Fic: If I Were To Go Back To College

[sgarb_mod]

Author: auburn
Wordcount: 10170
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): McKay/Sheppard
Summary: Rodney has a dream. Sheppard interferes.
Warning(s): None I can think of.
Notes: SGA fused with Inception, in which I've played fast and exceedingly loose with the movie canon. Betas by murron and eretria. All my thanks to both of them.

Companion piece to S.G.A.: Student Government Association Rumble.

If I Were To Go Back To College

It's almost a pastel dream, just a little dissaturated, faded like a memory. That's the way he designed it. Plenty of extractors are convinced it's necessary to keep the marks from knowing they're dreaming. Rodney's theory is they relax their defenses, even those that have been militarized, if they know they're dreaming and think they're in control.

He knows he's in the dream at once, even before he recognizes it, because he doesn't remember how he got there. Doesn't need a totem to figure it out, either. The dream is where he's supposed to be. He's got four hours under before the sedative wears off and he wakes up topside.

A quick check around shows he's entered the dream he designed in the student government office. His forge matches the milieu: he looks about eighteen, a skinny Ivy League wannabe geek in an argyle sweater vest over a dress shirt and tie. The perfect picture of an anal-retentive and over-driven secretary of the student government. The manual typewriter before him has a half-written memo on it. Rodney sets out to finish it. He'll use it as an excuse to stop by the 'dean's office. If everything goes as planned, all of Oberoth's projections will be in the dream quad, listening to him give his speech, and Rodney will be uninterrupted while he searches.

He's typing the last line when the glass-windowed door opens.

Rodney hits return and looks up. The old-fashioned typewriter jolts, because who is he kidding, it isn't old-fashioned, it's a goddamn antique with a manual return, striker keys and a ribbon: it belongs in a museum. There is something satisfying about hammering away at it, though, thunderous and far more visceral than the smooth hum of a printer. Every juddering return jolts his wrists and would soon make them ache, however.

All the air in his lungs empties out in a silent gasp. It's Sheppard. Rodney squeezes his eyes shut then snaps them open. It's still Sheppard.

It can't be Sheppard.

The last time he saw Sheppard, they were both twenty years older, and his partner in DARPA's Project Passive Twilight was a breath away from punching Rodney. All the words were already used up, their echoes hanging in the air of the office Rodney had already packed up and emptied. Sheppard's hands had been curled into fists.

Rodney walked away then and Sheppard didn't follow him.

He presumes Sheppard went back to the Air Force. Probably he's dropping bombs in Afghanistan. Rodney hasn't seen or heard of him since that day.

This has to be a projection.

Oh shit.

This Sheppard is smiling at him. Damn it. This is bad on so many, many fronts. Because Rodney's not blind and this Sheppard is… beautiful, all sharp lines and smooth youth, innocent dark eyes and a mouth soft as sin. (At least Rodney thinks so, he's never actually, you know, had any contact with Sheppard's mouth. But it looks like it would be… soft, maybe tentative at first, then careful and sure. Shit, he's so screwed here. He never knew his subconscious had it in for him this bad.) It can only mean trouble when Sheppard smiles at him, because this John Sheppard must be Rodney's absolute nemesis – that's just how his luck runs – and a smile is just a clear marker he means to trash the dream by making Rodney's life hell in some new and humiliating way.

"Rodney," Sheppard says.

Rodney's heard about this. Everyone in the graymarket extraction world has heard about Mal Cobb showing up as a projection in any dream Dom Cobb worked. How Cobb's projection of his dead wife sabotaged his extractions until he couldn't even work as a dream architect any longer, just as an extractor.

Everyone in this dream except Rodney is supposed to be Oberoth's projections. Charles Oberoth's never met John Sheppard in his life.

So if Sheppard's here, he's Rodney's projection.

"Hey, Rodney, come on, talk to me." Sheppard gestures to his cheap suit and tie – which he makes look good – and smirks. "I'm the Student Government President here. Don't secretaries have to listen to their bosses?" He perches a hip on the edge of Rodney's desk and peers at Rodney through long, dark lashes.

"If you're Student Government President, I give up on any hope for the future," Rodney snaps, violating his intention to ignore the damn projection of his traitorous mind faster than a politician forgets his promises. "You were obviously elected for your looks."

"You think I look good?"

"No, I think you look stupid."

"You're just being mean now."

He tries ignoring Sheppard – Sheppard's projection, his projection of Sheppard, and why did he have to replicate how annoying the man was – just to see if it will work and get rid of him – it. It doesn't.

"Whatcha doing, Rodney?" He draws Rodney's name out into three syllables, Rahwoddney. Who does that? It makes Rodney grit his teeth. It's still better than if he'd ever found out Rodney's real first name was Meredith.

It occurs to him that Sheppard is his projection, so he should brace himself. The projection likely does know.

"Don't ignore me."

He remembers that snapping, military tone. It doesn't go with the baby-face the projection is wearing; it goes with the Air Force pilot in his thirties Rodney first met because Sheppard fit the psychological profile for a good extractor. One that wouldn't end up in the White Ward. Sheppard hadn't been happy over being pulled from the flight line.

Just something else he and Rodney had fought over, like Sheppard's laissez faire attitude and the way he consistently covered up how smart he was. That last habit still offends Rodney to this day.

"You're a figment of my imagination, a betrayal of my subconscious. Talking to you would be like talking to myself."

"I'm wounded, Rodney. You don't think I'm real?"

"That's right."

Rodney scowls. He's talking to the projection. That's not good.

"Guess I'll just have to prove to you I'm the real thing."

Sheppard snatches the memo from Rodney's typewriter and scans it. Rodney makes one pathetic lurch after it then gives up. Projection or real, Sheppard will play tug of war with the paper until it tears apart if Rodney does grab it back. Sheppard's childish like that, the bastard.

"Well, you managed to make this utterly boring, but if Oberoth falls asleep reading it, all the better. Hey, then he'd be dreaming that he's sleeping and dreaming that he's sleeping," Sheppard declares before folding the memo and tucking it inside his jacket. His smile is blinding white and mischievous. "Let's go."

"I'm not going anywhere with you. You're going to sabotage everything."

"I am not."

"Are too. I know all about you subconscious projections. You're nothing but trouble."

Sheppard is shaking his head. "I'm on your side."

"Hah."

A laugh escapes Sheppard and he's ruffling his fingers through Rodney's neatly combed and slicked back hair before Rodney can duck away. It's strange the things the brain supplies in a dream. Rodney's frozen for just a second by the heat of Sheppard's fingertips against his scalp, tangling through his hair, so much like a caress he loses his breath again. Sheppard never touched him like that. He can't remember if anyone ever has and he curses his subconscious again. No one can torture you like yourself.

"Stop it."

Sheppard takes his hand away slowly, eyes all wide and his mouth parted in something that looks like shocked surprise.

"Jackass," Rodney mutters.

"You know you love me."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"You're just trying to drive me crazy."

"Short drive."

"Like I haven't heard that one before. Just keep your hands off me."

"I can't help it. You're so prim and proper it's driving me crazy."

Rodney barely has time to snag his jacket from the back of his chair before Sheppard's hand is locked on his arm, pulling him up and out of the office in a smooth rush. Their shoes thump along the shining linoleum floor. The corridor leads to the stairs. The stairs lead down to the front exit onto the quad or to the roof and nowhere else because Rodney designed the dream that way. If you keep going up or down you just find yourself back where you started. He didn't want to deal with any of Oberoth's projections, so he designed a couple of closed loops they couldn't access. More proof Sheppard is his projection.

"Where do you think we're going?" Rodney demands.

"Trust me."

"This is insane," he mutters. "You can't trust projections."

"You trust me."

"You aren't real."

Sheppard gives him a laughing look. "If I'm a projection, then that would make you insane, wouldn't it?"

Rodney swats at him. "Let go."

"Are you coming along nicely?"

"I'm coming along." Rodney sneers. "You'll have to settle for that."

He's relatively sure that he's lost a mental cog somewhere along the way. He's missed working with Sheppard. Even if the projection isn't real, Rodney's enjoying this too much to wake himself up and end it. That's how you end in up in the White Ward, he reminds himself, but it still isn't enough to make him kick out of the dream.

Not yet.

He tells himself it’s because he's still hoping to finish the job he was hired to do.

***

He walks out of the Admin building – soft red brick and ivy twining its way up story after story, a more perfect version of the building as it was when Charles Oberoth attended university than current ultra modern monstrosity – in step with Sheppard. The quad itself is greener than reality, green like a California spring, lushly unreal. Memory. Rodney's survey shows him Oberoth has filled in plenty of little details. As an architect of dreams, he's learned to leave room for the mark to do some of the work. It keeps the projections calmer, which is something he's all for. Once you've been rended limb from limb by subconscious protectors of someone else's mind you really don't need to go through it again. Dream or not, it all feels all too real for an extractor. He doesn't care much to kick out with a shot to the head either; on a subconscious level it made you too careless about getting shot in the wide-awake world if you expected to snap awake instead of dying.

Rodney's got a lot of differences with most of the accepted wisdom of dreamshare.

Another reason he left Project Passive Twilight at the same time the PASIV technology was leaking into the graymarket.

Sheppard's looking over the quad, taking in the curving brick paths. "Nice."

"I am a professional," Rodney replies with as much dignity as he can.

Rodney continues down the steps with him. He has every intention of losing the projection somewhere in the maze of college buildings and the paths that turn and twist in a pattern known only to himself. The sunny grass might tempt someone to cut straight across the quad but it's a trap, the drowsy warmth of the sunshine and grass as seductive as any field of poppies. Anyone stepping off the paths will be taking a nap very quickly.

Sheppard stays in step with him and on the main path, muttering, "At least it's not yellow."

Rodney suppresses the urge to say, 'unlike you', because it wasn't true really and this isn't the real Sheppard who decided he wanted to fly more than he wanted to stand up to the Man and quit along with Rodney. That Sheppard wasn't a coward, just too dedicated. It's not the same, it's not your country. It took Rodney years to understand.

"You're probably wondering how I invited myself into your op, right?"

"I was wondering how quickly I could schedule a psychiatric appointment and fix whatever's gone wrong in my brain," Rodney replied.

"The government – "

"The government? The government? What government? There's more than one country in the world you know? Americans, pff!"

Sheppard gives him a look and then says slowly, "The US government, well, part of it, is interested in some of Asuras Corporation's recent business contacts."

"So they should get warrants or whatever." Mention of his old employers always makes Rodney grumpy. If he's honest, almost everything except coffee and high technology makes him grumpy. Sheppard knows this and ignores his comment.

"I don't know if your point man found out or not, but your employer's company is looking at receiving a major defense contract. Some people are worried that as soon as it does, Asuras is going to gobble them up."

"And Asuras isn't exactly trusted."

"Exactly."

The path winds and twists and brings them right back to the steps leading up into the Admin building they left.

Rodney smirks while Sheppard squints at the building.

"All roads lead to Rome."

"Oh, good one," Sheppard says with a smile.

Somehow, Rodney finds himself gesturing for Sheppard do go up the steps ahead of him and then Sheppard's waiting at the glass doors, waiting so they can walk inside together. His thoughts wind through twists as paradoxical as the paths he designed for the dream, returning to the possibility that the Sheppard standing beside him is real, despite the youthful forge. Is he fooling himself? It's something he's wanted for so long that the temptation to believe is an ache, yet missing his partner is a pain so chronic, living without it could be as hard as enduring it.

But it's so tempting.

Halfway across the foyer, Rodney hears himself ask, "What's my first name?"

Sheppard squints at him. "Rodney." The squint turns angry. "Are you testing me?"

"Don't worry, you passed."

Rodney keeps walking while Sheppard stands still, then lopes after him. "Wait a minute. You mean Rodney isn't your real name? Who the hell calls themself Rodney if it isn't what their parents named them?"

Sheppard bumps a shoulder against his companionably. Rodney lifts his chin and ignores him. This is an old routine between them.

"So what is it really?"

Rodney manfully continues to ignore him. He always hopes Sheppard will give in, give up, and quit.

"Come on."

Not that Sheppard ever does.

"Not telling you."

"You so are."

"No, I'm not."

"I'll find out some other way."

"In your dreams."

Sheppard's grin is sweeter than honey. "You mean in yours."

***

Elizabeth Weir isn't the woman Rodney is expecting. She's wearing the expensive red suit with a pencil skirt, but her heels aren't particularly high and frankly her hairstylist needs to be fired. Her gray-green eyes are sharper than most knives though and Rodney's insults seem to roll off her, whether on the phone or in person. She even smiles as he complains about the brightness of the morning sunshine, the dew on his chair, the flowers in their streetside planters – he's always hated spring – that are making him sneeze and snivel, and the early hour.

She thanks the waiter politely when she orders her drink and lets Rodney rant on until it arrives. Her smile each time is real. Rodney steels himself against liking her. She's built a company into a minor power house in the technology world using brains and persuasiveness. Fooling people into liking her is just another weapon in her arsenal.

She's different from many of his clients in another aspect too: the flashdrive she hands him.

"Everything our security division has been able to generate on Charles Oberoth and Asuras Corporation," she tells him. "It includes his itinerary for the next three months, but that's obviously subject to some amendment."

"And what do you want extracted from him?" Rodney asks as he pockets the flashdrive. Radek is the second best point man in dreamshare, methodical and inspired, and he'll do their own background check, but it doesn't hurt to know what the client thinks they know.

Weir sits forward, her elbows propped on the rickety round table they've occupied outside the coffee shop rendezvous.

"Asuras has a history of taking over up-and-coming companies," she explains. "That's on the drive too. They use industrial and cyber espionage to pick their targets. Three weeks ago, a routine security sweep found a bug in Atlantis' board room. We traced it back to an intern in the IT department and found a connection between him and Asuras."

Rodney sips his coffee. It's bitter and only lukewarm at this point, but the caffeine hit is enough to keep him alert, even after flying from Berlin to New York directly after finishing the last job. He's still wearing a vaguely European-cut suit, but he's unremarkable enough in looks that he isn't drawing any attention, despite its out-of-place quality.

There are teams that operate almost exclusively in Europe, others who move invisibly through the hive dense populations of the Pacific Rim, even a Chilean-and-Brazilian duo who specializes in South American jobs. Rodney prefers North America, where his and Radek and Jennifer's faces don't stand out in the crowds, but Zeuthen wasn't bad. He wishes all their jobs would go as smoothly as extracting the truth of whether the last mark stole his new theory on strong coupling constants in deep-inelastic couplings or had the same idea as the last client. Coincidences do happen; though not in this case. The mark was Catholic, so they put him in a confessional and he spilled everything. The pay-out from the client is sitting in one Rodney's offshore accounts even now, three times higher than usual because only Rodney and Radek have the background in high energy physics to successfully extract highly technical and mathematical data in dreamshare. It doesn't sound like Weir needs anyone so scientifically skilled; she's after straight up counter-industrial espionage. That makes things simple.

"Why not take it to court?" Rodney asks. Weir strikes him as a straight shooter and despite coming to him, the sort who likes to follow the rules because she believes in them.

"For the same reason Asuras may be interested in Atlantis. We're close to landing a major defense contract. A security breach… " She grimaces.

A security breach could be reason enough for the contract to go to a bigger, more 'secure' company.

"So what do you want?"

"Asuras' plans for Atlantis or enough on Oberoth to keep him away until the contract is secured." Weir spins her half-full cup of bubble tea and sighs her distaste at it.

"I can't guarantee the mark has any laundry dirty enough to serve your purposes."

Her laughter is bright and bitter. "Then just get me his plans for Atlantis. Maybe I can find a way to stop them if I know what they are."

Tired as he is, he decides he'll take Weir's job, mostly because he finds himself liking her. Deciding which jobs to take on such personal grounds is another reason he walked away from DARPA and the rest of the government jobs. If he doesn't like something now, he doesn't do it. He misses Sheppard every time he slips the needle in his arm and goes under, but he's never missed 'those are our orders' and the grim look his old partner got sometimes. Not once.

Besides, this sounds like a sweet little cakewalk.

"How much to do this?"

Rodney names the price.

She flinches and says, "Contingent on your success before Asuras moves on Atlantis."

"Obviously," Rodney replies, "since you won't have the money to pay our fee afterward."

Her eyebrows rise.

"I've done some checking on you and Atlantis, Inc. already."

"I suppose that's necessary."

"You'd be surprised how many people want to hire a dreamshare team on spec."

She laughs genuinely this time. "No, I don't think I would be."

Rodney eyes her in approval. "Maybe you wouldn't."

He hands her a card with a single number written on it before rising from his seat. "One-third of the fee deposited by Thursday or I'll take it you've reconsidered."

"When will I hear from you?"

"When the job's done."

***

The elegant woman who meets them outside 'Dean' Oberoth's office greets Sheppard by name, relief and remonstration in her voice, and Rodney knows, without question, that she is no projection of his or Oberoth's, confirming that Sheppard is indeed real.

Unlike Sheppard and himself, she hasn't assumed a college student forge. She's striking enough that Rodney has to wonder if she's really so beautiful in the real world. Unless she's a better forger than he's ever met, she likely is, because she wears her beauty unselfconsciously.

"Teyla," Sheppard says, "this is Rodney."

"Dr. McKay," she greets him with a measured nod. She glances at the clock on the wall over the door. "I've read your file and," here she glances at Sheppard, "heard about you. I hope we'll have time to talk later."

"We'll see," he mutters.

"Oberoth is beginning his speech," she adds, "so we have two hours."

Sheppard's already pulling his case of lock-picks out of his jacket and heading past the secretary's desk to the door into the Dean's office. He crouches before the lock and inserts the first pick precisely and Rodney stands back and lets him finesse the lock open. He has a key in his pocket, because he designed this dream down to the locks, but he has always enjoyed watching Sheppard work with his hands. Sheppard bites his bottom lip, sucking it in a little, while he opens the lock. As young as he looks in this forge, it feels almost perverted to focus on that.

Rodney forces himself to look back to Teyla. "Last name?"

"Emmagan," she replies.

"Military?"

"Civilian consultant."

Rodney smirks at that. Sheppard never got along with anyone in the military, despite his loyalty to the institution. He'll bet no one in Sheppard's team is current military. It's funny too, because civilian consultant, that's what Rodney was too. He would bet Teyla isn't even from the US. There's a gravity about her that just isn't American.

He pulls the key out of his pocket, tips his head at the door, and waits as she gets it. She slaps her hand over her mouth to muffle a laugh.

"Got it," Sheppard declares as the lock clicks and the door swings open. He's on his feet in a smooth motion Rodney knows is courtesy of the dream. Sheppard's knees and back are both messed up in the real world, thanks to the helicopter crash that grounded him when he first came to Project Passive Twilight. Maybe he moved like that when he really was twenty. Rodney didn't know him then.

Rodney gestures Teyla to walk in ahead of him, palming his key without letting Sheppard see it. The three of them begin methodically searching the office without discussion, falling into the same old grid pattern Sheppard taught Rodney. It's so natural it makes Rodney ache for what was. It's not a waste of time, despite Rodney designing in a floor safe, because marks often don't hide their secrets in 'secure' locations. The subconscious doesn't run on logic and the secret battle plan is as likely to be tucked in the back of Mom's old cook book as it is to be in the lockbox. So they search.

Oberoth isn't one of the interesting ones.

Search finished, Rodney rolls the padded leather desk chair away, Teyla and John move the heavy, pretentious desk out of the way, and there it is: the cover over a floor safe. Rodney wedges the wooden floor piece up and out of the way, then kneels – grateful dream knees don't ache like his forty year old ones do, there are definite upsides to this baby-faced forge he's wearing – and studies the old-fashioned dial.

Sheppard was always good with locks, but Rodney is better with safes – real or dream – so he isn't surprised when Sheppard leaves it to him.

Radek provided the model and design of the floor safes installed in the rooms of the hotel where Oberoth is staying. Rodney copied it exactly into the dream architecture. He's pleased to see that Oberoth hasn't morphed it unconsciously into some other make.

Just to dismiss the easy option first, Rodney tries the default combination he gave the safe.

Of course it doesn't work.

Rodney sits back with a pleased smile. When he glances up, Sheppard's raised his eyebrow."Combination's changed."

Sheppard smiles and shares a pleased glance with Teyla. The changed combination means that Oberoth's subconscious took the dream's bait and placed all his secrets in the safe. Instead of searching through the dream or trying to trick it out of Oberoth's avatar in the dream, they just need to break into the safe.

Rodney cracks his knuckles and flexes his fingers.

"Quit showing off," Sheppard says.

"You could – "

"No, no, this is your show."

Rodney goes to work.

***

Radek only needs two weeks to uncover exactly what they need to run the extraction on Oberoth. It's in the itinerary Weir's people provided. Radek double checks the information, confirms or uncovers every detail they'll need to swing the job.

"He is giving the dedication speech for a new building at the university he attended," Radek tells Rodney and Jennifer. "Two and a half months from now." He sets a print out in front of Rodney. "He'll fly in from LA where he is meeting with the company board. Afterward, he is scheduled to return to New York and initiate Asuras' next 'project' – presumably the take over of a new target company."

"Three nights in a high-end hotel room," Jennifer comments.

"Access," Rodney agrees.

Radek has provided everything they need to know about the hotel too, from the number and floor of the reserved room, floor plans, to the names of the hotel's security contingent and who monitors the corridor and elevator security monitors.

"I suggest we randomly jam various cameras over a week before the extraction and send someone inside at least twice afterward to mimic a transient system problem."

Rodney thinks they could get away with it without jamming the cameras when they go into Oberoth's room, but respects Radek's paranoia and doesn't say so. It isn't like he wants to have his face and identity linked with Oberoth on video if they have to give him a needle in a hallway.

Slipping a sedative into a drink is always the best way to knock out a mark, but if Oberoth doesn't patronize the hotel bar then injecting him in a brush pass or on the elevator will be the way they have to go.

Luckily, Jennifer is good at distracting marks as well as drugging them; good enough most of them never even feel the pinprick from the single dose needle Radek prefers.

Jennifer has Oberoth's medical file open.

"Any problems with sedating him?" Rodney asks her.

"I can't see anything here counter-indicating it," she answers.

He nods, pleased, because while dreamshare operates in a moral gray area – dark, dark gray – Rodney isn't ready to endanger a man's health for a job. If Oberoth were on a medication that could cause complications if mixed with somnacin and the other sedatives Jennifer uses, he would cancel the job and return Weir's fee. Avoiding just that sort of mess is one reason he recruited Jennifer. Most dreamshare chemists aren't MDs, but he likes the extra safety factor of having an expert monitor their bodies during an extraction.

They move the operation to Boston the next day and rent a set of rooms over a deli within walking distance of the university where Oberoth will be speaking. Rodney walks the streets and then grounds of the university, learning the layout in 3D, taking pictures, observing, and recording details he'll incorporate into the dream he already has in mind.

Radek checks into the hotel where Oberoth plans to stay and explores its weaknesses and schedules in real time. He prefers to have at least three exits planned in case anything goes wrong; one for every member of the team so they can split up if necessary.

Jennifer joins Rodney sometimes when he's at the university. She's young enough to pass as a student and helps him avoid being noticed. He likes her and thinks it's a shame that their short sexual liaison settled into a working relationship instead of a romance. Unfortunately, it only took them a couple of months to realize that they weren't in love so much as in lonely together. He's supposes he's lucky that they still work together so well. Finding another chemist as good as Jennifer would have been much harder than finding another girlfriend.

He never found anyone to take Sheppard's place, after all, or he wouldn't be doing double duty as both architect and extractor.

***

"So how did you find us?" Rodney asks as he works. Multitasking is one of the talents that make him a superb extractor and architect. He knows this safe; he can afford to split his attention. His hands move automatically, attaching the digital codepicker into the safe's keypad.

"We’ve had eyes on you since you flew into JFK."

That makes Rodney pause for a quick, panicky breath. "Should I worry about that?"

"You're not wanted, are you?" Sheppard teases.

"You're the one who is still with the government."

"I think I will step outside and keep watch," Teyla murmurs and diplomatically slips away.

Sheppard crouches tailor-fashion next to Rodney, elbows on his thighs, hands dangling empty and harmless. Not that Sheppard is ever harmless, no matter how the Student Government President face makes him look just now. He has a gun somewhere on him.

So does Rodney, even though he hates kicking out that way.

He watches the red LED read-out on the codepicker flash, the numbers cycling through too fast to follow, his mind working just as fast on the question of exit strategy. Radek has false IDs for the team, but they may be compromised too. Reflex insists Canada is their best choice, but anyone after them will know Rodney's Canadian. It might be safer to disappear into an urban sprawl and then exit the country through a hub like Atlanta with a Singapore or Sydney destination.

"You're not on any law enforcement agency's radar," Sheppard says quietly. One hand curls into a loose fist.

"Then why the eyes?"

"Anything associated with Atlantis Inc. is under scrutiny right now."

"Is what they've got that important?"

"Ground breaking according to the briefing I got." Sheppard pauses before adding softly, "Plus I try to keep tabs on you too."

Rodney isn't sure whether he should be warmed by that or creeped out."Stalker much?"

Sheppard snorts laughter in the old way, that demented donkey bray that wrecks any illusion of cool he cultivates.

The codepicker doesn't beep at them. Just like the real thing, Rodney disabled the audio on the dream version. The read-out stills and switches to a display of green numbers. Rodney disconnects the codepicker and types the combination into the safe's keypad.

The door to the safe opens soundlessly.

He and Sheppard peer inside.

All it holds is a single page of college-ruled white paper torn from a notebook with another list of numbers.

Rodney memorizes the numbers.

Sheppard starts laughing, hard enough he has to catch his balance with a hand to the floor, and Rodney glares.

"What?"

"Did we just break into a safe to get the combination to another safe?" Sheppard gasps after pulling himself together.

The irony isn't lost on Rodney either and he has to smile again. "It looks that way."

Rodney drops the sheet of paper back into the safe and closes it. Between them, he and Sheppard set the floor panel back over it and move the desk back into place. Technically, it might not be necessary to hide the signs they've been there because it's a dream, but Rodney believes in good habits. Sloppy in the dream translates into sloppy while awake. He also believes that marks are more likely to remember and question upsetting or inexplicable dreams. The point of extraction is to obtain information covertly. The instant a mark starts to wonder if they've been extracted, the op is compromised and the client's expenses wasted.

Sheppard knows how he thinks and goes along with him without comment, just dusting off his suit when they're done.

"How long have you and Teyla got on your clock?" Rodney asks. He knows how long until the sedative keeping him in the PASIV dream wears off, but Sheppard and Teyla would have adjusted dosages, since they came in later.

Sheppard checks his watch. "Forty-three minutes."

"Who is your chemist?" Rodney asked, because that is within a minute of his own dose. Someone did some fast calculations to put Sheppard and Teyla on that close of a clock with him.

"Used yours."

Well, that is why he had Jennifer on the team.

"Radek vouched for me."

Easy to forget that Sheppard and Radek knew each other.

"She's pretty," Sheppard comments as they exit the office.

"So's Teyla."

Sheppard speaks loud enough for Teyla to hear. "Yeah, but Teyla's too smart to get involved with me."

"Not to mention married," she adds with amusement in her voice.

"Bummer."

Teyla laughs. "Not for me."

"He's not good enough for her," Sheppard confides.

"Neither are you."

"I'm wounded – " Sheppard's got his hand to his heart as they walk out into the corridor, Teyla ahead of him, and Rodney trailing.

"Hey, you, what are you doing in that office!"

They snap their attention to the rent-a-cops at the far end of the hallway, dark silhouettes before a bright window, shadows thrown before them on shining linoleum.

"Shit," Sheppard mutters.

"Identify yourselves!"

Rodney doesn't think so. Neither do Teyla or Sheppard. He sees one of the projection's unclip the snap on a gun holster as both of them start down the hallway.

"Go."

Teyla draws a Glock from her bag and Sheppard pulls one from a shoulder holster about the time the rent-a-cop projections start running toward them, already shooting, and Rodney has to admit Radek was right: Oberoth's subconscious has been militarized. Teyla calmly fires back. Rodney doesn't see any more because Sheppard is pushing him into a run for the exit into the stairwell. His forge slips when a bullet shatters the glass on a door and the pieces slice into Rodney's back and Sheppard's face. He knows the face he turns toward his old partner is his face now, one filled with concern and panic, the face Sheppard knew when they worked together, and not the boy Rodney once was.

Sheppard's himself now too: harder, solider, hair at least an inch shorter, a glint of white in his five o'clock shadow, and somehow more deeply himself than the pretty boy of his past. His eyes are exactly the same.

Rodney lets Sheppard handle shooting back at the projections – more of them are pouring out of the offices along the hallway – while he pulls them along at a hunched run.

The new projections are more heavily armed than the rent-a-cops. Rodney hates automatic weapons, but he appreciates how most people can't shoot them worth shit. At least Oberoth's projections have to obey the rules of physics in this dream. Rodney's the only one who gets to manipulate or violate those in the dreams he builds. Otherwise he and John would already be riddled with bullets from clips that never run dry, dead in the dream, and kicked up top. Instead, badly aimed bullets stitch into the walls as he and John zig and zag, puffs of sheetrock explode, and the air fills with a white haze of powdered plaster, and then the projections have to reload.

The door slams open and they both tumble into the tiny floor space beyond, still moving so that they hit the waist-high, white-painted stair rail and bend over it to stare in the vertiginous space beyond. The stairs go all the way down to up, exiting at the foyer of the building and beyond that onto the building's roof. He can see the back of his head and Sheppard's beyond that, the first reflection of an infinite regression.

Sheppard drags Rodney back from the railing. "Penrose stairs, Rodney, really?" he exclaims. "That's so clichéd."

"Fuck you, I like them," Rodney pants back.

He checks his watch, but he knows they aren't nearly ready to wake naturally.

"Why are we running again?" he asks. You die in the dream, you wake up. That's how dreamshare works, contrary to the scary old wives' tales that if you die in a dream you die in reality too. This is all happening in their heads, the PASIV device reading the impulses in their drugged brains and transmitting them back and forth.

"Because I hate getting shot," Sheppard snaps. "You know that."

"Bad form, right."

Another spray of bullets punches through the door. Heavy boots sound on the stairs, coming from below and above. It's time to kick out or find out exactly how badly Oberoth's subconscious can hurt them.

Rodney climbs onto the railing and over, hanging onto it from the outside. Sheppard empties his clip through the door, tosses the gun, and scrambles after him. He holds on to the metal piping with one hand and reaches for Rodney with the other.

"Hey," he says, "I missed this."

Rodney lets go with one hand and grabs Sheppard's with it."I missed you."

"On three?"

"On – "

More bullets and Rodney lets go and pushes off, pulling Sheppard with him, falling with a yell.

***

Rodney's eyes snap open, showing him the ceiling of Oberoth's hotel room. He rolls his head to the side and sees Sheppard still on the floor beside him, staring back, hazel eyes still faintly fogged by sedative.

"You okay?" Sheppard slurs.

"Yeah," Rodney replies.

"Did you get it?" Radek demands, snapping Rodney's attention back to the job. He levers himself up on his elbows. Teyla is already on her feet, standing beside a dreadlocked behemoth guarding the door and looking exactly as gorgeous as she had in the dream, bronze, copper and brown; Radek's bent over Rodney and Sheppard on the floor, and Jennifer is checking the IV lead attached to Oberoth's arm. Oberoth gets to lie on the bed. Well, it is his bed. His and the hotel's anyway.

Rodney recites the combination they recovered. Radek scratches it down on a shred of paper they'll tear up and flush before they leave.

Sheppard is chuckling.

"What's so funny?" the behemoth asks.

Rodney glances over. Sheppard still sprawls on the carpet like he hasn't a worry in the world – not even over what's on that hotel carpet, which makes Rodney cringe in fastidious distaste – and grinning.

"Just thinking, so much for going back to school." His grin invites Rodney to share the joke. "We looked ridiculous."

"I did not."

Sheppard's eyebrow goes up, silently begging to differ. Rodney can't bring himself to deny it again.

"It was good working with you again," Sheppard adds more seriously.

"Only because we weren't in college. I'd have hated you then."

Sheppard sits up and props his arms on his bent knees. He has on black nitrile gloves. So do Teyla and Behemoth. Rodney's hands are encased too: his team gloved up before they stepped into Oberoth's room. In addition, Jennifer has her hair tucked under a scarf.

"As long as you don't… now."

Rodney shook his head. "I was mad. So were you."

"Are you going to kiss now you've made up?" Behemoth asks.

Sheppard flips him off.

Rodney makes it to his feet and offers his hand to Sheppard. It's a shock to feel that hand: warm and rough with a gun callus gripping his hand even harder than he did in the dream. It's good. Sheppard doesn't let go after he's on his feet again either. Instead he steps closer and Rodney can only stare into his eyes, caught by the little amber streaks in his iris, unable to look away until Radek clears his throat loudly.

"Oberoth will be out for another twenty minutes unless I sedate him again." Jennifer's voice reminds Rodney they have a job to finish.

"Shoot him up again," Sheppard tells her.

At least Jennifer looks to Rodney for confirmation and only does it after Rodney gives her the nod. She measures the new dose precisely and administers it without protest.

"One hour."

The needle comes out and Jennifer packs up the rest of the PASIV device. All of it will require sterilization before they use it again. Jennifer replaces all the plastic tubing each time they use it too. Some of the chemicals in somnacin can soften up the plastic. Rodney tries not to think about what they're doing to his veins. He's seen a sloppy stick leave a burn under the skin sometimes. Another reason he appreciates Jennifer's care.

"Where's the safe?" Sheppard asks.

Radek leads them over to the small safe inside a nightstand and opens it with the combination Rodney extracted and gave him. The heavy door opens with a chuff of air. Rodney makes a note to add the sound effect to the next safe he puts in a dream. Inside the safe, Oberoth has his netbook and his briefcase.

They pull both. Rodney doesn't need to crack a password on the laptop, Oberoth uses a thumbprint lock and his lax, unconscious hand is right there for them to use. He hooks an external harddrive to the netbook and starts the program that will clone everything to it.

Sheppard and Teyla go through Oberoth's briefcase, taking digital pictures of everything in situ first, then photographing each sheet of paper individually. They scan everything with a blacklight for concealed markings – finding one seemingly innocuous memo with a schedule of subrosa payments to the sort of people Asuras can't keep on its official payroll hidden on the apparently blank other side – then for microdots.

"Who uses microdots anymore?" Radek wonders.

"Someone who thinks no one still looks for them," Sheppard replies.

"Who has anything that will even read them, though?"

"The US government. Out of date technology is our specialty."

Rodney laughs under his breath. He used to complain about that constantly.

Sheppard chuckles and shares a nostalgic look with him."Remember?"

"Absolutely."

He resolutely ignores the way everyone else is sharing little glances they think are secret every time he and Sheppard speak. This is not… whatever they think it is. Really. Can't be. Things so good don't happen to him. Of course, they happen to guys like Sheppard, but that would mean that Sheppard wanted what they used to have. Too much to hope for, Rodney reminds himself, but he can't stop himself watching Sheppard, drinking in and memorizing every little thing about him: the details that blur with time, like the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the uneven line of his nose. The way he smells after coming out of somnacin sedation, always just a little sweaty and acrid, the breakdown chemicals leaching out of his skin.

They duplicate the contents of the discs and flashdrives also in the briefcase and then clone Oberoth's cellphone for good measure, before everything goes back exactly the way it started. The photos of the briefcase contents in situ are consulted and every surface wiped. Radek and Jennifer smear Oberoth's hands over everything that's been wiped afterward because too clean can be a giveaway too.

Once the safe is closed on its contents again, both teams pack up with the same professional thoroughness. Behemoth and Jennifer arrange Oberoth into a 'fell asleep still dressed' position. Radek runs a dustbuster over the carpet where Sheppard and Rodney lay while they were in the dream. The toilet in the attached bathroom is flushed and the wash basin wiped down with the same brand of cleaner the hotel's maids use then dried.

Radek hits the camera jammer again and Teyla steps out of the room first, fumbling at a button on her blouse, hair just a little tousled. Once she reports no one in the hall, the rest of them exit and slip into the room opposite Oberoth's.

"Smooth," Behemoth admits grudgingly.

"I told you Rodney was good," Sheppard murmurs.

Radek gives Sheppard and his companions a sour look. "I still do not appreciate you inviting yourself into our op."

Rodney imagines the shock and alarm the interruption of the op while Rodney was already under sedation must have given Radek and sympathizes. Sheppard always was better at barging in than subtlety.

"If we'd waited, you'd have been in the wind and the odds of performing our own extraction after yours would have been impossible."

***

It takes Radek exactly twenty-eight minutes to crack the encryption on the data from Oberoth's computer. Sheppard crows when he sees some of it. Rodney's pleased too. There's more than enough material there to give Weir her warning and her leverage.

"Asuras is going down," Sheppard says.

Rodney calls Weir and sets up a meeting for the late morning. "Same place," he tells her before ending the call. "It's done."

After duplicating all the data a second time for Sheppard's team, Teyla and Behemoth – who Sheppard finally introduces as Ronon Dex (no rank, no surprise, there's no way those dreadlocks are military) – take their copy and discreetly leave. Radek and Jennifer clean out the two hotel rooms on either side of Oberoth's and exit as well. They won't see each other again until Rodney has another job for everyone. Radek presses his hand to Rodney's arm just before he goes, but says nothing. Jennifer whispers something to Sheppard that Rodney can't hear. It leaves him looking tenser than before.

"So, I guess this is where we say it's been a slice and see you on the flipside?" Rodney asks after clearing his throat one too many times to even approximate casual.

Sheppard's leaning against the wall next to the door, arms folded, looking better in ratty jeans and a wrinkled button-down than he did in his Ivy League suit-and-tie forge. One knee is bent so that the sole of his hiking boot is against the wall. That'll leave a mark, Rodney thinks in annoyance. Sheppard would say it's not his wall, so why worry? Knowing what he'll say somehow annoys Rodney even more.

Of course, Sheppard needs a shave. Rodney's not sure he's ever seen Sheppard when he didn't need a shave, both because he's one of those guys whose beard shows up less than an hour after he shaves and because Sheppard isn't a big fan of shaving. Cause and effect, Rodney would bet. If Sheppard shaved everytime he needed to, he wouldn't have any skin left on his face.

Sheppard slowly unfolds his arms and pushes off the wall at the same time."Naw, I think we'd better stick together for a while."

That makes no sense to Rodney. Nervousness fills him as Sheppard stalks closer. Sheppard's watching him like Rodney might bolt and the thing is… Rodney feels like bolting might be a grand idea.

"Why?" he asks.

When did Sheppard get so close? Rodney doesn't let people get close without noticing. He never trusts anyone that much. Hasn't since his crappy schoolyard lessons in how much damage he can take and have it not even show. Not showing doesn't mean not hurting and Rodney hates pain. He tries to avoid it.

He thinks he should avoid Sheppard too.

Probably for the same reason.

"Because if I let you out of my sight, you're going to be in the wind and this time you'll make sure I can't track you," Sheppard states.

True. Rodney's been plotting how to slip off the grid since he realized Sheppard wasn't a projection.

"I let you walk away without me once."

Sheppard's so close his breath is hot along Rodney's cheek, bending his neck, and his hands have found their way to Rodney's shoulders. He isn't holding Rodney in place: he's holding on, clutching so tightly the joints of his fingers have gone white. It occurs to Rodney that Sheppard is scared.

His next words confirm it."I can't do that again."

Sheppard's soft lips brush against Rodney's cheek and are accompanied by a gentle shake of his shoulders. "You left. You left and I realized you were all that mattered."

"What about the Air Force?"

"Fuck 'em. My resignation letter is on Landry's desk right now." His voice drops into something softer. "I wrote it up as soon as I realized you'd taken this job. Wasn't going to waste a chance if I could take it."

It's a promise, Rodney realizes, an oath sworn on the ashes of another given up. Sheppard's choosing him. Not just choosing him over the Air Force; he's rejecting them. The funny thing is, before that's exactly what he wanted Sheppard to do, but now, he's figured out Sheppard's what matters to him and doesn't want to make him give up anything. Truth is, he knew Sheppard mattered too much to him when he walked away; it's why he walked away, why he couldn't stand working with the military a day more, wanting Sheppard and unable to tell him. He hadn't guessed Sheppard felt anything like as much as he did.

Not that he's going to tell Sheppard to take the resignation back. Oh, hell, no. He's going to accept this gift of fortune graciously and then take Sheppard and run like the goddamn wind.

He wraps his arms around Sheppard and pulls him in until they're molded together. He'll hate that."

Sheppard rests his temple against Rodney's and laughs, the feeling of it electrifying Rodney's body, making him hold on tighter. "Yeah," Sheppard confirms. "He'll hate that he didn't get to court martial me instead." He hugs Rodney then. Rodney hugs him back, leaning into him. Sheppard takes his weight easily, despite being more lanky than broad and the fact that Rodney's put on a few pounds since they saw each other last, never mind college. He really doesn't wish he could go back to college. College him could never have what he has now.

He imagines Landry's head exploding if he could see Sheppard and Rodney now. It's a truly pleasant scenario. He says, not meaning it a bit, "Poor bastard."

The chuckle against his ear tickles. It makes Rodney squirm a little. They both sway in each other's arms just a little, without moving their feet, as if they have to move from the intensity of what they're feeling. Or maybe they're both just getting too old to hold still for so long. Rodney's okay with either explanation.

His thoughts turn to what will happen next, though, because his brain never stops ticking over. "Your team?"

"Worked pretty well with yours. Maybe the pay-out shares won't be quite as big, split in six, but won't it be good not to be stretched so thin?"

Rodney has to admit it will. He's already accepted Sheppard and his people joining him. Radek will complain at his high-handed choice, but Rodney plans to tune him out.

"Or we could take a break for a while. Take a vacation. No dreamshare, no somnacin," Sheppard suggests.

Jennifer's been telling Rodney he needs to stop for a year. He keeps saying no. All dreams were lonely without Sheppard, but work is all he's had for too long. Now though… He can't say no.

"That sounds… like a surprisingly attractive option."

"You'll have to support me in the state to which I've become accustomed, of course. I haven't been charging anyone a fortune for what we do."

An inelegant snort escapes Rodney. It isn't like Sheppard has expensive tastes. He's seen the inside of the man's apartment. Spare is an understatement. Even at home, Sheppard lives out of a duffle bag. Supporting him even for a year or two won't cost as much as one of Rodney's Italian suits.

"Good thing we'll be collecting the rest of Weir's fee tomorrow morning then."

He turns his head and Sheppard's mouth is there. When the kisses end, Sheppard looks at the bed and lifts his eyebrows.

Rodney can't say no to that either.

***

They meet Weir at the same cafe. Rodney sits at the same rickety table. It's later in the day, though, and no dampness seeps into his trousers. Sheppard sprawls in a chair next to him, amusing himself by using one uneven leg to rock back and forth and testing Rodney's patience to the limit. The sun gleams off his thick, dark hair and Rodney hates him a little, except for the sensory memory of having his fingers in that it the night before.

Weir gives Sheppard a questioning look and Sheppard grins at her with boyish good cheer. "Hi, I'm from the government."

She sits down abruptly, shock and worry written all over her face, which already looked strained when she arrived.

"Whoa, whoa, sorry." Sheppard rocks forward, body language all apologies. "Didn't mean to freak you out."

"Ignore him," Rodney advises her. He passes her a flashdrive. "Asuras' plans."

"Which shouldn't be a problem much longer," Sheppard adds. He smiles at Weir: a smile that isn't nice at all. "They're about to have a whole lot of other things to worry about, like staying in business and out of jail for selling classified technology to the Chinese."

The waiter who had brought Rodney's coffee and John's banana smoothie comes out and takes Weir's order for an espresso. She slumps back in her seat. After he's gone, she turns the flashdrive in her fingers. Her nails aren't long and she doesn't wear polish, just a neat and even manicure. "That's on here?"

"Oberoth's Chinese contact is on there. So's a lot of other dirt," Sheppard explains. "More than enough for you to leverage him into leaving your company alone."

"Why would the government care about Atlantis?"

"Batshit Jack cares."

"Oh," Weir whispers.

That did explain a lot about Sheppard's team showing up. Landry didn't care much about this sort of thing, hated to rock the boat or take a chance of the project coming to public light, but Batshit Jack was a step up the ladder and the guy who had recruited Sheppard originally. If he'd said jump, Landry would have been hopping.

"Apparently you did a friend of his a favor once." Sheppard grins. "Besides, he loves sticking it to guys like Oberoth."

Weir's attention shifts to Rodney. "You aren't – "

"Me?" Rodney says and shakes his head. "No. Not for ages. The job just intersected with – "

"Certain official interests in Asuras' activities," Sheppard finishes. He sucks on the straw in his smoothie, hollowing his cheeks and eying Rodney through his eyelashes.

His pants are not spontaneously shrinking, even if it feels like it.

Bastard, he mouths at Sheppard.

Sheppard sucks on his straw harder. It makes that awful noise when Sheppard runs out of smoothie because the cup's empty. Rodney cringes.

"Am I a third wheel here?" Weir inquires.

Heat floods Rodney's face and he retaliates for it by kicking Sheppard's shin, which rocks the uneven legged chair.

"Hey!"

"Quit."

Weir is smiling at them both now, much more relaxed, and Rodney knows that was Sheppard's nefarious plan from the beginning. Sheppard's good at multitasking too. So he's teasing Rodney and setting Weir at ease all at once.

She gets to her feet, tucks the flashdrive into her purse, and graces Rodney with a quick buss to his forehead in a surprise move that wreathes him in the scents of Chanel and lipstick. "Thank you. The rest of the money will be deposited in an hour."

This time she's wearing high heels and they click in time with her determined stride as she walks away.

***

"You know," Sheppard says, "if we were to go back to college – "

"God forbid."

" – we could catch Oberoth's speech."

"Why on all the alternative Earths multiverse theory predicts would I want to subject myself to three hours of mind-numbing self-congratulation?" Rodney demands.

Sheppard grins. "I hear that the summation is going to be exciting. That's when the FBI is going to arrest Oberoth."

"On stage."

The grin reaches new levels of shit-eating glee. "On camera."

Rodney slurps back the last of his coffee. It's still awful, but he's never coming back to this café anyway. It's stupid and risky and he can't say no to the idea. They're going back to college.

Just for the day.

"Let's go."

***

White-haired monsters with toothy mouths in their hands and lizard-eyes pursue Rodney through the woods of British Columbia. Nothing makes sense, but fear keeps him from slowing enough to think. Sheppard and Ronon are shooting back at the monsters, while Teyla runs gazelle-like ahead of him. He stumbles over a fallen branch and falls face forward into the loamy earth.

"Get up, get up, get up!" Sheppard yells.

Rodney scrambles back to his feet and starts running again.

They burst from the trees at the edge of a lake of rippling, sky blue water. It makes no sense, because the sky overhead is overcast, ominous grey clouds just waiting to drench everything in cold rain.

He knows the monsters are going to catch him and Sheppard and the others and suck their lives out like spiders eating flies.

Teyla reaches the edge of the water and dives through it with a squelch. The surface closes over her like she was never there.

"Come on, Rodney!" Sheppard says as he grabs Rodney's arm and urges him faster. Ronon's still covering their flight, slowing the monsters in the Marilyn Manson leather coats down enough that Rodney and Sheppard are going to reach the water before they're caught. "We have to get back to the city!"

"What city – "

Sheppard throws Rodney into the water.

Rodney thinks he'll wake up as he falls through a green tunnel, but instead he hits the floor of a room lit by stained glass windows, landing on his hands and knees, soaking wet and dripping. He looks up in disbelief and sees Weir standing before him, dressed in red and looking stern.

"Where have you been?" she demands. "I've been waiting for your team to come back forever."

Before he can speak, Sheppard and Ronon stagger out of the pool of water just behind Rodney, water pouring off their clothes.

Rodney manages to make it to his feet, takes a step back trying to figure out where he is, slips on a puddle of water, and falls backward.

He wakes with a silent yell in his head.

Rodney blinks away the dream as he takes in the colorless light of a city night painting their hotel room in blue and shadow. The air conditioner is whispering under the window and the clock on his phone says it is past three in the morning. He's cold and hot at the same time. Whisps of strange dreams cling to the corners of his thoughts. The sound of traffic filters through from the city streets outside.

Not the city of spires and water, silver and alien, that he dreamt of just now. He tries to hold onto a few pieces of the dream, to use in a design, but it slips away.

A real dream, then, evanescent as fog in the morning. He hasn't experienced one in years. Detoxing from the somnacin is paying unexpected dividends.

Cold air brushes over his sweating, bare skin. He's hot where his bed partner is next to him.

The top sheet and cover are on the floor and the one under them is rumpled loose and Rodney's in the wet spot again. John's face down, one arm draped diagonally across Rodney's chest, snuffling in his sleep, his hairy calf pressed against Rodney's. He shivers a little and Rodney suspects that is what woke him.

He contemplates waking up John to say, 'I had a dream' and John's sleepy puzzlement and decides the embarrassment wouldn't be worth it.

There's a wrinkle right under his shoulder blade that's going to drive him crazy before the night's done.

He contemplates getting up, forcing John to wake, and straightening the bed without mentioning the dream. Turning down the air conditioner. An awful lot of effort; not worth it. He shifts over and John rolls with him, worming closer and tighter in the process. Now he's off the wet spot and the wrinkle, but John's hair is tickling his lips. It's shorter than it was in the dream, but just as soft.

Rodney presses a kiss to the top of John's head and relaxes.

Weir wants to hire their team for something. Considering what working for her last time got him, Rodney's pretty sure he's going to say yes.


End