Certain things don't need saying, they're too obvious, cause too many problems. And sometimes, even for a person who uses words as lethal weapons, certain things are too big or too fucked up for words to cope with their bigness or fucked-upness.

Rodney watches John schmooze and slink his way through the IOA reception, like he does in any off-world gathering. A black-sheathed woman moves in for the kill shot, but John twists out of her manicured reach, turns, catches Rodney looking at him, smiles.

It's that look, right there, Rodney thinks. The only word for it is truth.