I don't understand the numbers
But my faith is in the math
And the odds are all this pain will even out in the end
And we'll look back and laugh.

~ John Mayer

----

Agent John Sheppard had heard a great many things in his life that had caught him by surprise, but this – this took the cake.

"No. No, no, no," he said adamantly, pushing out of the cushy black chair to stand. He needed room to pace. "Not going to happen."

Assistant Director Jack O'Neill answered without looking up from his papers. "This isn't the produce department, Sheppard. You don't get to make a selection."

John strode to the window and tugged at the office blinds to stare out onto the sea of bustling work spaces. There had to be forty agents in this division alone. Forty. He turned back to O'Neill. "What about Miller?"

The director shook his head.

"Stecker? Cruz?" When O'Neill didn't respond, he tried a more aggressive approach. "Come on, Jack. I can tell you already this isn't going to work. Just save us both the trouble and – "

O'Neill arched an eyebrow, nonplussed, before leaning back in his chair. He took a moment to drum his fingers on the glass of his desk before speaking. "You are aware that I hired you, right?" he asked with only a hint of mirth. "That, in and of itself, should tell you I like a little trouble now and again."

John started to speak but O'Neill silenced him with a glare. "It's done, Sheppard. You can bitch and moan all you want, but it won't change the facts." He scowled and began sifting though the files on his desk. "You've gone through five partners in the last three years – no one wants to work with you. It's incredibly unfortunate because, though you're a live wire, you're also one of the best agents I've dealt with."

"Thank you, sir."

"It's not a compliment. I'm saying you're trouble and Landry's not going to allow me to keep you on if you continue to chew through partners. I like you, but the big guy doesn't think you're worth the risk. In the end it's his call. I'd recommend you don't mess this one up," he concluded, his clipped tone a clear end to the debate.

John ground his teeth and jammed his hands into his pockets. "Yes, sir."

"Get back to work."

John slipped out the door and skulked back to his desk, dropping heavily into his chair. Loosening his tie, he pulled at the top button of his collared shirt and fought the urge to put his fist through something.

A moment later Rodney McKay poked his head around John's screen and John wished, not for the first time, for a cubicle with walls.

"Didn't go for it, eh?"

"Nope."

Rodney's eyes widened. "So that means –"

"Yeah."

"Fantastic." Rodney rubbed his hands together excitedly. "I've always wanted to work with her."

John shook his head and switched off his monitor. Grabbing his coat from the back of his chair he pushed past Rodney. "You can have her."

--

"You're shitting me." Cameron Mitchell leaned over the pool table to line up his shot. "Weir? Elizabeth Weir?"

John merely nodded and took another pull of his beer.

Cameron struck the cue stick firmly, sinking the four in the far corner pocket. As he stood to survey the table his face broke into a wide grin. "That's quite possibly the most amusing thing I've heard all week."

Samantha Carter sighed heavily and leaned back to rest an elbow against the bar. "I don't know what you all are so worked up about. From what I've seen of her file, Weir is an incredibly talented agent. She's got one of the best records for high profile collars in the bureau," her gaze swung to John in acknowledgment, "right after you." She grabbed a handful of peanuts and popped a few into her mouth. "Seems to me like you two will make quite the team."

Cameron missed his next shot, but was just able to dodge the peanut Sam threw at his head. "But this is the Weir we hear all those stories about sweeping through Quantico like a Tasmanian Devil, right? The one who beat out our fair Shep for top dog?" He gave John a hearty pat on the back. "So really, they'll make a good team if he doesn't kill her first."

Sam nodded her agreement. "I suppose that is a consideration."

"From the stories I've heard, I'd put odds on her killing him," Rodney piped up.

John's shot went wild and he barely kept himself from digging a groove into the table. He sent a withering glare toward Rodney. "You're just here to even out the teams, not to speak."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Right. How silly of me to forget my place."

"Can't we get someone else?" Sam scrunched up her nose. "Cadman plays pool, right?"

Rodney huffed and waved his hands in her face. "Hello! I'm right here!"

"We know you are, buddy." Cameron smiled. "We know you are."

Sam took her turn, sinking the five but missing the two. She clucked her tongue and handed off her stick. "So what's the real problem? Are you honestly still hung up on the fact that you were number two?"

"I think she's a pain in the ass," he answered, watching in disgust as Rodney pulled out the bridge. "I can't believe you use a lady finger, McKay."

"What? You think they put it there for decoration?"

"No, I think they put it there for the six year olds who need a step stool to reach the table."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Don't you think this decade-old hostility should be left in the past?"

John frowned and concentrated on pulling at the label of his beer. "I think she's going to get in the way of me doing my job the way it needs to be done."

"At least she's hot," Cameron offered, pushing off the bar. "That has to make it at least a little enjoyable."

John shrugged. "I couldn't really speak to that."

"I find that hard to believe." Rodney looked up briefly as he struggled to hold both the bridge and his cue without disrupting the table. He teetered forward, attempting a better angle. "The man I know would never pass up an opportunity to flirt."

"Come on, Sheppard," Sam chided. "Give her another chance. You're number one now – you can rub that in and make yourself feel all warm and fuzzy."

"Or at least really look at her this time around," Cameron suggested. "I've heard she's sexy as hell."

John shook his head and sighed when Rodney scratched on the ten. "I don't care if she's Aphrodite or the female version of Rodney. Her looks are irrelevant."

Cameron raised an eyebrow. "The female McKay? You could work with that?"

"The only thing that matters is that I get the job done. How am I going to do that with her chained to my ankle?"

"Chains can be hot."

John slid his empty bottle onto the table and signaled the waitress for another. "Fine. I'll screw her – I just don't want to have to drag her along on assignments. I don't need her slowing me down and insisting we do things her way."

"Well, Agent Sheppard," a cool female voice said from behind him. He turned to find a lanky brunette in a pair of dark blue jeans and a brown leather jacket, her green eyes sparkling. "I don't think you've thought this through. If I'm really as sexy as they say, perhaps after you've had your way with me I can find a nice arms dealer and simply sleep our way in."

Cameron choked on his drink.

"Honestly, I'm disappointed," she continued. "For an agent so renowned for his inclination to disregard protocol, I find you distinctly lacking in imagination."

For a moment he stood frozen, eyes fixed on the woman before him.

Cameron took advantage of the silence, stepping forward to extend a hand. "Cameron Mitchell," he introduced.

She took it and shook firmly. "Elizabeth Weir." The corner of her mouth quirked up and she met his eyes easily. "Do I live up to your rumors, Agent Mitchell?" she asked with amusement.

Cameron grinned. "Ms. Weir, you exceed them."

Her gaze shifted to Sam. "So that would make you Agent Carter, and you," she turned to where Rodney was standing, mouth slightly agape, "must be Rodney McKay."

Sam nodded. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Agent Weir."

"Elizabeth," she corrected.

"An honor," Rodney added, juggling his cue in an effort to hastily grab her offered hand and shake it. "A real honor. I heard all about your work against the Asurians and I must say, impressive. Very impressive."

"Give it a rest, McKay," John growled under his breath.

"So, Elizabeth," Cameron said, completely ignoring John's obvious irritation, "since you're new to town, perhaps you'd like to be shown the sights? There's a remarkable view from the top of the Space Needle. An angel like you should be close to the heavens."

Elizabeth looked at him skeptically.

"Yeah," Sam sighed, "he tried that line on me once too. I suppose, as his partner, I should take pity on him and tell him what women really want to hear."

"I'll have you know I'm incredibly good with the ladies," Cameron defended. "I've been on numerous dates, the majority of which have ended with –" He stopped mid-sentence. "Wait a minute," he turned to Sam, "you know what women want to hear and you haven't told me?"

"So, Elizabeth," Rodney shifted a little awkwardly, "can I buy you a drink?"

"Thanks, but I should be heading out. I have unpacking to do."

"Need some help?" Cameron offered, earning him an elbow in the side from Sam.

Elizabeth barely contained her grin. "I've got it covered, thanks. It was a pleasure to meet you and I'll see you all in the morning." She offered John a small smile. "It's good to see you again, John."

With that, she turned and made her way to the exit. John's eyes followed almost of their own accord. As she slipped out the door his frown deepened. She had to be adding more sway to her hips than was strictly necessary.

"Shep!" Cameron barked and John's head snapped up. "Stop staring, man."

The waitress arrived with John's beer and he grumbled incoherently.

Rodney grinned. "I knew I wanted to work with her."

--

Five pair of eyes watched John as he bustled into the conference room. One pair was particularly pissed, one slightly irritated and the rest mildly amused. "Sorry I'm late," he said as he slid into the seat next to Rodney.

Rodney eyed him with interest. "I can't imagine how late you'd be if you actually took the time to, I don't know, comb your hair."

"Or tie your tie," Elizabeth added sotto voce.

John turned to her, sleek and perfectly pressed in her black pantsuit. He adopted a dramatized look of distress and tugged on the loose ends of fabric. "I couldn't do it myself," he explained, leaning across the table. "Could you show me how? I seem to recall you being well versed in appearances."

"Sheppard," O'Neill interrupted, "you missed the introductions. I'll summarize." He turned to Elizabeth. "This is your new partner, Agent Weir. As you know, she comes to us from the Chicago office. Her partner was recently taken off active duty after sustaining injuries in the field, so she's on loan to us until he recovers," his gaze fell to John, "since we seem to be a little short-handed."

Cameron snorted.

"Agent Weir," O'Neill continued without missing a beat, "this is Agent Sheppard. Now that we're all best friends, we'll get started."

He pressed a button on his remote and a headshot of a young man in his early twenties flashed on the large wall projector. "Aiden Ford," O'Neill began, pulling himself to his feet. "He's one of ours. For the past twenty-three months he's been on a deep cover assignment to infiltrate the Wraith. What little intelligence we have on this organization comes from him. All of it. Our current protocol is to receive information by dead-drop at one of two locations. We have no way to contact him and we literally haven't seen him in months – and therein lies the problem. Agent Ford has missed his last three scheduled drops.

"The most recent information we can confirm is that Ford is the right-hand man of Vela Queen, head of one of two Wraith cells." He clicked to the next slide, a photo of a rail thin and pale-skinned redhead. "We need you to garner enough trust within the Wraith ranks to get a face-to-face with Ford. Talk to him; find out what's going on and what needs to be done. It's possible we're looking at an extraction. Wraith don't like loose ends." He nodded to Cameron. "Mitchell."

"We've initiated contact with this man," Cameron said as he stood, the projector displaying a third image. The figure was older and heavy set, with a graying goatee and greased back hair. "Pierre Olesia. Former leader of the Magistrate, Olesia has an FBI file longer than Sheppard's mother. Known for his impressive lack of conscience and an unparalleled sense of self-preservation. When the shit hit the fan at the Magistrate, Olesia facilitated the deaths of half his crew in order to ensure his own survival. He's been a peripheral arms dealer for the Wraith since their inception."

"Olesia is our way in," O'Neill informed them, sliding mission briefs across the table. "Agents Sheppard and Weir will be posing as Caleb and Rebecca Green, prospective buyers looking to stockpile arms. You're particularly interested in the Wraith's signature weapon, known for its unique stun capabilities. You'll have enough cash to make you look interesting, but you'll be posing as unknowns so keep your heads about you. Mitchell and Carter are assigned as your backup. Check with McKay for your tech before you leave. Your scheduled meet is tomorrow afternoon."

Standing, O'Neill made his way to the door. When he reached the frame he paused and turned. "Don't get dead," he instructed before disappearing into the hall.

John looked to Cameron. "My mother?"

Elizabeth smiled and opened the folder in front of her, quickly scanning its contents. "Aph?"

Cameron shrugged as he gathered his things. "Aphrodite has too many syllables."

"They let you assign my codename?"

"Oh, I picked it, but the inspiration was really Shep's. And seeing as how he's going to call you that anyway, I figured we may as well make it official."

John grunted, flipping open his file. If he were to pick her codename it wouldn't have been quite so flattering.

"Aph," Elizabeth repeated, sounding it out with a shake of her head.

"Just be thankful it wasn't Carter's turn to pick."

Sam laughed as she rose from her seat, tucking her papers under one arm. "What's the matter, Belle? You don't like yours?"

Cameron affected a slow southern drawl. "Oh, I love it, darlin', I do. It's purdy as a picture."

"Unlike your face," John commented dryly.

Cameron only grinned. "Oh, Miss Peep, get your crook out of your ass."

--

"Tell me you've miraculously healed," Elizabeth pleaded, wedging the phone between her shoulder and ear as she sifted through the files on her desk. "Tell me I can come home."

"I'm miraculously healed. You can come home," the voice on the line deadpanned.

Even though he couldn't see her, she rolled her eyes. "Mean it," she insisted.

"Oh, come on. Seattle can't be that bad. You like the rain."

She slid the phone back into her hand and briefly looked to ensure that no one was in the immediate vicinity. Only a few stragglers remained in the office, but they were busying themselves with shutting things down. "The city's fine, it's the company I can't stand," she whispered.

"They can't all be flannel-loving hippies."

A mental picture of her adopted team in plaid shirts flashed in her mind and she couldn't contain a small laugh. God, she missed him already. "No, I guess not. For the most part they're a good group, but my partner is a pain in the ass. Or maybe just an ass."

"Maybe he's still hung up on you being brought in as the ringer."

"That's a possibility," she answered slowly, turning the idea in her head, "but it seems like there's something more to it than that. It never used to be like this."

"Well, you –"

"Never mind," she interrupted. "How's desk work?"

"Oh you know, full of action and intrigue."

"Line Rider?" she guessed.

"Hey, don't knock it. I'm trying to make the Space Needle in homage to you."

She reached for her mouse and clicked open her browser.

"Don't do it," he warned, causing Elizabeth to freeze. "Don't you sit at the office and stare at your computer all night. Take them up on their offer to go out with them."

She rubbed at her eyes. "How do you do that? How did you know what I was doing and what I was avoiding?"

"Wild conjecture." She smiled to herself, waiting for him to expand. She often wondered if he knew her better than she knew herself. He continued, "It's obvious that your competitive streak is pushing you to see if you can make a Space Needle yourself," she could tell he was grinning, "and I know that people love you, Liz. And they enjoy your company. And Seattleites are yuppies that spend their evenings in martini bars."

"Actually, they appear to be beer people."

"Even better. Have one for me."

"Lorne"

"I'm hanging up now and you're going out."

She sighed reluctantly. "I'll talk to you later."

"'Night, Liz."

--

Elizabeth leaned against the bar and took the opportunity to scan the room. They weren't difficult to find, their loud laughter carrying from the pool area where they were re-racking their cues to make way for a new set of players.

"Here you are, ma'am," the bartender said, sliding a tray in front of her. "How many glasses?"

She held up four fingers and he placed the chilled mugs next to her pitcher. "Thanks."

Grabbing the tray, she took a bolstering breath and wove her way through the tables, approaching Cameron from behind.

"Howdy," Sam greeted. "Glad you could make it."

Cameron pivoted to face her. "Beer? For us?" At her nod he helped himself to a glass. "I think I may love you a little."

She saw John roll his eyes as Cameron snagged the pitcher. "Calm down, Mitchell. It's probably Coors Light."

"Actually, it's Dead Guy." She slid the tray onto the table. "I took a shot in the dark. You west coasters are into microbrews and I'm into irony."

Cameron took a large swallow. "Direct hit." He wiped at his mouth with the back of his wrist. "Does your aim carry over to darts? We were just debating the merits of starting a game."

Elizabeth shrugged. "Haven't played in a while."

"You can be on my team," Sam offered. "There are a lot of things I haven't done in a while."

"Boys against girls, how cute," John quipped as he collected a set of darts from the board.

Elizabeth selected a mug and poured herself a glass. "Bet?" she asked.

"Standard," Cameron answered. "Losers write the after action reports."

"Diddle for the middle?"

"Either you have played darts before or that was a proposition," Cameron said with a grin. "Either way…"

John held the darts out for Elizabeth. "Ladies first," he deferred.

"How chivalrous."

He shrugged as she grabbed them. "I'm not without honor."

"Somehow I find that hard to believe."

"I find incredulity very sexy in a woman," Cameron offered.

"Oh, shut up," John and Sam said in unison, causing everyone to laugh.

Elizabeth's first dart hit treble twenty and the words "oh shit" sounded from behind her in stereo. She bit down on a grin before twisting to face the gallery. "Lucky throw." She shrugged. The next dart hit single eighteen and her final opened it with the double.

Sam beamed. "That's my partner."

John stepped up to the line as Elizabeth stepped away. He stuck a four and a one, finally throwing a single eighteen.

"Not one of your many talents?" Elizabeth guessed.

Cameron laughed and John attempted unsuccessfully to silence him with a glare.

Several rounds and two pitchers later, Elizabeth's cheeks were rosy and spread in a wide grin. "He didn't," she said as she hit double twenty.

"Oh yeah," Sam continued, chalking up the points, "McKay was pretty proud that he killed it though."

"The mouse?"

Sam nodded. "He went on for days about how hard it is to shoot something so small and I kept reminding him that it doesn't count when that wasn't what you were aiming for."

Elizabeth laughed and hit another nineteen.

"Come on," John threw up his hand, "just hit sixteen and end it already."

"Not having fun?" she teased.

He growled in response.

Elizabeth sighed but obliged. "It's not my fault you can't close your nineteen."

Sam smiled triumphantly at the scoreboard. "Wow, we kicked your asses."

"No, she kicked our asses." John shrugged on his jacket. "See you tomorrow," he said and he was gone.

"So," Elizabeth drew out the word as she watched him leave, "is he always that pissy?"

"No," Sam answered, "actually he's not. I'm not entirely sure what his problem is today."

Cameron drained the last of his beer and slid his empty glass to the middle of the table. "I have a fairly good idea."

"And?" Sam prompted.

He gave Elizabeth a reassuring smile. "He'll warm up."