Rodney surfing. There's something incredibly precious about that, the way he focuses that brilliant mind on each gentle curve of the tide, body big and almost clumsy as he forces it do what he wants it to, instead of catering to its various whims and desires. But when he's on that board, poised and getting it, the rush and lift-off, and the joy...

Rodney catches two more waves, lasting a little bit longer each time, before he smacks John on the shoulder and says, "Okay, enough with the spacing out. Surf!"

They surf, playing in the waves, cheating gravity, harnessing momentum, and they're happy. John can't remember the last time he's felt so good, despite the fact that his muscles start to shake and he's got sand in some remarkably inappropriate places.

He rides one last wave in, almost all the way to the shore, where Rodney's lying face-down on his board, panting and bobbing in the shallow water. John props his forearms on his own board, letting his knees settle to the sandy bottom.

"That was..." he says, making a lazy gesture with one hand.

"Yeah," Rodney says, looking up. "It was."

There was another silence as they both stared upward into the dark. "Is it just me, or are the stars spinning a little?" Johnny asked after a while.

Brian snorted. "Well, the Earth is spinning, but you shouldn't be able to see that. And it was overcast today, so you shouldn't be able to see the stars, either. I think I just tackled you too hard and you're seeing Tweety-Bird cartoon stars, my friend."

Johnny elbowed him. "That what you call a tackle? Man, no wonder they kicked you off the high school football team!"

"Naw," Brian said. "You think I tackle all the boys like that? Only you, baby."

Johnny didn't have a comeback for that.

After a while, he picked himself up off the sand and offered Brian a hand, and they headed back to their dying fire.

It was in a drunken silent camaraderie that they picked up the empties and the lighter fluid, kicked sand on the coals, retrieved the football, and headed back toward their houses. Brian even helped carry on the way back, and things felt easy again. For the moment. Time enough to deal with anything else later.

Rodney was sitting on the couch, and he leapt to his feet when John came in. His shirt was tucked in, which for Rodney was almost black-tie. He wrung his hands for a second and then dropped them down hastily to his sides, and John would have liked to say something that would calm him down, but he was nervous as hell himself. Even though it was only Rodney.

"Well." Rodney clasped his hands in front of him. His hair had comb tracks in it. It made John's throat hurt.

"I get copies of everything?" John asked.

"Yeah."

"The jeans come off?"

Lorne winced. He was going to be his commanding officer's soft core porn collection. "Sure."