"Good afternoon," She said from the doorway. "I've been told that the three of you are definitely not contagious."

"So we can leave?" Rodney asked hopefully from his perch on a disheveled cot. "If we're not a danger."

Dr. Weir's smile was tight. "I didn't say that," She corrected him. "But we're getting you some computers in the meantime. I see you've taken a lot of notes; we can have them transcribed."

Each of the men reached for their notepads, holding them protectively. "We've got time to do that ourselves," Rodney told her. "And add things as we think of them. Why can't we leave?"

Dr. Weir sighed, knowing this was going to be a trial. "Rodney, you know the protocols. We don't know exactly what happened to you. This isn't a cold, or food poisoning. You're a new species."

Carson's eyes narrowed. "They tortured us, shoved a lot of information in our heads, and tampered with our DNA. From everything we've experienced, though, nothing tells us they changed our personalities or gave us some secret order to start being evil and killing off everyone we know. This isn't like the Goa'uld, Elizabeth, or the Wraith."

"But you can't say for sure," She countered. "Until we know for sure..."

"And if we never know for sure?" John spat, grumpy from lack of sleep. "We're damned lucky to be alive, Liz. That thing was half-broken. What if the part in charge of changing our DNA hadn't worked? I doubt we'd have survived. The knowledge we have is incomplete and we may never recover all of it."

"Are you going to keep us here forever, if we can't give you concrete evidence that we're no danger?" Carson asked quietly. "Just locked in this room?" He didn't add that he suspected they could easily escape if they wanted to, given what their ancestor species could do.

"Which completely ignores the fact that anyone with any smidgeon of free will constitutes a possible danger," Rodney reminded Dr. Weir. "Let's not take a stroll down the slippery slope of infringing on freedom for the sake of security, shall we? I realize your home country has a nasty habit of doing just that, but we're supposed to be a more ecumenical society here on Atlantis."

"One week," She replied flatly. "This isn't about us studying you, Rodney. You know more about what happened than anyone else. Give us a week before you three disappear in your jobs, where we won't be able to help you if something goes wrong."

Silence greeted her offer, but one by one all three men curtly nodded in acquiescence. She motioned for the Marine behind her to bring in the three laptops he held, along with a small selection of other entertaining toys.

"I see no reason why you can't do some of your regular work while you're in here," She said, distributing the various Ancient artifacts and report files. "Life did go on here while you were off-world."

Rodney noted that the Ancient technology she'd brought was innocuous stuff, ones they'd mostly figured out and knew didn't do much of anything. He supposed he could work on mapping out circuitry, or recalculating a pet theory, or annoying John into throwing a hissy fit. Maybe he and Carson could play chess...

After Dr. Weir left, John relaxed a little and grinned at Carson. "You'd have thought quarantine would've gotten us out of paperwork, huh?"

Carson booted up his computer, grimacing at the thought of all those reports to read through. "I think she's jealous."

"Jealous?" Rodney echoed. "Only a masochist would be jealous of what we went through."

"A masochist or someone who almost never gets to do anything but wring her hands and stare at pictures of a guy who's not waiting for her," John said meanly. "Or she's a sadist and finally has a reason to torture all three of us at once."

"And I may never get to go on another mission," Carson commented, flipping through the first report on his computer. "Not that I particularly want to."

"I want to practice shapeshifting," Rodney stated. "But not when they're watching us. Voyeurs."

"What makes you think we'll be any good at it?" John asked as he read the security reports Bates had written. He highly respected Bates' abilities, but the man needed to be shown the spellchecker function on his computer's word processor. "I'm pretty sure that's not part of the information they left us."

"I know," Rodney grumbled, setting up to type out his notes. "They didn't actually leave all that much. It's just hard to sort through it all."

"Don't worry," Carson said absently over the top of his computer screen, "One day it'll all come crashing down and we'll be whimpering, nervous wrecks. It's just not happening today."

"You've been hanging around Rodney too much," John told Carson. "I like you better as an optimist."

"You don't like me anymore?" Carson mocked, echoing Rodney's earlier comment.

"Can't you gang up on someone else?" John asked plaintively. "Why does it always have to be me?"

Rodney smirked at the man's complaint. "Because there's just the three of us, and Carson and I haven't made monumental asses of ourselves lately."

Once again John's head hit the wall behind his cot. "You know for a while there I thought maybe we'd worked our way past that."

"We have," Carson informed him. "Now we're just picking on you because we can."

John stared at the ceiling, wondering why he'd let himself become friends with a couple of mad scientists. "I feel so much better now," He quipped sarcastically. "Next thing you'll be calling me names on the playground."

"Yeah well you won't get picked last for football, so quit complaining," Rodney shot at him over the sound of his keyboard clicking. "It's called flirting, John. Get used to it."

John thought about that for a while, trying to decide if he liked the idea of Rodney and Carson flirting with him. It was weird, but a lot less strange than the majority of things in his life right now. "Right," He muttered, returning to his work.

Six hours later found John, Rodney and Carson embroiled in a three-way Minesweeper tournament. "You do know you can't tell anyone about this, right?" John murmured as he moved over to Rodney's computer. "And that's gonna get you blown up again," He said, indicating a marked box.

"Don’t worry, my lips are sealed," Rodney replied, unclicking the box. "If she'd brought my actual laptop and not this dummy replacement, we could play real games instead of primitive crap like this."

"You're only complaining because you're losing," Carson told Rodney as he won the game on John's computer. "Buck up."

"I lose on purpose," Rodney stated. "I never thought I'd miss the opportunity to walk more than ten feet in any given direction, but this place is just too small."

John shrugged and finished the game on Rodney's computer while the physicist moved to Carson's. "I've thought up a dozen or so ways to pass the time, but most of them would get us in a lot of trouble," John admitted. "We've not got a lot to choose from." Seeing as how he'd even considered making paper cut-out dolls from Kavanagh's copy of Ishtar, John was rather sure he'd gone through an exhaustive list of things to do.

"I think I'll be taking my shower now," Carson announced, pushing himself off his cot. Rodney completed the last Minesweeper game and closed the program before acknowledging the statement.

"Don't use up all the hot water," He joked, lying back against the wall.

Carson turned around, smirking. "You could join me, you know. Water conservation being so important to you and all..."

As the bathroom door closed behind Carson and Rodney, John wished they'd gotten some headphones. Or maybe a handgun--anything to deaden his hearing. Not that it would've mattered; his mind was helpfully providing vivid images of what was happening on the other side of that door.

•••

"That was evil," Rodney hissed as Carson stepped in the shower and fiddled with the controls. "Use your mind to do that, Carson. You'll never get comfortable with Ancient tech if you don't at least try."

Carson glared briefly at Rodney, but adjusted the shower's temperature mentally. "You're still clothed," He commented, staring at Rodney's admittedly still-shrouded body. "Or did you come in here to chat while I have a wank?"

Rodney spared a thought for the man sitting in the other room. It was really, truly cruel for the two of them to be in here while he was out there, probably suspecting a lot of things that might or might not actually be going on.

Then again, Rodney thought, John was a monumental jackass and Carson was the man he'd come to care about very much.

"I'm not offering again," Carson said when Rodney just stood there, worried that he'd moved faster than Rodney could handle. They'd been moving so very slowly towards each other before this last mission and at the time it had seemed quite the thing to do. Now... now he wasn't so sure he was willing to give fate another chance to kill one or both of them off before they gave it their best shot.

With an almost shy grin, Rodney stepped into the shower, his clothes fading back into skin as water rained down.

Carson and Rodney stared at each other for a couple of seconds, blinking through the warm water. Finally Carson reached up and laid a careful hand at the juncture of Rodney's neck and shoulder, leaning in to press a kiss in the space left between his thumb and index finger.

Both the initial contact and the kiss were a shock to Rodney's senses. He'd known from earlier, casual contact that touching was different now; he could feel more than before. This, this he hadn't been expecting. When Carson's hand first touched him Rodney felt a ripple of desire streak through him. It was his, but it was also Carson's, transmitted across the simple contact. It wasn't an illusion, though, because Rodney could also feel Carson's anxiety, his fear that this was a very big mistake.

Rodney wrapped his arms around Carson and drew him in, pressing them together gently. They reveled in the way their skin tingled and came alive with the flow of sensation back and forth.

"I wondered," Carson whispered into Rodney's shoulder, "If they took this away from us."

"There would be hell to pay," Rodney swore, sliding his hands soothingly up and down Carson's back. He turned his head, nudging Carson's until they were more or less face to face. The kiss was hesitant and halting, closed mouth and awkward and halfway through, Carson began to laugh.

The look of astonishment and burgeoning annoyance on Rodney's face only made Carson laugh harder and he held onto Rodney as he let himself enjoy the absurdity of it all. "I could leave, if you'd like," Rodney said, beginning to feel very insulted.

"No..." Carson gasped, still laughing brokenly. "It's just... we're so very bad at this, Rodney," He tried to explain. "Like we're expecting the parts to work differently now."

Rodney suddenly had the mental image of Benny Hill and some ditty about having eyes on the ends of one's fingers. It really was stupid, the fumbling and the hesitancy. It was also normal, given the fact that everything else about them seemed to have changed. "Well, they might not work the same and if we aren't careful, we could be in for quite a shock," He said primly, looking down his nose at Carson. "What if... you know..."

"What?" Carson inquired. "What if what?"

Rodney shrugged innocently. "What if it's just for show now? You know, vestigial?"

Carson's expression turned briefly to horror before the silliness of the statement caught up with him and he laughed again, harder this time. Rodney fell back against the shower wall, supporting both their weights as they giggled madly. "God forbid," Carson gasped out. "I'm not sure which would be worse, having one that doesn't work or not having one at all."

Rodney paused to consider the dilemma. "I don't care," He decided. "Current evidence suggests that we're still fully functional, at least in the ways that count." A gentle roll of Rodney's hips proved his point rather well. Carson shuddered slightly as his half-hard cock brushed Rodney's, sending tendrils of electric sensation up his spine.

"That's nice," Carson mumbled, returning the gesture by thrusting against Rodney's hip. "I was wondering, though..."

"I'm almost afraid to ask," Rodney said, still rocking in counterpoint to Carson's movements.

Carson grinned evilly, not that Rodney could see him, and slid down to the floor. Rodney's hands flew to his shoulders as Carson pressed his cheek against the man's stomach, wrapping blunt fingers around his cock.

The involuntary moan that echoed in the shower stall was very gratifying as Carson took Rodney into his mouth, sliding his tongue over the crown and sucking ever so slightly. Rodney's hips twitched but he stayed still, hands petting Carson's head in rhythm with the lips that slid up and down.

Carson let the bitter-salty taste of Rodney's cock sink into his senses and drive him harder, faster to take Rodney deeper into his mouth. Rodney was hard now, achingly so and Carson could feel his arousal seething and clawing its way higher. He pulled back, running his tongue along the underside of Rodney's erection until just the head remained on his lips. He sucked harder, sliding back down even as he slid tentative fingers along Rodney's balls, pressing slightly. It was enough but not too much and Rodney groaned, thighs shifting apart and cock throbbing.

Rodney was close, his knees starting to shake from not-thrusting and then Carson abruptly changed pace, taking him deep and fast, fingers digging into his thighs and he swallowed hard and that was it, Rodney was coming and he could feel it, the way he was flowing out and how much Carson had wanted him to come and his own body pulsing and singing in complete ecstasy. He was still engulfed in it when he slid to the floor of the shower, Carson easing him down.

Swollen lips pressed against his and brought Rodney back to the present. The shower was steamy and nearly uncomfortably hot, but Carson was shielding him from the spray, painfully hard cock jutting between them. "So that was bad," Rodney said speculatively, once he found his voice. "I don't know that I'll ever be able to survive it if we get to be any good at this sort of thing."

Carson snickered at the comment and was caught off-guard when Rodney reached for him, tumbling the man into his lap. Rodney's mouth found his at the same time a hand wrapped around his cock and Carson groaned into the kiss. Rodney's fingers were nimble and strong, his mouth doubly so. Rodney kissed deeply but with an almost frightening precision and Carson felt consumed, taken in by Rodney's mouth and drawn out by his hand. Firm, fast strokes that made his cock ache and his balls tighten, but then Rodney's kiss slowed and gentled until finally it was little more than their lips brushing together.

Then Rodney delved back in, taking control of Carson's mouth and easing up the pressure on his cock, teasing him just enough to keep Carson on edge even as their tongues did utterly pornographic things. Carson knew he was whimpering, but he didn't have the strength to care, not when Rodney was touching him like there was nothing better in the universe than teasing Carson into insanity.

Finally the intensity of Rodney's kiss and the speed of his hand on Carson's cock lined up and Carson froze, caught by the pleasure that ripped through him. His cry was swallowed down as Rodney kissed him through his climax, careful hands holding him close and steady until he finally stopped trembling.

"Yeah, it still works," Carson whispered, once again pressed into Rodney's shoulder. Rodney grinned and shifted on the floor, finding a more comfortable position. He didn't seem to be in any hurry to get out of the shower, though, and Carson just went with it.

"What was it you were wondering?" Rodney inquired as they cuddled on the shower floor. "You never did say."

Carson smirked. "Oh, nothing."

"Carson," Rodney warned. "That's not very nice. Come on, what was it?"

"I just wondered," Carson began, only to get distracted by the smoothness of Rodney's skin.

Rodney was about to protest when Carson bit his neck, sliding his tongue over the slight wound. "Fuck, never mind," He muttered, hands already busy looking for ways to make Carson tremble and moan.

On the other side of the bathroom door, John lay in his bed, face pressed into his pillow. He hated them right now, for fucking where he could hear them, for fucking each other and not him, for turning to each other and for it not to be pity or sympathy or simple convenience. He'd seen them together but hadn't wanted to see it for what it was and he hated them. Just a little, though, because most of John's hatred was pointed at himself for letting it get this way, for letting it turn out this badly.

He'd thought, back in the temple, that they'd forgiven him and maybe they had. If this was forgiveness, though, it was of the cold, bitter variety that made John's stomach twist and churn. He clenched his fingers in the bedcoverings, hating the sounds he could hear, the moans and the cries. The sheets on his bed creaked in protest as he gripped them, willing himself to stay put, to hate them and hate what they were doing, to not get up and beg them to touch him too.

John's skin could hear them and ached for what it couldn't feel.

Later on, when Carson and Rodney walked out of the bathroom, John kept his face buried and feigned unconsciousness. There was murmuring and touching and finally they lay down side by side on Carson's bed, curled up like puppies. It didn't take long for them to drop off to sleep, Carson breathing evenly and loudly while Rodney snuffled in an almost-snore.

John didn't sleep.

•••

The sound of the nursing staff preparing to bring in breakfast and a new round of whatever Dr. Weir thought would entertain them dragged John out of his nocturnal daydreams. He'd been imagining a world where rubber had never been discovered when the noise caught his attention. He glanced at Rodney and Carson, who were still soundly asleep.

It occurred to him that letting them get caught like they were would be tastily spiteful payback for them having sex and not inviting him, but he thought better of it and rolled out of bed. "Rodney," John murmured, poking the scientist's blanket-covered shoulder, "Wake up."

Rodney shrugged off the annoying pain in his shoulder and turned over, only to find his bed wasn't as big as it used to be. The fact that it was smaller due to the presence of another body was what made him wake up, but finding John's face hovering above his when he opened his eyes made Rodney yelp. "Ayi! What?" He croaked grumpily, scowling. "This better be good."

John rolled his eyes. "Breakfast is here. Just thought you'd wanna know the nurses are about to invade."

"Damn," Carson muttered from underneath the covers. "It's too early."

"Speak for yourself," John replied. "I'm starving."

Rodney made it to his own bed just before the nursing staff walked in. "Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" He griped as they set down trays of food and a new stack of books. "You don't go barging into everyone's bedrooms, do you?"

The flustered nurses looked to Carson for support but found that their leader was barely awake and not happy to be that far out of slumber. "Ignore him," Carson offered weakly. "But knock next time."

Once they were alone again, John tore into his breakfast, glad that today offered a selection of weird Pegasus galaxy faire he could focus on not completely hating. "So..." Rodney began as he picked through a bowl of cooked grain, "Why do you think Carson and I would be worried about getting caught by the nurses?"

John swallowed harshly, trying not to choke. "Because I thought maybe you'd like some privacy?"

Carson laughed out loud, his cot shaking with the force of his amusement. "John, this room is under surveillance," He said, stating the obvious--and reinforcing it by pointing to the very obvious camera mounted in one corner.

John was so obviously mystified by that statement that Rodney felt compelled to elaborate. "We spent more than an hour in the bathroom and didn't walk out with painted toenails or fresh perms, John. What do you think they thought we were doing?"

"Half my staff thought Rodney and I were sleeping together before this mission, John," Carson pointed out. "It's not going to be much of a surprise to them."

"So much for being thoughtful," John snapped. "I'll try to rein in my altruistic tendencies next time." There as a difference between knowing and knowing, and between your staff knowing you're getting laid and them walking in on it. John had assumed, apparently incorrectly, that they would prefer discretion.

Rodney observed John's nonexistent fuse and painfully tired appearance. "You're not sleeping well, are you?"

John glared daggers at Rodney. "No, no I'm not," He said, not bothering to hide his displeasure. "It's impossible to sleep in here," He remarked pointedly. "Noisy, tight quarters aren't conducive to rest."

Rodney choked down his guilt at adding to John's discomfort. There was no way what he and Carson had done last night hadn't affected the man. He knew he shouldn't still be upset with John about the man's indiscretions, but Rodney's emotions in that regard were reflexive. Thinking of John as an uncaring jackass was second nature.

"You could try now," Carson suggested, having reined in his humor and started on breakfast. "We can be quiet."

John flopped onto his back and laughed harshly. "Won't work," He replied. "I don't think I've slept an hour since we went to that damned temple."

"Except for when we passed out all those times," Rodney corrected. "Still, it's worth a shot. If you don't sleep, they won't let you out of here." It was said with such a lack of venom that John almost deluded himself into thinking Rodney didn't want him trapped in the infirmary forever.

"I know," John huffed, trying to get his pillow comfortable. "It's just not going to happen."

"Alright," Carson said, giving up rather easily for the city's most doggedly determined doctor. "Rodney, would you mind helping me with one of my reports this morning?"

"Sure," Rodney replied, setting his breakfast tray on their only table. "What do you need?"

Carson joined Rodney on his bed, dragging his computer with him. "Open this file on your computer," He directed, giving Rodney a flash drive. "I need to double-check the data entry in this one set of records."

"Oh," Rodney murmured, utterly unenthralled by the idea of data-checking. "And you want me to do what?"

"Read off that row of numbers," Carson said, pointing to the screen on Rodney's computer. "Across and then down, when I ask for a given identification number."

"Ok."

"Four-seven-three-one dash three-nine-two."

"One-thirty, eighty," Rodney said. "Or do I need to read the numbers separately?"

"No, that's fine," Carson murmured. "Four-seven-three-one dash three-nine-three."

"One thirty-one, seventy-nine."

"Four-seven-three-one dash three-nine-four."

"One twenty-nine, eighty-one."

"Four-seven-three-one dash three-nine-five....

John let the procession of numbers float through his mind, building a chart to track what sounded like blood pressure measurements. He wondered who person 4731 was and whether Carson was worried about his heart, or was simply keeping track of everyone's health.

The numbers were soothing, monotonous and hypnotic in a way that sheep weren't so when John lost count and his eyes slid closed he didn't notice at all.

"Four-seven-six-five dash three-nine-two."

"One-ten, seventy."

"That's enough," Carson whispered, closing his computer.

Rodney's head shot up from where he'd been staring at his own screen. "We barely got through a hundred data points!"

Carson clamped a hand over Rodney's mouth and shot his eyes over to where John lay sleeping. "He's asleep."

"I don't think we were bothering him," Rodney said as he removed Carson's hand. "Besides, I wanted to work on one of my projects."

Carson shook his head. "The data checking was to put him to sleep. The last time I did that in my lab, half my assistants dozed off. It's incredibly boring to listen to."

"It's incredibly boring to do," Rodney told him. He understood, though, what Carson was trying to say. John was asleep, at least for the moment, and they really did need to let him get as much rest as possible. Typing, talking and the like might wake him up. "I'm not fond of being nice to people," He groused as Carson cleared away their computers. "But I must admit that was sneaky, Carson. Almost underhanded."

"If it helps any, I had an ulterior motive," Carson whispered in reply.

"Depends on what it was," Rodney replied, but when Carson curled up next to him on the bed, the reason was obvious.

Not to mention appreciated; Rodney let Carson get them comfortable and horizontal. A single, slow kiss later Rodney found himself warm and secure and drifting quickly towards a morning nap he hadn't known he needed. Maybe he was more tired than he thought.

When Dr. Weir popped into the quarantine room an hour later, she found three peacefully sleeping men. The fact that they weren't sleeping in three beds wasn't enough of a shock to dim her elation at not finding three irate, bored and stir-crazy men threatening mutiny.

On her way out of the infirmary, she scanned the surveillance files. True to their word, nothing particularly interesting, in terms of Atlantis's security or their condition, was occurring. Once she was satisfied with regards to her official capacity, Elizabeth restricted access to the surveillance program. There was no reason to put her men on display, and she had a strong suspicion they would appreciate a little privacy.

•••

John woke up feeling a lot better than he had in days, his head for once free of background pain and muzziness. Rodney and Carson were awake, sitting on their own beds as they read what looked like textbooks, pages flipping quietly every minute or two.

The lack of windows and clocks left John confused as to the time so he reached for his watch. "Supper's in half an hour," Rodney murmured when he heard John move. "Teyla said we're getting some kind of celebratory stew."

John looked adorably confused, his bedhead only adding to the effect. "Celebratory stew?"

"That's what she said," Carson confirmed as he sat his book down. "The Athosians were so happy we made it back that they decided to throw a party, complete with stew."

"But...We're in quarantine," John protested. "What kind of celebration is it when three-fifths of the returning team is stuck in a jail cell?"

"The kind that gets us celebratory stew," Rodney replied dryly. "If it makes you feel any better, our people are planning something for after we get out of here."

"Our people?" John muttered. "We have people still?"

Carson looked askance at John. "Yes, we still have people. Dr. Salas said that some of the crew is a little bit...mystified about what happened, but that enough of them have experience with SGC that they're taking it in stride. Most of them just want us back on our feet and at work, instead of cooped up in this room."

"They miss us. How sweet," Rodney snarked. "More likely, they're tired of screwing up everything they do."

John scratched his head and digested this new information. The Athosians were celebrating their survival, the Atlantis crew was planning to throw some kind of party--if Dr. Weir had anything to do with it, the thing would be very low-key--and for the moment at least nobody was threatening mutiny because the three of them were whatever they were now.

"How long did I sleep?" He finally asked, giving up on actually understanding the goings-on of Atlantis.

"Ten hours, give or take a few minutes," Rodney murmured. "You didn't sleep last night, though, so it's not surprising."

Carson nodded sagely. "You'll probably sleep again tonight, as you've yet to recover completely."

John silently wondered if he would, though; that would depend in large part on what the other two men chose to do with their evening. His day's sleep showed that he could rest and not always have nightmares, but there was no way he was sleeping through the two of them having sex.

Not that it mattered all that much that they were so close; once they left quarantine John was always going to wonder if they were together whenever he couldn't see one of them. John berated himself for feeling any sort of jealousy, knowing he had no right to be envious. He'd had his shot.

When supper arrived, Dr. Weir came in to check on them. "It's good to see you rested," She told John as Dr. Salas and a nurse brought in their meals. "I know this is hard on you, but with the severity of this development..."

"We get it, Liz," Rodney barked, reaching for a tray. "Really. We're just bored and stir-crazy because you won't give us anything to do but mug for the camera."

"You have books," She pointed out. "And I restricted access to the surveillance. No one is watching you and I'm the only person reviewing the files."

"That makes me feel...not one bit better," He griped. "Is the stew good?"

"Better than you're thinking," She countered, turning to leave. Before she shut the door, three dark objects sailed out of her hands and onto Carson's cot. "Have a good night."

Carson gathered up the items, grinning madly. "That sneaky little..."

"What?" John inquired around a mouthful of surprisingly good stew. "Looks like candy bars."

"Dark Belgian chocolate," He replied dreamily. "The real thing. She must've been stockpiling these."

"Her or Zelenka," Rodney said, eyeing the Côte d'Or bars with an almost maniacal glee. "John probably wouldn't appreciate the quality."

"Don't even think about it," John threatened. "That is mine."

"Wanna bet?" Rodney taunted. "I'm stronger than I look."

"Rodney, you are not going to fight John for a chocolate bar," Carson said as he tossed one of the bars onto John's cot and a second onto Rodney's. The third he tucked under his pillow. "If I have to learn to turn things on with my head, you have to learn to share your treats."

John's jaw dropped, while Rodney squeaked. "Understood," Rodney finally croaked out, deciding that he really didn't want to get himself in trouble with Carson by actually taking the bait on that one.

"Sharing and turning things on are both good goals," John said once he recovered. "I'm all for sharing."

"Perhaps you should focus on probity; it does seem to be your primary failing." Rodney snapped.

John sighed and returned to his supper.