Every so often Rodney darted up from underneath Atlantis and brushed against Carson’s underside, sending jittering sparks all along that membrane. The first few times they’d made contact in that manner, it was simply a more intense version of what they got when touching in a solid form. The more they practiced, however, the easier it became to actually communicate tactilely, although it wasn’t quite as intense as his memories from the visions placed it.

On the far side of the pier that bounded Carson to one side, John was splashing about clumsily, trying to figure out exactly how he was suppose to jump whilst a fish. He wasn’t doing all that badly, but every time he succeeded, Carson ended up splashed by spraying water. The droplets were vaguely annoying and Carson either shuddered until they rolled off, or formed a gap and let them fall back into the ocean.

A cloud drifted over the sun, immediately cooling Carson’s surface membrane. A moment later, however, his contentment was broken as a dark object appeared overhead and plunged straight down. As it struck him, Carson instinctively drew back. The force of what Carson recognized as John in some piscine form falling into the water was enough to disrupt Carson’s surface tension. As he felt himself begin to lose cohesion, Carson shifted and flew up into the air, iridescent particles sparkling and whirling madly as he pulled himself above the churning water and formed an outraged cloud above John’s new location.

Carson’s new perspective allowed him to see John more clearly. The pilot looked like a small pike with overly large fins, swimming in a circle with what Carson swore was an evil smirk on his annoying fish-face. Carson’s complexion shifted darker and his opalescence faded as he got caught up in his irritation. John swam back a few meters and tried a practice jump while Carson floated a bit in the opposite direction. Then John backed up even more; as he leapt into the air, obviously trying to cross the pier again, Carson made his move.

John was flying. True, he was a fish, but he was a flying fish, and that was really cool, in his book. He hadn’t been aiming for Carson, but the way the doctor had shifted and floated away had been a sight to behold, even with fish-eyes. The experience of hurtling in the air over the pier was good enough that John decided to try it again. He made sure he had the move down, and then went for it—

And found himself suspended in mid-air as Carson floated into his path and coalesced around him, first becoming just dense enough to catch John and leave him hanging, then turning liquid and falling straight into the water. John thought he’d be able to swim away, but Carson was denser and thicker than he expected and they sank fast, until Carson finally flowed away from him and John found himself staring at the underside of the city.

A large, predatory fish swam right up to John, long teeth gleaming dully in the dim light. John tried to swim backward but bumped into Carson. Then the other fish brushed past him and John recognized Rodney. Carson, by that point, had circled John, but seeing him didn’t make John feel any better.

Carson made a very impressive tiger shark. John thought himself into something more appropriate—a great white—only to see Rodney join Carson, his form now resembling something that should’ve been extinct. A long, toothy head was perched at the end of a flowing neck. Rodney’s body was also very long, with strong-looking fins and a razor-like tail.

John looked back at Carson, but by now the doctor had followed Rodney’s lead and changed to the most fearsome aquatic dinosaur he could remember. John abruptly wished he’d read more about fossils when he was a kid. They were huge, menacing creatures, his lovers, and if he wasn’t mistaken they were planning on hunting him down.

Splashing into Carson really had been a mistake. Still, they were circling, bumping into him and all John could sense was two very hungry creatures. John raced through his memories to find the most menacing thing he could think of. He quickly ran out of ideas and instead shifted into something similar to Carson, but longer and with bigger teeth. John turned around and began chasing Carson, but Rodney in turn pursued John, nipping at his tail. They raced underneath Atlantis, gliding past the city’s supports and desalinization units while the planet’s native denizens got the hell out of the way.

Well, most of them. John kept following Carson until the doctor-turned-dinosaur veered sharply right. John wondered why until he saw the large, mottled monster staring at him a few meters away. In a flash, he was right behind Carson, with Rodney alongside, as they hurtled towards their usual pier. As they exited the shadow of Atlantis, John shifted back to his flying fish. A quick flip had him in the air and he changed again, flying as a hawk until he found his balcony. Rodney and Carson were right behind him and all three men shifted as they crossed the balcony railing, ending up a few feet inside the doorway. Rodney caught John and Carson in his arms and tumbled them all down onto John’s bed, laughing breathlessly.

“So,” Rodney said, peering over at Carson, “What happens if something swallows us?”

John and Carson shuddered. “I don’t want to know,” Carson replied shakily. “Let’s not find out.”

Rodney grabbed John’s wrist, turning it gently so he could read the watch face John had put there. “Make the time show up,” Rodney demanded, in a voice that told both John and Carson that Rodney was still miffed he couldn’t make a watch that actually kept accurate time.

John snickered and set his watch. “Do you have to go in right now?” He murmured, tugging his hand so that Rodney moved over top of him. “We’ve got training for another two hours.”

“Somehow I don’t think what you’ve got in mind is the same thing Weir did when she allotted us training time,” Rodney retorted. Still, when Carson’s hand ran down Rodney’s back, the scientist let himself ease down onto John’s chest.

“We can multitask,” Carson suggested, easily flowing into his basic liquid form. John sighed as Carson slid around both him and Rodney, heightening the connection between them. Rodney shifted a moment later and so John followed, letting himself pool on the bed with his two lovers, slowly mingling with them until they were thoroughly entwined.

Ever since Rodney had first suggested they try things out this way, every day included some form of this type of contact. It was definitely intimate; John could feel every emotion the other two men felt as though they were his own. Carson and Rodney each had definite presences, but it wasn’t the same as twisting around in bed with a couple of warm, human bodies. In a way, it was more frighteningly revealing than that kind of sex, where John could mask the intensity of his feelings behind pure, unbridled lust. When they were together in this form, there wasn’t anything to use as a shield.

And as Carson had pointed out, there was the added advantage of not being tired out afterwards. Or stickiness, Rodney had then mentioned. John, although unnerved by the strength of the emotions they shared, simply liked how close it made them. All around John, Carson and Rodney flowed, moving in random spirals and streaks of lust and affection. John let himself chase around the two men, mixing himself with them until he began to lose focus on who was whom. That was when he knew it was time to retreat and re-form.

Rodney and Carson silently moved off the bed, at the same time making themselves presentable for work, both looking wistfully at each other and at John as they walked away. John stayed supine and watched them go, not quite ready himself to find his sergeants and start slogging through administrative work. He could afford to spend a few minutes wallowing in the aftermath of feeling Carson’s and Rodney’s emotions from the inside.

•••

Rodney was happily immersed in an analysis of an Ancient data storage device when a tall, willowy woman appeared next to his desk. He ignored Dr. Mason completely—right up until the moment when she reached out and plucked his Ancient artifact out of his hands.

“Hey!” Rodney growled, finally turning to face his visitor. “Give me that back!”

“Describe your sea monster,” She replied, holding the device away from Rodney’s grabbing hands. It wasn’t all that difficult, as she was a head taller than he was.

Rodney contemplated shifting forms, but decided to first give Dr. Mason a chance to retreat from pissing him off. “Big. Long. Toothy. Much like the description I forwarded to your staff, actually.”

“Could you be a little more specific?” She pressed. “Was it—

“Think cryptocleidus, but much bigger,” Rodney snapped, shifting into dust and flying over her head, collecting the artifact as he went. She spun around as he re-formed behind her, smirking and holding the object. “Now run along; I’m busy.”

Unfortunately Dr. Mason wasn’t easily dismissed. “This could be important, McKay,” She said, refusing to budge.

Rodney shrugged and went back around to his workspace. “I realize it isn’t, strictly speaking, politically correct to say this out loud, but I don’t give a damn about the marine life on this planet.”

“I wasn’t talking about the ever-fascinating job of cataloguing the flora and fauna of our current home,” She spat, “But rather why the Athosians have been noticing a decline in the game fish populations in our waters.”

“Er?” Rodney hummed, already focused on his toy. “I’m not a biologist, Mason, but I’m sure there are some around here somewhere—you know, people who actually know something about fish.”

Dr. Mason slapped her hand down on the desk, hard enough to jar Rodney’s computer. “We’re running out of fish, Dr. McKay, and right now it’s our primary source of protein!”

Rodney looked up once again. “You mean that nice pink fish that makes those adorable little fritters?” He asked dryly. “Oh the horror of no longer being forced to choke down something that tastes like burnt hair blended with asphalt.”

“Yes, those, as well as everything else. And while you may not like them, they’re vital to our diet. We’d thought the drop in population was due to migration, or the fish avoiding the Athosians’ nets. Maybe it’s because we’ve got something down there eating everything in sight.”

Rodney frowned. “A shark in the goldfish tank,” He murmured. “Not something the Ancients planned for when they built the shield. There’s no way something that big can pass through. Bring it up at the next meeting with Dr. Weir; by that point I’ll find a way to solve your petty ecological problem. In the meantime, tell the Athosians to watch out for sea monsters,” Rodney said, returning to his project.

Dr. Mason glared at Rodney, obviously considering whether it was worth her time to keep interrupting the man. After a moment, she stomped off, muttering something about jackass physicists and useless artifacts. Once the door closed behind her, Rodney smirked and began humming, even as he started a new round of tests on the storage device.

•••

“So Dr. Mason’s still in a twist over the sea monster,” Carson noted as he watched Rodney and John prepare for their next mission. “I saw she was giving you the evil eye during our meeting.”

Rodney rolled his eyes and snickered. “Like I told her the last three times she asked about it, the solution is simple enough and sea monster probably tastes like chicken.”

Carson winced. “Have you ever had shark, Rodney? I’m guessing it’ll taste more like shark than chicken.”

“We could just drop the shield for a minute and run it out of the area,” John murmured. “We can time it for when the Wraith aren’t visiting overhead.”

“Or we could just leave it alone and see what happens,” Rodney offered. “Look, Weir handed that problem off to the little-people in biology and engineering, so let them deal with it. We’ve got a mission.”

Carson escorted John and Rodney through the halls, leaving them only when they reached the infirmary. A brief moment of physical contact was their only goodbye as Carson retreated to his office to study Wraith and sekoy’e genetics and not think about the million or so things that might happen while the other two were off-planet.

Half an hour later, Rodney found himself wishing desperately for a diversion. Anything—even a nicely timed Wraith culling—to alleviate the oppressive boredom in which he was currently mired.

The Gathans were long-time trading partners of the Athosians, but ones that weren’t frequently visited. Teyla was, as usual, having a grand time catching up on galactic gossip with their current leader, while the rest of the team fidgeted and looked around hoping to spot something interesting. The place was pleasant enough; lots of greenery and cute buildings with an equally pleasant population of tall, horse-faced people in pleasant, drab robes. Rodney used up a few minutes comparing these robes to other ones he’d seen on missions, adding to his theory about robes versus battle armor in human garb norms.

“Major Sheppard,” The leader murmured, smiling blandly, “We would be very interested to hear about your peoples’ history.”

John blinked a couple of times. “Our history?” He echoed, glancing at Ford and Rodney before looking across at Teyla. “What part of our history?”

The man, Tapna, laughed. “All of it, of course! We Gathans enjoy and collect history.”

“They would be interested in trading for it,” Teyla told John. “That is their usual practice.”

“Oh,” John replied. “Well...”

“We’ve got most of our history recorded,” Rodney told Tapna. “Perhaps we could find a way to transmit it in a form you could access—if you have something we’re interested in trading for, of course.”

“Well, yes,” Tapna agreed politely. “Shall we discuss this over tea?”

“Tea?” Ford mouthed at Sheppard. “They have tea?”

“It is not unpalatable,” Teyla said diplomatically, but John noticed she wasn’t terribly enthusiastic about the idea of tea. “And it is tradition to negotiate over tea.”

“Tea it is,” Sheppard announced to the team. “Maybe they’ll have crumpets,” He said more softly to Rodney as they followed Tapna somewhere.

“Do you even know what a crumpet is?” Rodney whispered. “Although I wouldn’t mind some of those little sandwiches Carson keeps going on about.”

“The ones with no crust?” John replied. “Too bad he’s not here.”

Shortly thereafter, John silently amended that thought. Carson would’ve thrown a fit over what passed for tea on Gatha. Well, it wasn’t as though the terms really referred to the same thing, so Carson wouldn’t have a basis for his ire, but still. The tea somewhat resembled undiluted bitters and John could only take the smallest sip without choking. After the first taste, he’d shut down his taste buds entirely. John glanced uneasily at his still mostly-full cup of tea and the narrow, rectangular plate of food items he’d been served.

Some of them were moving, a fact that deeply disturbed John. He’d eaten live things before, including insects, but that had been during an exercise in basic training. What he had in front of him now wasn’t quite the same. The squirming bits were fuzzy green caterpillars, writhing in a soupy pink-flecked cream sauce. There were several bits of that delicacy arranged on the plate, interspersed with what passed for salad greens around here, although they too had a lot of insects mixed in—fortunately these looked fried so John managed to choke them down. Even without a sense of taste, John wasn’t really into bugs.

“Could you say that again?” Rodney asked, elbowing John who was obviously not paying attention.

“I said,” Tapna murmured, “The language of the Ancients is indeed fascinating. We greatly enjoy studying it.”

“You study Ancient?” John blurted out, quickly setting down his small cup of noxious, astringent ‘tea’. “Fascinating!”

Tapna nodded. “Dr. McKay was discussing your difficulties in translating some parts of the Ancient language.”

“They have the entire language translated,” Rodney whispered to John. “The entire language.”

John mentally blessed dress-wearing historians with nasty tea and sauced-up worms. “And we have several graphic histories of Earth,” He replied, grinning. “So...”

“Are you enjoying your tea?” Tapna inquired, holding his cup up.

John’s grin got ever so slightly brittle. “Immensely.”

“Excellent! Now, about your history...”

•••

Dr. Weir checked over the box of supplies Dr. McKay had asked for. “You’re sure you included—

“Everything,” Dr. Zelenka insisted. “All as audio files, all with required equipment. All of it.” He looked somewhat aggrieved, but Dr. Weir understood. McKay’s list of items had been a little unusual, mostly due to the inordinate amount of specific files. He had asked for all their history information, but nothing especially useful from a technological or strategic perspective.

After the Genii, McKay took no chances with the city’s security. Once Elizabeth heard what they were trading for, she enthusiastically pitched in. McKay had told her he’d sampled the Ancient translation and it was good, so far as he could tell. They and the Gathans had a shared problem in that their written language wasn’t English; however the Gathans had a standing practice of using audio recordings. Their Ancient translation paired visual representations of Ancient language with a comprehensible audio equivalent, which Kavanagh assured her would mesh nicely with their Earth-based dictation software.

“Alright, get this through the ‘gate,” She said to Lieutenant Ford, who had come back to ferry the required items. “And bring that translation here as soon as you get your hands on it.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Ford murmured, nodding before he walked through the wormhole.

When Ford returned, it was to find Major Sheppard and Dr. McKay bent over the Gathans’ computer system, avidly scrolling through the Ancient file. “Damn it, that really did mean piezoelectric transducer,” McKay muttered, glaring at the screen.

“You wanted it to mean something else?” Sheppard asked curiously. “Wouldn’t that have screwed up something along the way?”

“Yes, but that’s beside the point,” McKay snapped, flipping down to another phrase.

“Which is...” Sheppard prompted, motioning with his hand for McKay to continue.

“Dr. Jackson did the initial translation on earth and he was so cocky about it,” McKay groused. “Like translating that schematic was easier than calculating the decay rate of a partially-charged ZedPM’s capacity.”

“You wanted him to be wrong?” Sheppard inquired bemusedly.

McKay looked over at Sheppard. “Of course I wanted him to be wrong! He’s always so insufferably right, and then he pulls that ‘I ascended...again...’ shit. He could give a minor-level deity, provided it existed, an inferiority complex. At least with this translation he won’t be able to hold that kind of thing over my head anymore.”

Sheppard twisted around a little in his seat so he was facing McKay. “Let me see if I have this right. You don’t like Jackson because he’s got skills, so you think that having this translation will put him in his place.”

“Sort of. Mostly he irritates me, acting like a doe-eyed, overrated bumbling genius with a hero complex and a crush on Princess Leia,” McKay murmured, distracted by the translation.

“Disregarding completely the fact that you didn’t have to work for this translation. It practically fell in your lap,” Sheppard finished, smirking.

“Considerable work went into obtaining this information,” Rodney protested. “I ate caterpillars. Besides, you know the way things are.”

“I do?” Sheppard said, obviously not knowing at all.

“Cheat to win,” Rodney replied with an evil grin. “Ford, are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to give the Gathans our collected history?”

“Oh,” Ford murmured, handing the box to Rodney. “I think you might need to set it up for them.”

Rodney sighed and put the box on a nearby table before extracting its contents. “Sheppard, go find Tapna so he can unlock the rest of that file. I want to get this over with and go home.”

•••

The team returned to Atlantis amidst great fanfare, as Dr. Weir and Rodney’s staff had let slip the products of their mission. A gang of linguists perched menacingly near the ‘gate controls and Rodney only briefly considered giving them the slip before handing resigning himself to letting them take over the project. He couldn’t argue against them doing the work, as translating was their only real job in the city.

“Have fun!” John called out as Rodney joined the linguists. Rodney shot him a rather dirty glare before disappearing in a throng of chattering academics.

Setting up the device wasn’t difficult as Zelenka and Kavanagh had already rigged up a dictation program based on Ford’s description of the Ancient translation. About an hour after returning to Atlantis, Rodney was ready to leave the project with the linguists—not because he was bored with it, but because if he stayed, he would end up killing one or more of them.

“Look,” He said, interrupting their canary-like prattling, “You scroll with this button, listen with this one, and go backwards or stop with this one,” He informed them one more time, pointing to the computer. “We’ve rigged up a recharger for this unit so if you run down the battery you’ll have to wait until we get it powered back up. The big rule is don’t break the damned thing as it’s our only copy.”

“We should make a copy of the file, then,” One linguist pointed out.

“I know that,” Rodney shot back shortly, “But someone insisted on playing with the translation before we did it.”

More chatter followed and Rodney finally lost his temper. He grabbed the computer, closing it up, and retreated to the door. “Fine. If you can’t agree on something so simple as whether or not to back up a vitally important piece of information, you lose the privilege of playing with it.”

“You can’t do that!” One linguist cried, advancing on Rodney. A very nicely placed glare from the physicist stopped her.

“Yeah, I can,” Rodney remarked. “You will get a copy of this translation, in a format compatible with your computers, as soon as we have one made. Until then, thgakan culk.”

Rodney swept out of the room and changed forms, flowing up and onto the upper part of the wall as he sped towards his lab, the computer safely encased in his form. He didn’t come down and re-form until he’d reached his lab door—only to find that John had followed him.

“Nice move,” John said, smirking. “And something tells me you looked up Ancient profanity.”

Rodney shrugged. “Why not?” He asked as he walked into his lab. “I tried, you know. Soft, squishy scientists like linguists are too fractious for their own good, so they lost the right to play with my new toy.”

John merely nodded and watched Rodney set up the computer on his work space. A few minutes later the program was being copied, although John had lost track of exactly how Rodney was making that happen. When Rodney pushed him out of the room, John let him and waited patiently while Rodney locked his office and stared at the now-shut door.

“You want to play,” John stated.

“Of course I want to play. But the thing needs copying, and it’s faster to just let it finish all at once,” Rodney admitted. “Besides, I need to eat something to make me forget lunch.”

“Good idea,” John said, following Rodney out of the lab. They were well on their way to the mess hall when he remembered something from Gatha. “Princess Leia, Rodney? Did Jackson really...”

Rodney snorted. “Yes, he did. We got into a discussion about Star Wars one night when I was trying to fix something O’Neill had broken at SGC.”

“And he crushed on her?” John murmured, grinning.

“Cliché, I know. Poll a thousand geeks and nine hundred ninety of them crushed on Leia,” Rodney complained. “And the sad part is it’s not because she’s hot, or even all that smart.”

“Dare I ask?” John murmured dryly as the entered the mess hall, which was, thankfully, mostly empty. The chow line was currently a serve-yourself buffet of fresh veggies and unidentifiable meat products.

Rodney looked over at John. “Have you seen those movies? Besides Leia, females are damn-near nonexistent. The geeks go for her by default. Which is incredibly stupid, given how homoerotic the Star Wars series is—and most science fiction, to be honest.”

John chuckled under his breath and put a spoonful of some kind of cooked vegetable on Rodney’s plate. “I take it you didn’t crush on Leia, then?”

“Ye gods, no!” Rodney replied quickly. “Do you really think so little of me? It’s not that she’s an ogre, but everyone should just give up the ghost and jack off to Han Solo.”

Rodney was just quick enough to catch John’s plate as it began to fall. “What?” Rodney asked, studying John’s odd expression.

“Han Solo?” John said. “Han Solo?”

“Luke looked like a constipated toad and unless you have a very specific—not to mention disturbing—fetish, Chewbacca, the Emperor, and Darth Vader really aren’t good crush-material,” Rodney replied as he urged John toward a table.

John sat down and looked at the plate of food Rodney placed before him. “You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”

Rodney’s laugh was only a little bitter. “I’m a geek, John. When you’ve been awake for three days and are still trying to figure out how to save your career, you save your sanity by thinking about flying and surfing and what-the-fuck-ever. I, on the other hand, ponder why a woman wearing a choirboy robe and brown breakfast pastries tacked to her ears is the eternal object of lust for so many of my peers.”

“Right,” John murmured, digging into his supper. “So...”

“Hmm?” Rodney hummed around a bite of food.

“Who’s gonna tell Carson he missed tea?”

•••

“If you’re here to gloat, try to do it silently,” Carson grumbled as Rodney walked into his lab. “I’m busy.”

“I don’t hear the teasing whirr of your pretty little machines,” Rodney countered, sidling up to Carson and perching on his desk. “Besides, I have big news!”

“Yes, yes,” Carson muttered, sighing impatiently. He looked up from his computer, frowning at Rodney’s giddiness. “You have a translation of Ancient. I’ve already submitted a request to have one of my doctors get translations for all the equipment that looks medical in nature.”

“We had tea,” Rodney said, as though Carson wasn’t complaining at him and being curt in an effort to run him off.

Carson blinked a few times. “Tea?” He asked, his face lighting up. “You mean some kind of drink made out of the local bark.”

Rodney shook his head. “No, formal tea. Little cups of drink made out of the local tea plant, little plates of local delicacies, all served up with due pomp and flair.”

“Tea,” Carson whispered. “You had tea.”

Rodney felt momentarily guilty for winding Carson up; the doctor was so transparently hopeful now. He could already tell Carson was thinking of ways to get included on a future mission to Gatha.

“Now, I’ll admit the tea was a bit more stout than I was used to,” Rodney admitted casually. “But nothing some milk and sugar couldn’t fix.”

“Tea,” Carson echoed, sighing happily.

“And the live caterpillars covered in chunky hollandaise sauce were really not my cup of tea, no pun intended,” Rodney said almost gleefully.

Watching Carson’s expression evolve from ecstatic and hopeful joy to revulsion and disbelief was perversely thrilling, although a tiny voice inside Rodney’s head was making evil chiding sounds that implied Rodney was going to pay dearly for his fun.

“Caterpillars. For tea,” Carson grated out, glaring at Rodney’s too-chipper face. “You really love winding me up, don’t you?” He accused sharply. “Makin’ me think the Gathans had tea! Caterpillars and bitter brew is not tea, and you damn well know it.”

“It is on Gatha,” Rodney said primly. “And who am I to question the nature of another man’s tea?”

“Go away, Rodney,” Carson said, pointing at the door. “I’m trying to write up a report for Dr. Weir—not that she’ll bother reading it now that you found that translation.”

Rodney slowly walked to the door, figuring Carson had a few hours to cool down before he came home, time that Rodney could use to get John to collaborate on a way to lift the Scot’s mood. Carson was right, too; unless it was written in Ancient, Weir wouldn’t have any interest in a report for the foreseeable future.

“We’ll have supper ready when you get home!” Rodney called out before opening the door and leaving. As it slid closed, Rodney heard Carson mutter something foul in Gaelic, a word Rodney knew to be a slur against his maternal ancestry.

Rodney wasn’t offended; his mother really did resemble a flea-bitten mountain goat.