
Ray laughs shortly. "You don't want me to take you to a..."
It's weird, he can say anything to her on the phone, but actually sitting with her here, in the car, in the flesh, he can't bring himself to finish his sentence.
"Oh, please do," says Stella. "Could you? I've never been to a gay bar."
Same old Stella. Subtle as a jackhammer.

"Can we try to be normal?" said Ray. "Just for a day. For like, two hours. I'll be Ray, and you'll be Ben, and that'll be Dief, our dog."
From the doorway, Diefenbaker whined.
Ray pointed at him. "You, suck it up. Take one for the team."

Fraser smiled slightly, puzzled, like he thought he was playing a game but he didn't quite know the rules. "This is very odd behaviour, Ray. You're just not usually so by-the-book."
"Sure I am!" said Ray. "I love the book! I live for the book! Without proper procedure, where are we? Nowhere!"

Fraser raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. "Lipstick colour names can be rather obscure. I assume it's a metaphor to describe something fragile and lovely but also dangerous and potentially capable of raining hot destruction upon an unsuspecting citizenry. On the other hand, it may refer to the fact that this particular coral shade is common to molten lava and geraniums. Don't lick it."
"It tastes like Jujubes," Ray reported.
"Nevertheless, resist the urge."

"It'll probably be a long wait. You want to get some coffee first?"
What was this, pain endorphins or something? "Uh... Let's just get you signed in. I can run out for whatever you need later."
Jim nodded, clapped Blair on the shoulder, and looked seriously into his eyes. "You're a good friend."
Blair gave him a look, and then slowly traced his fingers in the air, left, right, up, down. Jim followed them with his eyes. "What are you doing?"
"Making sure you don't have a concussion. You didn't hit your head, did you?"

The sound of his own hoarse voice was surprising. It was probably no louder than a whisper, but it sounded like a shout against a background of nothing. At least he knew he wasn't deaf. He rolled his tongue over his swollen lip. Wherever he was, he hadn't been here long. His mouth was still bleeding. He was beginning to regret, now, that the last words he'd formed with that mouth had been, "You want to help me, Sandburg, leave me the fuck alone!"
"Look, it's a give and take. You have give up some control to get what your senses are trying to tell you. You got to learn to let go. Just relax and let your primal instincts take over."
"You don't know what you're asking," says Jim.

Blair shuffled the deck back together. "How do you know so much about gambling, anyway, Mr. Law Enforcement?" "Hey, I worked vice. Believe me, Chief. You can't fight it. The house always wins." "We'll see about that." Blair held Jim's gaze with a defiant look while he surreptitiously snagged a slice of bacon from the done pile.

It was times like these when he seemed almost there, when Blair began to think he could snap him out of it if he just tried hard enough. He'd whisper intently into his ear, sometimes for hours at a time: "C'mon, Jim. Come back to me. Follow my voice..." The good times were worse than the bad, in that way, because it always seemed--it always so seemed!--like that would work.

Blair - sweater?
Jags tickets?
something for his horrible car?
seat covers?
brake job?
new engine?
new car?
nah, he'd get it

"Yeah, this was a very productive experiment," said Blair. "I think I'll continue in this line of research."

"Sure, Chief, it's real romantic," Jim rolled his eyes. "Is this what it's like to be on a date with the great Casanova Sandburg?"
"You kidding? I've never been on a date this datelike."
"Hm." Jim managed a tight shrug with crossed arms. "So far, I'm not impressed."
"Well, my real skills come at the end of the date," Blair leered.
"Ugh," said Jim.

"God," Rodney moaned. "This is simultaneously my best dream and my worst nightmare."
"Why?" asked Sheppard. "Afraid you're going to get hit on by a guy?"
"I didn't even think of that! Do you really think I'll get propositioned?"
"Sure, Rodney," said Sheppard seriously. "You've got an awfully pretty mouth."

"You take me for granted," Rodney barreled on. "You'll be lost without me!"
"I take you for granted!" Zelenka stood, now, his stupid Freecell game forgotten. "You have no idea how much I do around here..."
"Of course I do! You take care of all the, the little things I don't care about, thus freeing me up to do the real work. Why do you think I've kept you around all this time?"
"That is wonderful," said Zelenka. "I am your bitch boy."
"Yes!" cried Rodney, delighted that he understood.

Name: Rodney McKay
Nickname: God
Rank, if applicable: See previous
Role on Atlantis: See previous

"Sheppard," Rodney said, carefully maintaining composure, "have you considered the possibility that you might have an exact physical double?"
"So what else would be new?" came Zelenka's muffled voice.

The next morning, John walked into his door. And not just sort of stumbled into the door, as he sleepily made his way out into the real world, but full on strode into it, with the sort of purposeful stride that ought to display to the world the readiness and alertness of the military commander of Atlantis. This stride got him a bruised shoulder and a bloody nose.

"First of all--as impressed as I am by the nonchalance with which you can just decide to risk life and limb, 'Oh, I think I'll escape from the prison camp today,' the way most people say 'I think I'll wear the blue tie'--as impressive as that admittedly is!--you do realize, don't you, that by writing to me about your daring escape plans, you're putting me in the delicate position of having to literally eat your words?"

She thinks of them as the boys in her sixth grade class, advanced track - very smart, very willing to solve problems when presented with them, but still twelve years old. She thinks some of the boys from her class must be John and Rodney somewhere else, annoying someone else to acts of near homicide. She had never considered dating those boys, and she doesn't see how anyone could; she can't even see how they might work for each other.

"We have to hold onto these things for two days?" Ronon's brows were knit in a perfect expression of disbelief, and Rodney felt strangely close to him.
"That is the period chosen for our test," the elder concurred. "You must treat them as you would your own children."
"Let's hear about your day care options," Sheppard quipped.

"He asked me if I was dying," Elizabeth whispered hoarsely.

“You’re trying to plant happy memories on me.”
Charles shakes his head. “I told you, I’m not doing anything to your head.”
“No, you’re doing it the old-fashioned way.”
Charles lowers his eyes to his Chardonnay. Has he been that obvious?

And then he was there, standing in the doorway.
He obviously hadn't put much thought into what he was wearing, but somehow, he made a white T-shirt and jeans look like designer fashion. Unlike most of my shirts, his actually fitted him perfectly, showing off his slim waist and muscular arms. The bright white set off his golden skin perfectly. Around his throat he wore one of those hemp-and-shell surfer necklaces. His pale blond hair had been cut short and stuck out in every direction. He was grinning that wide, friendly, dimpled grin of his.
Oh, man. Oh, man. I was in trouble.

"Is that an eleven foot pole in your bag of holding, or are you just happy to see me?" said Howard.
"My lance of faith shudders with a radiant pulse," said Raj.
"That statement doesn't begin to make gameplay sense," Sheldon tsked.

"Surely you can imagine a reason to commit a crime which is not in itself bad. If the result of the crime was good..."

To state that he was merely homosexual would, I fear, do a grave disservice to the truly dedicated Vancian scholar. Vance's personal psychology was much more complex than any one word yet devised by the so-called "Community" could adequately convey. I daresay even I never knew the true extent of his diverse predilections.

"The food I can almost excuse," Lister continued, on a roll, "but it's not like you haven't had the chance for three million years. I know for a fact holograms can touch themselves."
"I'm sure you do," Rimmer snorted. "Unlike you, Lister, not everyone has the impulse control of a bonobo monkey. Some of us are more evolved. Some of us have legitimate things to do with our time."
"Yeah, but you don't," Lister pointed out.