John Sheppard has only had sex with one woman since arriving in the Pegasus galaxy. Well, if he's honest, he's only had sex with one woman -- Chaya -- since his divorce, and he didn't really know that was what was going to happen. He wasn't expecting it. He wasn't expecting sex, and he sure as hell wasn't expecting weird glowy, tentacle-y violation. He did what he always did when women came onto him: he cringed, closed his eyes, and waited for it to be over. And okay, the glowing was cool, but he still felt... dirty, somehow, after. Used.
He lets Rodney believe that he's Atlantis' answer to James T. Kirk because it's easier than explaining the truth. He tells Ronon he wasn't good at being married because it's easier than saying his wife left him because she realized something he couldn't admit to himself. He kisses Teyla because it's easier than letting on he doesn't want her, even if the kiss itself gives him away. He lives a lie because it's easier than telling himself the truth.
He thinks he's supposed to feel something for Elizabeth, sharing her burden of authority, but when he looks at her he can't make himself want. He loves her, but he could never make love to her. And the burden of authority doesn't rest on their shoulders alone. Rodney is there, straining to help them bear the load. Sometimes, John thinks, it's Rodney alone who carries the weight of the the world, and he does what he can to support him. Because they're friends -- Rodney's the best friend John's ever had. Because he loves him. He loves him the way he knows he should love Elizabeth.
He tries to keep Rodney at arm's length, to keep from touching him, even casually, but sometimes he just can't help slinging his arm around Rodney's shoulder here, patting his back there. He can't help the guilty rush of relief whenever there's a fatality and it's not Rodney. He can't help the swell of pride when Rodney has a breakthrough in the lab or the stab of sympathy when a simulation fails.
He tries not to let Ronon humiliate him in the gym, kicking his distracted ass while Teyla and Rodney are training with the sticks. He lets Ronon think he was looking at Teyla's heaving bosom and not the way the sweat made Rodney's shirt cling to his biceps. He tries not to wonder what those arms would feel like with his hands wrapped around them, pulling him closer... and fails.
He deflects the jokes, ignores the rumors. When he hears two Marines teasing another about the nature of his friendship with one of the new scientists, he butts in and says, "Look, guys, you're not allowed to ask, and he's not allowed to tell, remember?" The three Marines laugh and walk away friends, but John feels sick.
He thinks about writing a letter. To whom, he hasn't decided. To Rodney, to Elizabeth, to General O'Neill or General Landry. He thinks about telling someone. Teyla would listen, but he's not sure she or Ronon would understand. Rodney would probably freak and Elizabeth would be very uncomfortable. In the end, he decides to keep it to himself.
He's torturing himself, sitting alone in his room and staring at the picture on his bedside table. It's a picture of him and Rodney, with Teyla in the background. It was taken on one of their rare days off, on the mainland. Carson took it, he remembers, before telling them to get their scrawny wee arses out of the way so he could take a picture of Teyla looking at the sunset. They look good together, he thinks. Not Carson and Teyla, although they're sweet in their slow, awkward inter-cultural courtship. Him and Rodney.
"That was a good day," he hears from the doorway, and glances up to see Rodney.
"It was," John agrees readily, and pats the mattress. "Something on your mind, buddy?"
Rodney hesitates before coming in and sittin on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands. "No. Yes. I mean... it's complicated."
John pretends to check his watch. "I've got all day."
Rodney laughs once, harsh and nervous. "We're friends, aren't we?"
"The best," John says, frowning. "Rodney, what's up?"
"If I told you something," Rodney says, choosing his words carefully, "something important. Something big. Something.... something I've never told anyone before. Would we still be friends?"
John sits up, puts a steadying hand on Rodney's shoulder. "Of course we would. I can't think of anything you could tell me that would scare me off."
Rodney draws a deep, shuddering breath and steels himself. "I don't-- no one else can know. I, my authority... I know Atlantis is a civilian outpost, but more than half the personnel are military--"
"Rodney," John says, stopping what could have been a lengthy ramble. "Whatever it is, you know I've got your back."
Rodney nods. "Here goes. Sheppard -- John. I know I talk a good game. Sam and Katie -- oh, god, I'm going to have to tell Katie."
"Rodney," John says again.
"I'm gay," Rodney blurts out before he can second-guess himself. "Oh, wow. It, um, it feels good to tell someone, you know?"
John's so relieved he thinks he might burst.
Moments pass, and Rodney finally exclaims, "Well? Say something!"
John's face splits into a wide grin and the hand on Rodney's shoulder pulls him into a John Sheppard bear hug.
When John lets him go, Rodney's response is, "What the hell was that?"
Leaning back against his headboard, John shrugs. "Figured it would be rude to kiss you before the first date."