJo has thrown you out?" Zelenka quirked his head at Lorne's bags, which he'd left by the back bumper.

"Yeah, and fired me, too. But it's no big deal." He half expected Zelenka to pursue that, but he just nodded and tucked into the sandwich. He was clearly used to eating standing up, and he was quick and neat about it. Lorne approached shyly, and ended up standing next to him, leaning against the cold bulk of the truck.

"He makes very good gravy, this Jojo, however poor his taste in other matters." Zelenka finished the last bite, policed his trash neatly, then turned to Lorne, extending a hand. "Radek Zelenka."

"Evan Lorne," said Lorne, shaking it. Their palms lingered against each other, both dry and heavily calloused. Zelenka's was narrow and surprisingly warm, as were his fingers, clever and hairy, twining with Lorne's. Lorne snuck a sideways glance; Zelenka was smiling and his face was bristly, lined, beautiful. He blushed. Zelenka didn't. Then they both stuck their hands in their coat pockets and suddenly found the mostly-gravel pavement fascinating.

"You are an artist, yes?" Lorne must have looked surprised, and Zelenka chuckled, a deep and sexy sound. "I smelled the paint on you, the pigment in your pencils. I smell it now. Is that why you were following us?"

"Well, lots of reasons, really, but I suppose yes is the easy answer. You, all of you, were the most interesting thing I'd seen in weeks, maybe months." He shuffled his boots on the stones like a green kid, and yeah, like a kid, he spilled his fantasy. "You're like the cast of a science fiction show, you know. Teyla is the alien princess, McKay's the mad scientist," Zelenka laughed again at that. "Ronon is a barbarian hero, and Sheppard is a swashbuckling rogue pilot."

"Very perceptive. You are a keener observer than you know. But you are leaving someone out, I think."

Lorne looked at him again,embarassed. He wished he'd kept his mouth shut, but he was in too deep to stop now. "Lone wolf. In fact I drew you as a wolf, sitting in the tall grass."

Strong reaction to that, Lorne thought. Zelenka went pale, his eyes wide, then he shut them and flushed. He shook his shaggy head as if to clear it, and his voice was extra calm when he finally spoke. "Yes, very perceptive indeed. I think I would like to see that drawing, some day."

"I'd like to show it to you." Lorne bit his tongue; how corny did that sound, corny and a little sleazy. Not the classy flirtation he'd been trying for.

"I think maybe you would like to show me … other things, as well." That was a corny line, too, but Zelenka said it seriously, with a hint of humor in his expression. Lorne tried to reply in the same tone.

"If you'd like to see them? Ronon did say you liked the way I smelled."

"Ronon is what you call a man of few words, and those are chosen for best effect. And always truthful."

Lorne reached out, to find the other man had already moved closer.

"Evan."

"That sounds really nice, in your accent. Radek ... am I saying it right?"

"As you said, it has a lovely sound, in your voice."

"Radek ..." Evan would never have made the move himself, not that fast, but Radek breathed in deeply and it seemed to give him confidence. He put one hand on Evan's chest between the flaps of his open jacket and the other high on his shoulder inside the collar, a strong hot touch. His thumb moved gently against the hollow at the base of his throat, and Evan shivered. He didn't have far to bend. Radek was smaller than he was, but not much shorter. Their lips barely brushed, and it was already better than anything that had happened to him in years. Evan steadied himself against the car, getting ready to wrap himself around this bold soul and just go for it.

"Hey, PDA," said Sheppard cheerfully.

"Aw, geez, Radek. I'd tell you to get a room, if we weren't in the middle of nowhere. And on the clock, as you kept reminding us all day." McKay, too, of course. Those two seemed to be joined at the hip.

"And you are always taking many breaks with your own soldier. Perhaps I am allowed an occasional moment?" He looked up at Evan, then stepped away. Evan wanted to reach for him, keep him close, but he didn't really have a right. A drawing, a conversation, about half a decent kiss: not much to weigh against a team and work they obviously considered important.

And they couldn't exactly discuss it here anyway. Teyla and Ronon had wandered up and were watching them, Teyla with intelligent curiosity, Ronon like they were an episode of a particularly brainless soap opera.

McKay pulled Zelenka aside, but not far enough, because everyone could hear what was going on. "Honestly, Radek, if you don't grab on to this guy, you're crazier than you look. If that's possible. How many hot soldiers can you reasonably expect to make out with in parking lots if you never comb your hair?"

"Yes, yes, you are Mister Grooming Advice, always on the covers of many fashion magazines. I could also mention at least I have hair, but that would be offensive, possibly." Behind Lorne, Sheppard and Ronon were clearly enjoying this. He looked helplessly at Teyla, who was watching with the same expression she used to watch the trees and sky.

"I know we don't know him," McKay bulled on. "But John says he's righteous, and he probably should have been on Atlantis all along anyway." Atlantis! There was the magic word, spoken aloud at last. "And yes, there's the whole odd couple thing. Believe me, I know *all about* that. But you can't let yourself be governed by what, by who, other people think you can have. You want a hot soldier, you should have a hot soldier. Not quite as hot as mine, maybe. But then, I am smarter than you are." McKay leered appraisingly over his shoulder to where Lorne stood next to Sheppard. Sheppard preened, but Lorne just felt naked. On further consideration, Lorne decided that Sheppard probably felt naked too, but liked it.

"And anyway, I will not, will *not*, put up with one more whine out of you about being lonely if you turn your back on this chance."

"But Rodney," said Zelenka mildly. "What if he does not want to come with us?"

McKay gave him another of his patented snorts. "As if. He's rotting away here, with no hours of sweaty exercise and no ridiculously dangerous adventures and no manly team bonding, none of the soldierly essentials. All that, plus the lost city of the Ancients, plus a chance at you: he'd be insane not to take John's offer." Something beeped in McKay's jacket, and he pulled three different devices out of three different pockets and started checking them against each other. He looked up and spoke to the group as a whole, magnificently clueless (or magnificently unconcerned) that he'd been doing that the whole time. "I suggest all of you make up your minds. We're starting to kind of need to be somewhere else.

"Rodney's right," Sheppard said, directly to Lorne, and much more quietly. "He's pushy as hell and kind of a jerk, but he's right. Not about Radek; not that he isn't a great little guy, 'cause he is. He's solid gold, and he'd probably make a good boyfriend, if you like geeks." He grinned brilliantly at Lorne, confident that liking geeks was a trait they shared, in spades. And he was so right. "But hey, your love life is your business. What matters is Rodney's right about you. You're wasting your life here, and you know it. You should be on Atlantis. You should have been there all along." Lorne opened his mouth to protest, but Sheppard didn't miss a beat. "Shut it. I know what happened, and Ronon's right, it sucks, and I know there's no going back from that.

"But there's other things that you can't go back from, and a bunch of those have happened since you were briefed on the project. What you'll be joining isn't quite the same organization. There's a lot less job security, just as much danger, but hey, no DADT. And it's got to be better than this." He indicated Lorne's two bags, and his crappy bike leaning against the fence, and Lorne bent his head under a hot flush of shame. What had he been doing, these past few years?

"Look, just let us rescue you or something." Sheppard looked tough and friendly and confident. He'd made his case.

Lorne looked across the void at Zelenka, begging him silently to help him choose, but Radek just raised an eyebrow into his wild hair and shrugged. The light twitched on his glasses and tangled in the corduroy collar of his coat.

"Hey, Lorne! Heads up!" Sheppard tossed him … something. It was small, and egg shaped.. He caught it automatically and it ...activated? It ticked softly in his hand, seemed to change to fit him better. He stared down at it. He knew that if he thought about it, he'd be able to say what its purpose was, but for now he just looked. Half of it glowed amber, the other half was some kind of metal, with a blue light that flicked on and off. He looked at Zelenka again; he'd stepped closer and Lorne could see his eyes clearly. Yes, that same color. Smoke, autumn sky, alien light, pale wolf eyes.

Behind them, Sheppard and McKay were laughing, high-fiving, grabbing ass. Apparently, they had made a bet, and Sheppard thought he'd won.

"That's it,' said Ronon. "You've got the gene, you're mostly an Ancient; you know you're going home with us." A smack on the back half staggered Lorne and made him grin. "So let's get this show on the road." Ronon held out the bags; Lorne grabbed the duffel with his free hand (he was still holding the object in the other), but before he could get under the knapsack it was on Zelenka's shoulder. Radek smiled at him and he blushed again, which made McKay and Radek both laugh. But by this time he was all what-the-hell about that, too. About just about everything, really.

Then Teyla stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, small and iron strong.
"I would like to greet you as a friend, in the manner of my people," she told him, and all he could do was nod. She pulled at him gently until they stood with their foreheads pressed together. It was long movement, oddly, piercingly sweet. "Welcome, Evan Lorne."

"Thank you, Teyla." She pulled away with a sudden look of mischief, called 'Shotgun!' and took off for the passenger side front door. Ronon pretended to chase her, the others followed more sedately. Lorne tossed the object back to Sheppard.

"Here. It's a pocket voice recorder."

Sheppard's smile was genuine, not a smirk, as he put it back in his pocket and opened the shiny grey door for Teyla.

on the road

They drove off, in a small hail of gravel. Sheppard was at the wheel, Teyla, of course, in shotgun, with an actual shotgun across her lap and a tiny iPod clipped to her cleavage and plugged into her ears, her small sneakered feet on the dashboard. Between them an elaborate console filled with more of that strange looking equipment clicked and hummed and blinked blue and red and amber, Behind them, Ronon leaned against the B pillar on the driver's side and went to sleep. McKay took up the rest of the seat, sitting sideways with his back against Ronon's bulk, and typing lightning fast on a laptop resting on his knees. This meant that in the furthest back seat, Lorne was crammed, not uncomfortably, between his duffel bag and Radek. There wasn't anywhere to put his arm except around Radek's narrow, solid shoulders. After some wriggling and adjustment. they ended up closer together than they really needed to be. Neither of them spoke, but Radek made one small, contented sound, half growl, half purr.

Evan watched the lights of passing cars, wondered where they are going without caring much, listened to Rodney muttering about never coming back to Earth again in this or any other lifetime. He was pretty much down with that. Eventually his thoughts, revolving like broad winged birds, came down to rest and settled on the wolfling warmth of Radek's hair pressed against his cheek.

A few days later, when they all walked through a blue circle into the rest of the universe, the smell of it was still in his nostrils.