Rodney was an atheist, and a good one at that. He forswore any and all religions with an absolutism that would've impressed anyone who could grasp the finality of it. He disdained religions, all of them, but the one for which he reserved his most active dislike was science itself. So many scientists worshipped at the altar of their discipline with a fealty that put monks and priests to shame. To Rodney, the point of atheism was to not believe that something high and mighty ruled that-which-is-existence. The laws that the sciences write and rewrite allow people to understand the vastness of that existence, but those rules are not in charge of it; they merely describe it. The true atheist has no god, no higher power in which he or she trusts his or her well-being. To Rodney, the true atheist finds comfort in existential anxiety; he or she doesn't need to allay it by praying to a god or putting faith in a discipline. That anxiety is a comfort in and of itself--proof that the individual is capable of existing in their own reality without masks and armaments to keep that reality from seeping in.

Rodney has had so many arguments with people about religion that he doesn't bother with it anymore. He's only met one person who has ever been truly comfortable with Rodney's take on religion and John Sheppard was not what Rodney pictured when he imagined a kindred spirit. Then again, Rodney figured he wasn't what John had intended to have as the Person With Scientific Expertise on his stargate team. After seeing Dr. Jackson, who would actually want Rodney for anything? All the evidence Rodney can gather says that John likes him on his team and wants him to continue in that role. The things that John does to change Rodney's performance are more for the good of both Rodney and John than for any serious flaw he's trying to sand off Rodney's person. Both men tacitly acknowledge that Rodney's not a trained soldier and they both know that his adoption of some military techniques could be vital. Thus, Rodney doesn't mind such efforts, all verbal protestations aside. Rodney likes the idea of John wanting to keep him alive. It does oddly bubbly things to Rodney’s insides that he refuses to ponder.

Under most circumstances, and with most subjects, Rodney would spend considerable free time, such little as he has, on the subject of John and why John doesn't dislike him in the way that most people dislike him, and why John seems to, more than just not-dislike Rodney, really truly like him. However, Rodney doesn't do this at all, because in his spare time, Rodney's a psychologist. It's one of those squishy sciences Rodney publicly scorns, and his disdain isn't false. He doesn't think psychology, or any of its ilk, should supersede the physical sciences in pretty much anything having to do with technology, survival and the acquisition of coffee. That doesn’t mean psychology doesn’t have its uses, and Rodney tacitly admits them--but only tacitly.

Rodney has a particular fondness for George Kelly. The man said that everyone is a scientist, and Rodney couldn't agree more. Everyone is a scientist, primarily really bad scientists that piss Rodney off on a regular basis. Psychology was a fun way to develop new insults, and Rodney loved new insults. They were like candy-covered chocolate, crunchy and smooth little tongue orgasms that made other people wince like they'd eaten unsweetened lemon juice. When Rodney got whimsical he imagined people’s heads exploding because of a heretofore undiagnosed allergy to sharply honed insults. The imagery amuses him.

Psychology let Rodney not think about the why part of why John visits him between missions, humoring him and mocking him and making Rodney not mind living in a distressingly twisty and hostile world. Most people dwell on things like that--why they were enduring a spate of bad events, or enjoying a string of good ones. People hate being in worse positions than other people, and they love being able to lord a better position over their underlings. Rodney knows this, and knows he does it himself. He just doesn't ponder it the way some people do. Other people sit around wondering Why Bad Things Happen to Good People, and Why Good Things Happen to Bad People. They have to have a reason why, as though having that reason will somehow make everything right. Most of the time the why is arbitrary or worse yet, situational. The technical term Rodney thinks psychologists use when they're not spouting off to lay people is 'shit happens'. Shit happens doesn't fly for most people, so they go with the idea that if a bad thing happens, then a person has earned it. The fancy term is the 'just world phenomenon'. People get what they deserve.

Rodney knows that's bullshit, since Colonel Sumner didn't get what he deserved when a Wraith used him for a snack. If people got what they deserved, Sumner would be alive and Kavanagh would be frying hamburgers in the outskirts of Des Moines, wearing a faded Bon Jovi t-shirt and suffering from a massive case of scabies. So Rodney doesn't wonder why good things happen, and why bad things happen, and why those things happen to good people and to bad people. Of more relevance to his own person is the fact that Rodney doesn't ponder why Unsettlingly New but Probably Really Excellent Things Happen to People Who Are Firmly in the Camp of Better Than They Are Worse But Might Not Be Objectively Good But Are Definitely Not Objectively Bad.

The Thing that Rodney is most definitely not thinking about right now is why John likes him so much--enough to risk putting his hand on Rodney in a way that suggests he really wants it to be there. Rodney isn't thinking about it but if he was, he'd want more evidence before drawing any conclusions about that hand and where it is. The way John's mouth touches him like he’s painting his physical presence by memory could be construed as such evidence, but Rodney's not looking for that.

John tastes like toffee, which isn't anything like what Rodney would've been expecting if he'd been thinking about the kinds of aftertastes he'd find if he kissed John. Then again, the last time he wondered what it would be like to kiss someone, it was Sam Carter and the only thing he could imagine was blue jello, since that's what he'd seen her eat when the wondering had started. He'd been an utter twit about her, but how often did anyone find a brain like that in any package other than one that looked like Rodney did himself? He’d always worried that if someone pretty and smart acted like they wanted him, they’d end up being a Go’auld overlord-deity thing trying to pull a Pinky-and-the-Brain with Rodney as Pinky. Rodney counted himself lucky he'd stumbled upon a second pretty human smart person, in the form of John, who looked like he might want to kiss Rodney again, if Rodney was thinking about it. Which he wasn't, although now he was thinking about Heath bars and the way John's mouth was encouraging him to not think anymore at all.

Rodney liked this kissing thing, kissing with the added benefit of bodies pressed together. He really enjoyed pushing John up against the wall and feeling the way John's body didn't give when he leaned in hard. Rodney knew he was stronger than he looked, but John wasn't complaining, not complaining in a way that told Rodney, if he'd been listening anyway, that John had a full appreciation for what was involved in this sort of thing. If he'd been thinking about it, but Rodney's not thinking about it. He's not thinking much of anything other than whether it's late enough to do this here or if they need to go to either his room or John's.

If Rodney wasn't so enmeshed in the way John's body was telling him to go with it, to kiss and grope and moan and grind, Rodney would be thinking up ways to convince John that this was the kind of thing they should do daily, if not more often.

But Rodney's not thinking.