John leans against the cinderblock wall, happy to be inside the nicely air-conditioned basement. The day was steamy, and all the dogs seemed to want to lean on him with their big, hot, smelly bodies. He won't be too terribly sad when school starts up next week.

"Can I help you?"

John looks up to see a sour-looking guy in a lab coat with a pony-tail and wire-rim glasses giving him a glare. "Yeah," he says. "I'm waiting for Rodney McKay."

The guy looks John up and down. "A word of advice? Don't waste your time. Dr. McKay never takes on research assistants or interns unless they already have at least one doctorate."

John lets a slow smile spread over his face. "Really?" he drawls. "I was hoping to find a position with him."

Pony-tail sniffs. "Unlikely. He's very selective."

John tucks his fingers into the front pocket of his tight, threadbare jeans, just to watch a dull flush crawl up the guy's neck. "I don't know," he says. "I can be pretty persuasive."

"Look, just because you come here and lean on things like a displaced rent boy doesn't mean you're likely to find a place in one of the most highly sought-after research labs in the country..."

John tunes the bitching out when Rodney turns the corner, his face lighting up with a smile when he spots John.

"Kavanagh!" Rodney barks. "Don't you have reports to analyze?"

The lab coat - Kavanagh - starts to splutter, but he goes silent when Rodney steps up very close to John and lightly smacks him on the back of the head. "Quit torturing my minions," he says. "That's my job."

"Okay," John says, leaning in for a kiss. "But I did want to speak to you about a position..."