Mathématique: Chapter 77

Hope in the evening hour.

Chapter warnings: Stressors of all kinds. Grief. Physical injuries. Mental health challenges.

Text iteration: Witchingest hour.

Additional notes: We’ll see if this chapter stays this ridiculous when the Edit Wave hits.

Chapter 77

The afternoon passed in a heart-aching blur of laughter, Astria Porta, and the holiday smells of meat and wine and baking spices.

Young sat on his own couch watching the festivities and taking a break from the cardio workout that was interacting with Nick Rush. The guy was too much. In close quarters and in his element he was knocking Young so far off his game that Young himself had told the man to put up a barrier and the magnificent bastard had said no. 

Young was gonna do his best not to think about that. Not now. Not until the guy got his memories back.

Across the room, Jackson stood on a chair, tacking a pine and holly garland to the wall. James steadied him with two hands on the back of the chair. She’d thrown a loop of greenery over her shoulder. Every flat surface in the room hosted decorative antlers, moss, and bowls of water with unlit floating candles. There was an oak and holly tablecloth, and the far wall of Young’s dining room was hung with what was probably an authentic tapestry depicting a sword hovering over a lake in green and gold thread.

Yeah.

Jackson was doing up his damn apartment with a druidic theme.

Young was letting the whole thing ride.

Eli sat cross-legged on the floor with his computer perched on Young’s coffee table. The light of the screen gave his face a soft glow. Ginn sat next to him, full of bottled intensity, eyes fixed on the screen like she was memorizing Astria Porta details on the fly. Greer sat on the kid’s opposite side, his posture relaxed, his gaze regularly sweeping the room. Teal’c stood behind their little trio, looking down at the computer with crossed arms and an amused expression.

“Okay.” Eli cracked his knuckles. “Master Sergeant Greer’s Serpentis Shock Trooper is done. Who’s next?”

“Me,” Teal’c informed him.

“Oh.” Eli craned his neck to look up at the man. “Teal’c, right? Member of SG-1, leader of the Jaffa Nation?”

“Bloodkin to all Jaffa,” Jackson added, still tacking up garlands.

Teal’c inclined his head.

“Soooo.” Eli looked up at Teal’c with what probably passed for deference in Kids These Days. “I’m guessing you want a badass warrior character?”

“Is not the purpose of this game to explore alternate experiences?” Teal’c asked.

“Good point. Great point.” Jackson planted a hand on the wall as he twisted to look at Eli. “Don’t put Teal’c in a box.”

With a grimace, James ghosted a hand up to steady the man. Just as quick, she pulled it back, then settled on the awkward middle ground of hovering about six inches from Jackson’s upper thigh.

Teal’c inclined his head in Jackson’s direction.

“I, uh. Okay. Yes. No boxes.” Eli looked up at Teal’c. “Do you have an idea of what you want?”

“I will be a Promethean female healer with high wisdom and low strength,” Teal’c informed Eli.

“Seriously?” The kid looked delighted.

Teal’c inclined his head.

“I like a guy who knows what he wants,” Eli muttered, bent over his computer. “You got a name in mind?”

“Tau Neutrino,” Teal’c informed him.

Eli burst out laughing.

“It is the most beautiful of the fundamental particles, is it not?” Teal’c asked. “Mysterious and rare?”

“Sam’s gonna love that,” Jackson said, a thumbtack between his teeth.

“Yeah,” Eli said, grinning up at Teal’c. “Okay. Tau Neutrino. Promethean healer. You got it. Any opinions on Tau’s appearance?”

“Many,” Teal’c said gravely.

“Take a seat then,” Eli said authoritatively. Greer scrambled up and posted himself next to the door, his hands clasped behind his back.

“At ease a little more ease, sergeant,” Young said. “You’re backup for the double-detail in the basement.”

“Yes sir.” Greer relaxed his stance, but didn’t move from the door.

Sheppard emerged from Young’s bedroom, sleep rumpled and rubbing red eyes after his hours-long attempt to preserve whatever bizarre circadian plan he’d put himself on. He dropped onto the couch next to Young, blinking at the rustic decor.

“What happened to this place?” Sheppard blearily canvassed the room, his brow furrowing as he stared at the antler and candle display on Young’s media cabinet.

“Uh.” Young cocked his head, considering.

“Is that—moss?” Sheppard squinted at the base of the TV.

“Yeah,” Young said.

“This is the weirdest Christmas—”

“Ah! Not Christmas,” Jackson corrected crisply. “This is British Iron Age decor.”

“Oh.” Sheppard gave Young an eloquent side-eye, then looked back at Jackson. “Thanks for clarifying. Uh. Why?”

“Why what?” Jackson stepped off his chair, moved it a few feet along the wall, and stepped back up.

“Why British Iron Age?”

Jackson accepted another loop of garland from James and gave Sheppard a blank look. “Why not?”

“Yeah, Shep, why not?” Young did his best to keep a straight face.

“I’m gonna get some air.” Sheppard got to his feet.

“I’ll come with you,” Young said.

Wordlessly, Sheppard offered him a hand. Young took it, and the man slowly drew him off the couch.

“James.” Young leaned into his cane as he followed Sheppard to the front door. “Greer. No one gets abducted.”

“Yes sir,” James replied.

“You got it.” The sergeant ushered them through the door and bolted it behind them.

They swung by the monitoring station in the basement on their way out the front door to check in with the Air Force personnel on duty. Word was that Earthside Lucian Alliance activity quieted after the Au Coeur op, but that hadn’t stopped Landry from doubling the personnel assigned to Young’s building, given Rush and Eli were on site.

After the check in, they took the elevator to the ground floor. “Can’t believe Landry okayed this little day trip for everyone,” Sheppard said.

“That’s Jackson, for ya,” Young replied. “The guy could persuade water and oil to mix.”

“The human emulsifier.” Sheppard led the way toward the building’s front entrance.

“Yup.”

Outside, the nip in the air sharpened up Young’s thoughts. He posted up next to the front doors, put his back to the cold brick of the building’s exterior wall, and listened to the sounds of the distant traffic. The late afternoon sun was sinking toward the horizon.

“Days getting shorter,” Young said.

“Not on Atlantis.” Sheppard looked up at the fading afternoon light. “City’s located on the equator. With the right trajectory, the spin of the planet gives the star drive a little more kick. That’s the theory.”

Young let the moment lengthen. The cold seeped through his jeans and flannel. “How you doin’?”

“Fine.” Sheppard traced his fingertips over one of the devices at his temple.

“Bullshit.”

Sheppard launched a lazy counterattack. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Bullshit.”

The wind stripped a few dead leaves from the trees overhead.

“Now that we got that outta the way,” Young said, “you wanna tell me why you haven’t been sleeping? Why you look like hell? And don’t give me that garbage about being on Atlantis time.”

Sheppard posted himself on the opposite side of the building’s entrance, keeping the glass doors between them. “I sleep better in Pegasus. Always have.”

“Whatever this thing is,” Young gestured vaguely at his own temple, “whatever the hell happened to you two on Altera, it seems like it’s affecting you more than Nick.”

“Not totally sure about that,” Sheppard said. “But maybe. Seems like that. Feels like that. I mean look at the guy.”

Young studied the dark lattice that bare tree-branches made against the pastel sky. “I’m trying not to.”

He sensed rather than saw Sheppard’s sharp lateral look.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Young glanced at the man, trying to judge what Sheppard might be thinking. It was no good; the man was back to studying the sky. His red-rimmed eyes gave nothing away. He hesitated, on the brink of revealing more. He needed someone to help keep him in line. It sure as hell wasn’t gonna be Rush. He couldn’t think of a better candidate than John Sheppard: trustworthy, open-minded, not a talker. “Been trying to keep myself from doing anything stupid for a while now,” he said. “He’s making it tough.”

“Nothing beats a bossy mathematician.” Sheppard tried to sell the line with a grin and a shrug, but—

The guy looked cored out; like he’d gutted himself landing a line that was supposed to hit like a joke.

“What’s wrong?” Young asked.

“Nothing.”

“Shep.”

“Nothing.” Sheppard stubbornly kept his eyes on the same patch of empty sky.

Young took a beat.

He watched the lights change at the corner stoplight.

A flock of geese flew overhead, honking faintly.

A car drove by, bass blasting through its speaker system, loud enough to hear even with the windows rolled up.

“Shep,” Young said again. “C’mon. What is it?”

“Didn’t know you were into guys,” Sheppard said, trying to divert the conversation.

Young shrugged. “Everyone’s bisexual in space.”

Sheppard gave him a real smile. “If you can leave the planet, you can leave the gender binary.”

“That line work on McKay?”

“Nope.” An orange wisp of cloud laced its way into the blank patch of sky Sheppard was studying. “It might have, eventually, if a hot blonde with a drill hadn’t saved his life in Wraith territory. She’s pretty great. Can’t hold a thing against her. They’re good together.”

“Shit,” Young said. “You serious?”

“Yeah.” Sheppard said. “I’m pivoting, though.”

“Oh yeah?” Young asked.

“Not sure I’d do a human any good anyway.” Sheppard shoved his hands in his pockets and stared stubbornly at his little patch of sky. “Ignore everything you hear on Atlantis.”

Young frowned. “What am I gonna hear?”

Sheppard sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “It’s been—awkward. McKay and Keller. It all goes over McKay’s head, mostly, I think. But y’know. It doesn’t go over everyone’s head. People talk. Teyla giving me sad eyes. Radek giving me sad eyes. Ronon trying to cheer me up by beating the crap outta me.”

“Sounds rough.”

“There was like a lot of pity. I didn’t love it.”

“Yeah.”

“But then I get pulled for this little assignment with a Fields Medalist.” Sheppard shrugged. “Couldn’t’ve been more perfect. Did I talk him up enough to give McKay a complex? Yeah. Lil’ bit. That’s my bad.”

Wait a second.

“Are you saying,” Young began slowly.

“It was a bad idea.” Sheppard plowed over him. “I never thought we’d cross paths again. Not for long enough to make a difference. But I told him. Warned him. I had to. Because my whole social circle on Atlantis—”

“Back it up,” Young said. “You have feelings for Nick Rush?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Shep replied. “I was never gonna do anything about it. Not with the posting that I have. In a city I can’t leave for more than a few weeks without losing my mind. In a city that feels like it takes up half my mind.”

Young paused to consider this, his heart in his beat to hell shoes. The last thing he wanted was to be in some kinda competition with Shep over his neighbor, but even worse, somehow, was the guy ceding the whole thing to him without a fight. It was stupid—both of them hung up on the same off-limits math professor. But it had a Shep & Young flavor to it that made all kinds of sense to his gut. He and Shep were packaged with all kinds of responsible wrapping, but when it came down to it—

“I like this,” Young said philosophically.

“You—” Sheppard looked over at him. “You what?”

“This is good. The guy’s off limits, right? I mean, he should be, until he’s got his memories back.”

“Agreed,” Sheppard spoke cautiously, “but like I said, I got this whole thing goin’ with Atlantis.”

“Shep, I’m gonna be real. I don’t like the sound of that. I think we—I don’t know. Appreciate this time. That ridiculous guy upstairs. Before everything goes to shit.”

“Milky Way’s full of Ori,” Sheppard whispered in the evening light. “Pegasus is full of Wraith.”

“Yup.”

Sheppard shivered and crossed his arms a little harder. “You ever have the feeling that everything’s already over? We’re just living it out? Haven’t been sure if the feeling is coming from me or from the city. But here, now, I’m thinking it’s gotta be me.”

“Shep,” Young said. The other man looked over at him. “I have that feeling all the damn time. Haven’t been able to shake it since David pulled me off that mountain.”

Sheppard looked across at him, his eyes bruised. He didn’t correct Young. “Yeah. Like watching demigods make their plays as the day closes on everything we’ve ever known. David. Nick. Daniel. Teal’c. Elizabeth was like that. Staking herself to her principles. Pushing us into the night.” His voice faded in fray and rasp. “It’s got a name, y’know.”

What does?

“The feeling. The Ancients knew it well. Hope in the evening hour. Vesperance.”

“I like it,” Young said. “Feels right. Eyes open, still workin’ the job.”

Mitchell’s Camaro turned into the parking lot. Sheppard watched it with the ghost of a smile. “Keeping the math guys outta trouble. Right to the end.”

“Count me in,” Young said softly.

“I will,” Sheppard said.

“Plus,” Young said, “I need someone who I can complain to about Nick Rush’s stupidly great hair.”

“His handwriting,” Sheppard sighed, tipping his head back against the brick as Mitchell parked.

“I don’t understand why he won’t wear shoes.”

“I hope we never have to watch him play piano,” Sheppard said, grinning at Young.

“Forget it,” Young said. “The cooking is rough enough as it is.”

“Yeah, why do you think I took a nap?”

Young snorted.

Mitchell killed the engine, dove out of the driver’s side door and dart around the car, arriving at Lam’s door about a second and a half too late to open it for her. He offered his hand. Delicately, she took it, and stepped into the cold November air.

Sheppard smirked. “How long’s that been goin’ on?”

“Not long. Couple weeks, maybe? Don’t think Landry knows yet.”

Sheppard nodded.

Mitchell’s glare seemed to be designed to quell any commentary as the pair approached. Fallen leaves, yellow and brown, swirled in the parking lot. Lam’s hair billowed in a gust of November wind. She carried a brown paper bag. Mitchell, walking beside her, carried—

“That a fishbowl?” Young asked.

“Yeah,” Mitchell said. “Sorry we’re cutting it close. Jackson sent us on a damn scavenger hunt. He asked for a fishbowl, mead, thirty beeswax taper candles, and a bag of dead leaves.”

“I see a fishbowl,” Young said.

“Some people aren’t off today,” Mitchell shot back. “Some people were asked find mead on short notice in Colorado Springs after they saved lives from seven to three.”

Lam snorted. “It’s fine. I’m—honored, I guess, that he thinks we’re so resourceful?”

Sheppard knelt and started selecting a bouquet of nice-looking leaves.

“Forget it, Shep,” Mitchell said. “He wants oak leaves.”

“I’m not great with leaves.” Sheppard admitted, squinting up at Mitchell.

“Those aren’t oak.”

“None of them?”

“None.” Mitchell offered Sheppard a hand.

“Jackson’s just tryin’ to impress Vala,” Young said.

“Then he shoulda shelled out for dollar store rhinestones and gold-coin chocolate,” Mitchell said.

“He’s got a British Iron Age theme’ going.” Young did his best to hang onto his straight face.

Lam laughed into the sleeve of her burgundy pea coat, trying to make it look like a cough.

“What the hell does ‘British Iron Age’ look like?” Mitchell demanded.

“Weird Christmas,” Sheppard said.

Mitchell cast his eyes heavenward. “Grandma, you gotta help that man.”

“What’s in the bag?” Young asked Lam.

“Rhinestones and fake gold,” Lam replied.

Sheppard grinned. “You serious?”

Lam opened the bag and everything in it caught the light of the fading day.

“We had time for one stop,” Mitchell said. “Dollar Tree. He’s gonna take what he gets.”

“C’mon,” Young said. “If we hurry, we can supplement the decor before Vala sees the finished product.”

“Thought Vala was here,” Mitchell said.

“Yeah, but she’s been working on butternut squash shooters for the better part of an hour,” Young said. “She hasn’t seen Jackson’s finished product yet.”

“You guys go on.” Sheppard wiped his hands on his fatigues. “I’m gonna wait for McKay and Carter.”

Young frowned. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Sheppard leaned into the cold brick. “I wanna experience the full 5:30 PM Mal Doran show when we all walk in.”

“Fair enough,” Mitchell said. He looked at Lam. “Let’s get you out of this cold.”

Young swung the glass door wide and gestured them in. He paused before following. “You want some company?”

Sheppard ducked his head and traced the edge of a device at his temple. “Nah.”

Young looked at the man and his mind was suddenly full of the American West, of Sheppard coaxing spectral speed out of his red mustang; impossible to detect while it was happening, avoiding, somehow, every speed trap on those open desert roads.

“Everett,” Mitchell called from inside, “you coming?”

“I’m coming,” Young replied. To Sheppard, he said, “Tell McKay how hard the Milky Way math team is crushing it up there.”

Sheppard saluted.

Young snorted and passed through the door to join Mitchell and Lam next to the elevators.

“He okay?” Mitchell asked, his eyes on the building’s front entrance. “He’s looking a little rough around the edges.”

“It’s been a few days since McKay adjusted his cortical suppressors.” Lam’s eyes, too, lingered on the glass doors. “He and Carter have been buried in the new Midway Protocols.”

“Shep’s on Lantean time.” Young hit the button for his floor. “He’ll be fine when we get him back across the universe.”

“Hope so,” Mitchell replied.

A few minutes before the party was due to start, Vala emerged from Young’s study in a cream-colored dress that clung to her body in all the right places and just so happened to compliment both her fairy-light crutch and Jackson’s sweater. She was delighted with Jackson’s bizarre decor, especially the piles of rhinestones and chocolate masquerading as gold, which Mitchell and Lam heroically didn’t claim an ounce of credit for.

The Druidic Altar formerly known as Young’s kitchen table was artfully piled with food and drink. Beneath a candles-and-antler display, the table was crammed with champagne on ice and cold hors d’ouevres: chilled shrimp and spicy cocktail sauce, cheese and crackers, apple and brie, pumpkin hummus with rosemary flatbread, smoked salmon tartare on cucumber rounds, balsamic glazed caprese skewers, all of it surrounded by waiting glassware.

Ginn stood guard over the table, watching Eli try to explain to Daniel Jackson why it wasn’t a good idea to create a librarian in Astria Porta.

Young posted up next to her. “What’s a guy gotta do to get a head start on this stuff.” He eyed the table behind her.

“Vala has given very strict instructions on timing,” Ginn said solemnly.

“I’ll bet,” Young said.

Across the room, Nick Rush was showing sergeant Greer how to reverse-gun the flame on a Zippo lighter. Vala had switched the guy’s outfit. He was in a crisp as hell dress shirt and a tweed blazer with elbow patches, for god’s sake.

Already, Young couldn’t wait to complain to Sheppard about it.

“Colonel Carter will be here tonight,” Ginn said softly.

Young looked over at her.

“You’re sure it would be wrong to offer her a cut of my salary?” Ginn tried to play her anxiety close to the chest and missed by a mile.

“Yeah.”

“Just a small cut,” the girl continued. “I would explain, very clearly, that it’s meant as an honor.”

“Kid,” Young said. “No. Don’t do that. Just thank her again for saving your life and stay out of her way for the rest of the night unless she indicates otherwise.”

Ginn nodded.

“And don’t drink too much,” Young said. “No matter how good the cocktails are. You’re probably not gonna have tasted anything like what’s on offer tonight.”

“I’ve been to harvest festivals,” Ginn informed him, a hint of that moody teenager she’d played during their undercover Boston mission making an appearance. “Before I was recruited by the Alliance.”

Young snorted. “Some things you just gotta experience, I guess. Just keep track of what has alcohol and what doesn’t. It’s easy to get carried away on Tau’ri drinks when you’re used to something that tastes like piss and gasoline. You wouldn’t be the first.”

“I’ll be vigilant,” Ginn said solemnly.

“You and Eli are hitting it off pretty well, it looks like. Did he make you a character?”

“Yes. Vera Sar. Promethean technomage with an affinity for charge manipulation. She has one eye.”

“One eye? Sounds like she’s seen some times.”

Ginn nodded gravely.

Beneath the “autumnal pop” Vala was playing over the speaker system, there was a knock on Young’s front door.

“Here we go!” Vala turned the lights down, smoothed her hair, and swung the door wide to reveal Carter and McKay, both in civvies. Shep brought up the rear. “Come on in, bridge builders,” she said.

Carter’s eyes widened as she took in the candlelit room, Vala’s cream and sparkle dress, the knot of people clustered around a glowing computer screen. “Are we late?”

“No,” Vala grabbed Carter’s jaw and manhandled her into a kiss on each cheek. “You’re the only ones who came on time.”

“Oh, uh, okay.” Carter rubbed her jaw, doing her best to go with the flow. “Nice dress.”

“This old thing?” Vala smoothed a hand over her injured thigh. Her mathematical nails caught the candlelight.

“Hey, is that a scrambled polynomial series?” Carter asked.

“Maybe.” Vala provocatively fanned her fingertips.

“This is the coolest party I’ve ever been to,” McKay breathed, staring at the Antler Altar that was Young’s kitchen table.

“You been to a lot of parties?” Sheppard asked, smiling faintly.

“Hey,” McKay said.

Vala beamed at McKay. “Yes, SG-1 does know how to throw a proper bash, don’t we? Come in, come in.” She ushered them forward. “We have two signature cocktails to choose from: a Fibonacci Fizz and Möbiustini. And of course there are the classics: champagne, chardonnay, and pinot noir. The colonel will take your coats, I’m sure?” Vala arched an eyebrow at Young.

“Yup.” Young came forward, leaning into his crutch. “Hi guys.”

“Maybe I should keep my jacket.” McKay spoke loud enough the entire room could hear. “I’m a little cold after the motorcycle ride we took to get here.”

Carter snorted and shrugged out of her leather jacket. “Thanks.” She handed it to Young with a warm smile.

“Simmer down, Rossi.” Sheppard motioned for McKay’s coat.

“That’s some insider motorcycle thing you know, isn’t it?” McKay gave up his coat.

“Yup,” Sheppard replied.

“How’ve you been, Everett?” Carter asked.

“Not bad,” Young said. “Prepping for Pegasus.”

“Us too,” Carter said. She stepped in, and in an undertone, she added, “You’re gonna introduce me to Nick Rush, right?”

“Figured you guys would’ve met,” Young said.

“No, we, uh, we’ve actually never talked in person.” Carter threw a furtive glance at Rush, who was supervising Greer’s execution of what looked like a flawless reverse-gun of a silver lighter. “Just email. I’ve wanted to meet him for a while now. That proof of his.” She shook her head. “It has some astonishing implications for computational complexity theory, specifically the collapsing of hierarchical—”

“Hotshot,” Young called, cutting Carter off before she could get too deep into whatever spectacular math thing his neighbor had done. “Come meet Sam Carter.” He beckoned the guy over with a hand.

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean right now,” Carter whispered guiltily. “He looked busy.”

“Busy?” McKay repeated, scandalized. “Waaait. Are you blushing? You. Sam Carter. Blushing???”

“Shut up, McKay,” Carter hissed. “I’m not blushing.”

Rush approached, skirting the knot of people clustered around the Eli & Jackson show playing out around the coffee table.

“Unacceptable,” McKay said stiffly, stepping to Carter’s shoulder. “He should be honored to meet you. How many times has he saved the planet? Hmm?” McKay eyed Carter. “Probably not even one.”

“Please go away,” Carter said through clenched teeth.

“Nope,” McKay clenched his teeth right back.

Young bit the inside of his cheek to hold a straight face. A quick look at Shep found the guy doing a crap job at fighting down his own smile. Their eyes met and they lost it.

“Hello.” Rush walked into their midst with enough department-chair charm to shatter the McKay Carter Intergalactic Bridge of Awkwardness without even noticing it existed.

Young tried not to internally sigh.

“Hi,” Carter breathed, extending her hand. “I’m Sam Carter.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Rush said.

“Same,” Carter said, her eyes shining. “I mean, likewise. We’ve actually never. I mean, before you lost your memories? Met. You and I. We haven’t met. This is the first time. They don’t let me off the base much.” She laughed anxiously. “I find your work fascinating. Big fan. Um.”

“Yes well.” Rush looked a little thrown by Carter’s obvious anxiety. “I—”

“NO.” McKay put an arm around Carter and shook her for emphasis. “Nick. Unacceptable. Do you know who this is? This is Sam Carter, okay? She sent an asteroid into hyperspace so it wouldn’t hit the Earth. She designed the stargate dialing computer. She reignited a dying sun. An ascended Ancient fell in love with her brain. Just the thought of her was enough to save me from drowning.”

“Ah, um, congratulations.”

Carter’s eyes were closed. She looked like she wanted to drop dead on the spot.

“She powered a stargate with moss,” Jackson shouted from across the room.

“She upgrades automobiles in her free time,” Vala added, picking up a drink platter and balancing it on one hand. “She rides motorcycles in low-cut tops.”

“Vala!!” Carter said, her cheeks flaming. “I do not.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,’ Vala said primly.

“No there’s not,” McKay said in solidarity. “Plus, they’re classy.”

“She evaded a Kull Warrior for three days and three nights,” Teal’c intoned. “On numerous occasions she has outwitted machine intelligences.”

“She’s gonna phase shift that lab bench a’hers,” Mitchell added from the couch where he sat with Lam. “Any day now.”

“Probably would’ve happened already without certain coffee-related mishaps,” Jackson added innocently, his eyes on Eli’s screen.

Young snorted.

“Very impressive,” Rush said uncertainly, when it seemed SG-1 had finished sounding off. 

Carter’s face was bright pink. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “This is not what I pictured.” She stared at Rush. “I—”

“She’s embarrassed,” McKay said brusquely. “That’s wrong. Deeply wrong. She spent today building a bridge between galaxies. Nick, this is one hundred percent your fault. Fix it. Immediately.”

Rush shot McKay an appealingly flustered look. “You’re making it difficult.”

“Sorry about him.” Sheppard pried McKay’s arm from around Carter. “He thinks he’s helping.

Carter pointed at the Druidic Altar. “Go eat.”

“There’s no citrus in any of that, is there?” McKay asked. “Because—”

“No,” Sheppard said, leading McKay deeper into the apartment. “I checked.”

Carter wiped sweat off her forehead.

Rush reseated his glasses.

“Look on the bright side,” Young said to Carter. “That couldn’t’ve gone much worse.”

“It was fine,” Rush said, unconvincingly. “Seems you have quite the resume.”

“Um,” Carter said miserably.

“I’m gonna let you two start over,” Young clapped them both on the shoulder, then followed Sheppard and McKay toward the Druidic Altar. “Shep.” Young motioned to the man’s for McKay’s jacket. “Give me that.”

Sheppard handed over McKay’s Lantean Expedition shell. “What the hell was that?” he asked McKay.

“Needed to be done. Can’t have the pure math guys stealing the show.” He waved at Rush and Carter, slowly feeling their way into a normal conversation. “Look at them! They’re fine. Now they’re equally nervous. All’s right with the world.” McKay popped a round of cucumber and smoked salmon into his mouth. “My god that’s incredible. Vala! What did you put in these? Street drugs?”

“Ask the chef,” Vala said, making the rounds with a platter of drinks in one hand, fairy-lit crutch in the other.

“He’s harassed the chef enough for one night, I think,” Sheppard said.

“No.” McKay looked up, scandalized. “You can’t mean—”

“Yup.” Delicately, Sheppard sucked a caprese skewer clean.

“You?” McKay blinked, astonished.

“No, idiot.” Sheppard mock slapped the guy upside the head. “Nick.”

“Nick. Uh uh. No way. Not possible.” McKay crunched through another cucumber round. “Mmm. God.”

Young grinned to himself and escaped into the hall with McKay and Carter’s coats.

An hour later when everyone had tried a math-themed cocktail and put a dent in the spread under the Druidic Altar, Vala declared the time had come to switch cold hors d’oeuvres for hot ones. Jackson, done with his Astria Porta character (a human thief named Steven Levant, the unscrupulous younger brother of Daryl Levant, archeologist to the stars), had been enlisted to help pass plates of butternut squash shooters, bacon-wrapped dates, roasted apple and prosciutto crostini, pumpkin arancini, pulled pork sliders, and baked brie with figs and walnuts. McKay, motivated by spending as much time in proximity to the food on offer as possible, had also volunteered to circulate the platters.

Young and Sheppard posted up together next to one of Rush’s mathematical wall annotations to watch the evening unfold.

“Let’s steal it,” Sheppard said, his eyes half closed, a glass of champagne in his hand. “Take it out of circulation.”

“I know for a fact he’s got more where that one came from,” Young said.

“Yeah.” Sheppard sipped his champagne. “But that one would be gone.”

“True.” Young watched as, across the room, Rush’s hand gestures took on a little more dynamism as he worked his way through his Möbiustini and whatever math gauntlet Carter was putting him through.

“Bacon-wrapped date?” McKay approached with a platter. “John. These are unmissable.”

“Sure.” Sheppard straightened up and studied the platter.

“Are you drunk?” McKay frowned. “Don’t get drunk. You have neuromodulatory tech fused to your head.” He glared at Young. “Don’t let him get drunk. He gets sad.”

Young, a little beyond buzzed himself, saluted McKay and grabbed a bacon-wrapped date. He bit down through crisped bacon into the sweetness of a baked date, stuffed with creamy goat cheese, then crunched the toasted almond at the heart of the thing.

“Fuuuuuuck,” Sheppard moaned, his expression pained. “I need five more.”

“Yes,” McKay said crisply. “Correct. That is the correct response. You can have one more; everyone needs to sample these.” He shot Young a sharp look, pulled the champagne out of Sheppard’s hand and said, “Cut him off.”

Young and Sheppard grabbed another bacon-wrapped date for the road.

“Heeyyy.” Sheppard watched McKay walked away with his champagne. “Bring that back.”

“Console yourself with the pastry-wrapped brie,” McKay called over his shoulder.

Young steadied himself against the wall at his back, trying not to stare at the gleam of candlelight in Rush’s glasses, his hair, the gunmetal buckles of his damn birkenstocks. The roar of conversation in the room grew louder, looser.

Sheppard was watching McKay.

“He cares about you.” Young leaned into Shep’s personal space. “A lot. You sure there’s nothing there?”

Sheppard sighed. “Wait until you see him with Keller.” 

“Buck up, flyboy.” Young lifted his bacon wrapped date in a mock toast. Sheppard met him halfway and they bit down through the savory/sweet/crispy/creamy layers.

“Shit,” Sheppard breathed, chewing. “Shit.”

“I know,” Young seconded. 

“We gotta, like, destroy that blazer,” Sheppard said, eyes closed. “With extreme prejudice. Flamethrowers. Seam rippers. Nanotech. Cold fusion.”

Young snorted. “Demolecularization. Wash it in hot water, dry it on high. Take it to the Colorado Springs mall and leave it on a bench.”

“I know, right?” Vala slid out of candlelight and synthesized pop music to materialize at Sheppard’s elbow with a champagne glass topped off with water. “It’s criminal. I love it.” She flashed them a dazzling smile and leaned into her twinkling crutch.

“What?” Sheppard coughed.

“Take this, flyboy.” Vala handed him the water. “Nick’s blazer, right? That’s what you’re talking about.”

“Um,” Young said. “No.”

“Can’t fool me,” Vala whispered, leaning in dramatically, “I’ve been eavesdropping.”

“Not sure you’re supposed to admit that,” Sheppard said.

“Oh come now. I was worshiped as a goddess of love, beauty, and sex for decades. You think I didn’t pick up a few tricks? You think I didn’t host days-long planetwide exhibitions of debauchery that would make even Hathor, goddess of fecundity, blush?” She arched an eyebrow at the pair of them. “If you’re looking for tips—” she trailed off suggestively. “I’ve had some experience with erotic consultation. I’d cut my rate for the pair of you.”

Sheppard stared at Vala in mute astonishment.

“Um,” Young said, on their behalf.

“Are all Earth men stultifyingly boring when it comes to sex or is it just you two?” Vala asked. “Asking for a friend.” She fluttered her eyelashes at them.

“Um,” Young said again.

Vala sighed. “Impressing a high-value target,” she gestured elegantly and obviously at Rush, “requires more than standing around and misdirecting sexual frustration at items in his wardrobe.”

“Don’t point at him,” Sheppard hissed, pulling her hand out of the air. “C’mon.”

“You boys are lucky I didn’t put him in burgundy.” Vala arched a brow at Young. “It seems you’ll need to take the lead on this, handsome, given Colonel Sheppard’s difficulties with articulation. I have every confidence in you.”

“Vala,” Young recovered his equilibrium. “Knock it off. It’s not happening.”

Vala sighed. “You boys let me know when you need me. I’m available for formal romantic consultation and in-person coaching most days between four and nine. You’ll find my hourly rates very reasonable.”

“Is she bothering you?” Jackson approached with a loaded platter.

“Yeah,” Sheppard rasped. “A lot.”

“Vaaaalaaaaa,” Jackson replied, offering them a plate of little pastry packets that were probably full of something soul destroying.

“Oh darling, come now,” Vala said. “Don’t be cross because I convinced Eli to make me a librarian. No one likes a sore loser.”

“You what.”

“He made me a librarian,” Vala said. “It was terribly important to my character. You see she’s half human, half sprite, only she doesn’t know she’s half sprite because she was orphaned at a tender age and raised by librarians so really it only makes sense—”

“ELI!” Jackson’s bluefire glare split the dim light. “You made VALA a LIBRARIAN?”

Young pulled a little packet of pastry off Jackson’s plate, passed it to Shep, then grabbed another one for himself.

Eli looked up, backed by string lights and floating candles. “She’s probably gonna die at level fifteen!”

“Unlikely,” Vala stage-whispered to Young and Sheppard. “I’ll convince that doomed reality to send me back through the porta; no problem. Nick told me how it’s done; he heard it from Eli. I’m going to crush this game.”

Young bit into a buttery, gooey, pastry-wrapped package of smooth brie, toasted walnut, and sweet fig. Next to him, Sheppard made a pained sound as he chewed.

“I’m SO UPSET WITH YOU,” Jackson shouted, all his attention on Eli.

“There can only be one librarian on a team, darling, and, like I said, it makes sense for it to be Flora.” Vala said cajolingly. She pulled a pastry off Jackson’s plate and popped it in her mouth. “Starry gods of Annu,” she moaned, chewing. She turned to call over her shoulder, “Gorgeous this is outrageous. There are worlds where they’d jail you!”

Rush didn’t even pause in whatever he was describing to Carter, just gave Vala an elegant wave of acknowledgement.

“Don’t invoke Annu,” Jackson said, scandalized.

“It’s just a city,” Vala replied, mouth full of cheese and pastry.

“Yeah! Just a city! Built by the—”

“Shhh!” Vala stepped on Jackson’s foot. “Honestly.” She gave Sheppard and Young a long-suffering look, “I can’t take this one anywhere.”

“Can we get some of those pastries over here?” Eli called.

“Never,” Jackson said tartly. “Not in a million years.”

“Of course you can, Eli.” Vala grabbed his plate and made her way over to the little group on the floor, where Eli was building James a custom Astria Porta character. “It’s important to keep your strength up, whether your trials be physical or mental.”

Jackson glowered at Vala’s retreating form. “I’m a thief. I am the thief? Me?? Flora Nightingale: orphaned librarian. Steven Levant: disreputable thief. She bribed Eli with something. It’s only a matter of time until I figure out what. I am the orphaned librarian. She knows that, right? That’s literally what I am?”

Sheppard choked on his water trying not to laugh.

Young clapped Jackson on the shoulder. “Yeah, Jackson. Guarantee you, she knows.”

Jackson sighed. He reached into a pocket of his khaki pants and pulled out a handful of something green and white and sparking. “Give this to Vala,” he muttered. “It’s for her hair. But don’t tell her it’s from me.” He pressed an ornate clip into Young’s hand. The thing was a twisted maze of silver-green leaves, adorned with pearl and crystal.

“Why?” Young asked.

Jackson took a beat to stare directly into Young’s soul with that angel/demon gaze he kept on tap. “Because.” Then he shifted his focus to the knot of people in front of Eli’s computer. “I’m gonna go get another plate of something that I WON’T GIVE TO ELI,” he shouted over his shoulder. With that, he stalked back to the kitchen.

“For a guy who’s saved about thirty-seven worlds he can be surprisingly petty.” Mitchell broke off from Lam and McKay and slid into the spot Jackson had vacated. “Great party, Everett.”

“I deserve no credit,” Young said.

“Eh. It’s your place, right?”

“Doesn’t look like it.” Young eyed Jackson’s Druidic Drink Altar, lit with floating candles and fairy lights. 

“So,” Sheppard drawled, leaning into the wall like he wanted to merge with the paint. “You and Lam, huh? How’d General Landry take it?”

“General Landry doesn’t know.” Mitchell sipped his Fibonacci Fizz. “And we’re keeping it that way. For now.” Mitchell’s eyes flicked to Lam, who sat with a customized plate of low-sodium snacks, nodding politely at McKay, who was describing the storied career of Dr. Jennifer Keller.

“Good luck,” Sheppard said.

Out of the corner of Young’s eye, he saw Ginn break away from a conversation with James and stride determinedly toward Sam Carter and Nick Rush. “Shit,” he muttered, passing his Möbiustini to Mitchell. “Hold this.”

Vala, too, had spotted the problem. She and Young closed on Ginn, but with her crutch and his cane, they didn’t have a prayer of catching the kid before she walked up to Sam Carter, dropped to one knee, placed the flat of her hand on her chest, and looked up at Carter.

“Um.” Carter cocked her head. “Hi Ginn.”

“Samantha Carter,” Ginn began, “I—”

“Baby girl,” Vala said breathlessly putting a fairytale crutch between Ginn and Carter. “Get off the floor. This is not how we do things here.” She tugged at Ginn’s upper arm.

Ginn didn’t rise. “I wasn’t going to offer her my salary,” she said, looking defensively at Young.

Rush quirked an eyebrow at Carter. “Yet another admirer, I see.”

“Salary?” Carter asked blankly.

“Kid,” Young said, drawing even with Vala. “Off the floor. Come on.”

“I came to offer you a book recommendation,” Ginn said.

“Oh god,” Young muttered. “Kid, you don’t need to kneel for that?”

Rush heroically controlled his expression, downed the last of his Möbiustini, cleared his throat and said. “Must be a good one.”

“Quantum Computation and Quantum Information, by Micheal A. Neilsen and Issac L. Chuang.” Ginn pronounced formally. “I could procure it for you.”

“Why is everyone around here obsessed with quantum mechanics?” Rush quirked a brow and gave Young a look with enough charge to interfere with his heart rhythm. Young stared helplessly back at him with zero exit strategy.

Carter cleared her throat. “I’ve heard of it.”

“Oh.” Ginn looked crushed.

“But I don’t have a copy,” Carter said encouragingly.

Young dragged his eyes away from Nick Rush and refocused on Ginn.

“I will procure one for you with my salary,” Ginn said, like she was swearing a blood oath.

“Okay.” Carter offered her a hand up. “Thank you. I look forward to it.”

Reverently, slowly, Ginn took her hand and shook it. “I am sorry I shot you in the chest.”

Rush stepped next to Young, putting his attention back on hard lock. “Excuse me, but she what?” the man said conversationally.

“Long story,” Young whispered. 

“Speaking of that,” Carter said, like a woman struck by sudden inspiration. “Ginn, I’m a hired warrior. Just like you. Paid to do what I do. And I didn’t come to any permanent harm. If you’re looking for someone to thank, really the person you should be thanking is Dr. Lam. She lost her kidneys when she saved my life.”

“How the fuck did that work?” Rush asked, perplexed.

“Another long story,” Young murmured. He tore his eyes away from Rush and gently swatted Ginn’s knee with his cane. “Kid,” he growled, “go drink a gallon of water and play Astria Porta with Eli. That’s an order.”

“Yes sir,” Ginn said, and scrambled up, a little unsteady. “Dr. Carolyn Lam?”

“Right over there,” Carter pointed across the room.

“Don’t—” Young began, but it was too late. Ginn was up like an unsteady shot and making straight for Lam. “Damn it.”

“What?” Carter curled her Fibonacci Fizz to her shoulder. “It’s sweet.”

“It’s not sweet.” Young sighed, watching Ginn take a knee in front of Lam. “She wants to give someone a cut of her salary.”

“Whyyyyy?” Rush asked.

“It’s her culture,” Vala said sympathetically. “Poor thing. The LA really does a number on their people. Great uniforms though, I’ll say that for them. I’m sure our beautiful little doctor will set her straight.”

Young sighed. “I hope so.” He handed Vala Jackson’s hair clip. “Someone wants you to wear this.”

Vala gasped, delightedly examining the clip, running her fingers over the glittering greenery and imitation pearl. “A secret admirer? Handsome, you must tell me who.”

“No can do,” Young said.

“May I?” Rush held out a hand.

“Was this you?” Vala asked coyly.

“No.” Rush expertly eyed the clip with an amused expression. His eyes flicked to Jackson. “Vala—do you know what this is?”

“A hair clip?”

“No, I mean d’you know the plant?” Rush traced the wrought metal with a fingertip.

“No,” Vala said. “Should I?”

“It’s got a very particular cultural significance,” Rush stepped behind her, expertly working the clip into her upswept hair. “The kind of thing one might plan a party around?”

“Gorgeous, I can’t abide this level of mystery; you must tell me what you know.”

Rush secured the clip in the heart of Vala’s hair and stepped back, admiring his work. “I don’t think I will.” He smirked at her.

“Please,” she said, draping herself over him. “Pleaaaaaaaaase.”

“I have too much respect for the aesthetic conceit to ruin it,” Rush said, unmoved. “You’ll have t’be patient.”

“I got shot for you, gorgeous,” Vala pouted. “With a gun. Can you imagine it? A projectile weapon? I almost died.”

Careful not to unbalance her, Rush extricated himself and gracefully ducked to Young’s opposite side. “Telling you would be a disservice. Wear the clip.”

Vala upped the aggressiveness of her pouting, but finding no give in the mathematician’s expression she said. “Dessert prep starts in twenty minutes.”

“Get Jackson to help you,” Rush said. “Colonel Carter and I are in the middle of something.”

Vala gave him one last over-the-shoulder pout and flounced toward Teal’c and Greer.

Young and Carter waited until she’d passed out of hearing distance and then leaned in.

“What’s with the hair clip, hotshot?” Young asked.

“You didn’t recognize it?” Rush asked. “It’s a particular plant highly valued in British Iron Age culture. Green leaves, white berries?”

Young looked at Carter. Carter shrugged. “Beats me.”

“Mistletoe,” Rush informed them.

Young snorted.

Carter grinned, her eyes following Vala.

Young scanned his candlelit, moss-covered, antler-bedecked, gold-strewn, rhinestone-piled, British-Iron-Age-themed apartment. “Did he do all of this so he could—”

“That is the implication,” Rush said delicately.

“Damn, Jackson.” 

“Teal’c!” Carter cupped her hand over her mouth and shouted over the conversation and playlist and Astria Porta theme music. “Get over here! You owe me twenty bucks!!”

The music got louder, the conversation got louder, and Eli’s laptop screen, now hooked up to the TV, showed a silent fleet of gold ships, battling in gemstone bursts of red and blue, green and violet while Dr. Levant, cut off from his friends, feverishly ran his fingers over text engraved in stone.

Sheppard posted up next to him, a glass of champagne in his hand, his eyes on the screen. “How many times has Jackson died, y’think?”

“Probably not the kinda thing he wants to keep a count on,” Young said.

“Did anyone here have a happy childhood, you think?” Sheppard whispered.

“Okay.” Young pulled the champagne out of his hand. “Shep, can’t believe I’m saying this, but McKay was right. You’re done.” He set the champagne on the floor near the base of the wall and pulled Shep after him, through the candlelit apartment. “We’re gonna do the country a service.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep,” Young said. “If Vala and Jackson don’t show with that dessert platter soon, someone’s gonna throw open that kitchen door. No one wants that.”

“You think they’re having a moment?” Sheppard slurred.

“They better be having a moment,” Young growled as they approached the closed kitchen door. A yellow-gold ribbon outlined the door—the kitchen light, shining into the dark apartment beyond. Young held a finger to his lips, leaned in, and—

“Mistletoe was harvested with a golden sickle,” Jackson said through the wood of the door, a little slower, a little more deliberate than usual. “On the sixth night in the lunar cycle. The druids would catch the berries in a white cloth, to be sure they never touched the ground.”

Young and Sheppard smirked at one another.

“And while I’m sure that’s very interesting, darling—” Vala began.

“Hey.” McKay joined them. “Why are you guys—”

Sheppard grabbed the man’s shoulder and held a finger to his lips.

“Over the centuries,” Jackson continued, behind the closed door, “the berries gained and lost all kinds of cultural significance. But they’ve always been honored for their connection to life. To death. To the turning of the seasons.”

“He’s giving a lecture in there,” McKay whisper-hissed. “Someone needs to rescue her or we’ll never get that chai mousse I’ve been hearing so much about—”

“Hey,” Sheppard mouthed silently. “Stay. Quiet.”

McKay rolled his eyes.

“In the modern era—” Jackson began.

“In the modern era?” Vala echoed. “Daniel. The spiked cocoa was supposed to be in circulation twenty-five minutes ago. How’s that for ‘the modern era’? Read the room, darling, I’m trying to host a party here—”

“You read the room,” Jackson snapped. There was a soft clatter, a startled gasp from Vala, and—

Silence.

McKay’s mouth dropped open, astonished. “Are they—” he made a confused motion with his two hands.

Sheppard gave McKay an amused look. The three of them straightened up and edged away from the door.

McKay sighed. “I really could go for some spiked cocoa.”

“Give it another ten minutes.” Young positioned himself between the kitchen door and the rest of the room. Shep posted up at his shoulder. “Go make an Astria Porta character,” Young suggested to McKay.

“Excuse me, I have one? Cam Sarter? Hot blonde Promethean technomage with a dual specialization in nanotech and robotics?”

Young looked at Shep.

“It’s true,” Shep said, smiling faintly. “Wish it weren’t.”

“Okay, well, I wouldn’t spread that around,” Young said.

He and Shep stood, arms crossed, surveying the room. Carter and Rush were still talking in the same spot they’d spent all night. Rush was as animated as Young had ever seen him, talking with his hands, illustrating some kind of math, tracing circles, triangles, intersecting lines in the air as he talked.

Sheppard sighed wistfully. “I think they’re talking about the Independent Set Problem. He looks like he needs a marker.”

“Yep. Top of the bookshelf,” Young said.

 Sheppard looked over at him, “Really?”

“What’s another wall circle in the grand scheme of things?” Young asked.

Sheppard crossed to the bookshelf. Young, leaning into his cane, followed more slowly. As they joined Rush and Carter, a scattered cheer erupted from the group around the TV as Eli gave Teal’c tactical advice to navigate Tau Neutrino through a burning ship.

“Can I offer you,” Sheppard presented the marker with a small flourish, “a sharpie.”

“Oh, no,” Rush said, stammering like he’d just been gifted with a winning lottery ticket. “I—I couldn’t possibly.”

“Couldn’t possibly?” Young growled, coming up behind him. “Take a look a look around, hotshot.”

“C’mon,” Sheppard said. “I could tell from across the room you were describing the Generalized Petersen graph. We wanna see it.”

“We do.” Carter grinned, crunching into one of the last bacon-wrapped dates.

Young pulled the marker out of Sheppard’s hand, uncapped the thing, and handed it to Rush. “Go for it.”

“If you insist.” Rush took the marker and free-handed a goddamned perfect circle.

“Damn,” Sheppard said. “That was hot.”

“That was hot?” Carter echoed.

“Set theory can be hot,” Sheppard muttered, watching Rush ignore them, while ticking off nine perfectly arced points around the perimeter of the circle.

“Technical skill can be hot,” Young said mildly.

Lam joined them, a custom cocktail in hand. “Um, hi, sorry to interrupt.”

“You’re not interrupting,” Sheppard said. “He hasn’t started connecting vertices yet.”

“Oh,” Lam said. “Okay, well, um. Nick, just a—just quick heads up; have you met Ginn Keeler?”

Rush stopped doing whatever magical math thing he was doing on the wall. “Yes. She’s been rather hard to miss.”

“Um,” Lam said. “Sorry about this, but, uh. She’s gonna try to offer you part of her salary.”

“Come again?” Rush said.

“Well, she was pretty adamant about offering me part of her salary? But we talked it through and it came to light that the real reason she was hired was that her counterinsurgency intel was extremely valuable given your relative importance. So. If there was a person most directly connected to her appointment on SG-68? It’s probably you. Like, from a causal standpoint.”

Carter snorted into her third Fibonacci Fizz.

Lam winced theatrically. “She really wants to give a cut to someone. She’s got it in her head that it’s the right thing to do.”

Young scanned the room and found Ginn watching their little group from the floor near the coffee table. When she saw them looking at her, she got unsteadily to her feet and approached. This time, Eli followed, hard on her heels.

“Ginn,” Eli said. “Ginn, we can talk this through a little more—

“Kid,” Young growled, as she took a knee in front of his neighbor. “When I said ‘don’t offer Carter your salary,’ I meant ‘don’t offer anyone your salary.”

Rush regarded her with some pretty outstanding math professor vibes. “Can I help you?”

“Dr. Rush,” she said formally. “As my Tau’ri sponsor, I would like to formally offer you an honorific portion of the resources allocated to me by your organization.”

“Your sponsor,” Rush repeated.

“You are the party most directly responsible for my current employment.”

“You’re sure about that?” Rush asked. “Seems to me like this lot,” he circled a finger to include Carter, Young, and Lam, “are trying to shirk their obligations.”

“I don’t know about ‘shirk’,” Carter began.

“Ginn,” Eli said. “You really don’t have to give anyone the money you make. Really really. I promise. No one’s even heard of that here. It’s—weird.”

“But it’s the right thing to do,” Ginn insisted earnestly, still on one knee, looking up at all of them.

Young sighed, sure, somehow, that this whole fiasco would’ve been prevented if he’d dedicated taken a little more time to personally onboard a kid fresh from the LA—

“Yes.” Rush said imperiously. “All right.”

“You accept?” Ginn asked, her eyes alight in the candlelit room.

“Yes yes. I accept. Get the fuck off the floor, will you? It’s unseemly.”

“Ummmmm,” Sheppard said. “Can he do that?”

“Dave!” Eli breathed, scandalized.

“Can we cut it out with the ‘Dave’,” Young growled.

Rush pulled out his wallet, removed Telford’s business card, put a line through the phone number on the back, and wrote a few letters with the sharpie he’d been using to draw on the wall. Carter, looking over his shoulder, grinned. “Take this to Camile Wray, tell her to set up this account in your name, and put twenty percent of your paycheck in there.”

“In my name?” Ginn said, her eyes narrowed.

“You want sponsorship or not?” Rush said coolly. “Do it.”

Carter, for some reason, was biting her lip so hard she looked to be in danger of doing real damage. She gave a Sheppard a slow-motion hug, burying her face in his shoulder as Ginn scrambled off the floor, Telford’s business card in hand.

“I’ll meet you back over there,” Eli said, pointing to the paused game on his laptop. “One sec.” Only when Ginn was halfway across the room, did he turn to Rush. “What the hell was that?”

“None of your business.” Rush spun the marker through his fingers. “Don’t you have a Serpentis Empire to demolish?”

“What did you write on that card,” Eli demanded. “What’s a 529 Plan? What does that mean?”

“Look it up,” Rush said crisply, and turned back to annotating his circle.

“It’s a college fund,” Carter said, laugh-crying into Sheppard’s shoulder as he gingerly patted her back. “Oh god. I wish I’d thought of that.”

“Maybe if she goes,” Rush side-eyed Eli with silky villainy, “you’ll follow.”

“Dave,” Eli said. “Give it up already. Aliens are real, man. I already have the coolest job on the planet. I—”

The kitchen door burst open in a shower of light.

“SO sorry for the delay,” Vala called, clear and bright, cutting through the noise in the room. “Dessert is served!” She balanced a platter on all five fingertips and ostentatiously held it out to McKay with a wink. She stood in the doorway, a little breathless, her hair coming undone, her eyes wet.

She looked happy.

“Happy to be of assistance.” McKay took the platter from Vala, walked over to Sheppard, said, “Hold this,” and promptly pulled a dug a tiny spoon into a little bowl of chai mousse. “Nick! Did you seriously make all of this?”

“I was instrumentally involved in most of it,” Rush said absently.

“You’re gonna cook on Atlantis, right?” McKay asked, his mouth full of chai mousse. “John you gotta try this. Hey, is that a star polynomial?”

“My hands are a little full at the moment, Rodney,” Sheppard said pointedly.

“I got it.” Carter took the platter from Sheppard. “Smells amazing. Nick, what’s your secret. Nothing I ever make turns out right.”

“Not sure I have a secret,” Rush said, drawing straight, precise lines.

Young pulled away from the wall math and the chai mousse. He passed the food and drink altar and slipped into the kitchen to find Jackson standing over the stove, stirring spices into warming cocoa. A double line of mugs waited on the counter.

“Y’know,” Young said conversationally, “I don’t think all these dishes are mine.”

“They aren’t,” Jackson confirmed.

“How’d your mistletoe gambit go?”

“Picked up on that, did you? Pretty okay, I hope.” The archeologist glanced over his shoulder, wry and wounded and more centered than Young could remember ever seeing him. “We’ll have to wait for the witty asides on offworld missions to know what she really thought.”

“She looks happy,” Young offered.

Jackson smiled a small smile and poured the spiced cocoa.