Sunshine and Puppies

Type: Gen
Rating: T
Warning: Some bad language and little boy snarking
Beta: J.A.B.
Spoilers: Yes, some of the older shows on SG-1 and 38 Minutes.

A/N: I really did dream all of this happening to the boys. It was fun!

Summary: Sheppard and McKay are getting out of Dodge and the Puddle Jumper tries to make helpful suggestions to John. John's POV.

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I really shouldn't be flying right now, but I'm the best available at the moment as we tumble into the Puddle Jumper and get the hell out of Dodge.

McKay would probably argue that point, but then again, he's been arguing with me since we started our mission to P2M-439. I'm beginning to wonder why I didn't bring Ronon or Teyla with me instead.

Being shot seems to have slowed my body down. I must be getting old. Hell, it's only a long graze across my shoulder blades. But hey, that's shot, right?

But not McKay, his burn across his upper left arm still has his mouth going strong. He must still be on his adrenalin kick from running from the wild, furry dressed mob.

"And then I said, 'Oh, look, three life signs.' Then you said, 'It's probably just those chicken things following us again.' Chicken things, I'll have to remember that technical term for our official report."

I try not to think about it . . . but I do.

And the H.U.D. of the Puddle Jumper gives me my answer . . . in graphic detail. With green graphs and little diagrams, it shows me exactly how to space Rodney without harming the Jumper or myself.

It even gives me the rundown on what happens to a human body left in the vacuum of space.

Ewww.

Then McKay shifts around in his chair and I remember he's with me. Probably ready to look up at any moment . . .

Oh, hell!

I quickly think of sunshine and puppies—hell, anything to blank the H.U.D. before McKay notices.

And it's gone. Good. Back to our flight path to Atlantis, and the bed I'm going to commandeer in the infirmary for about fourteen hours of sleep.

"When the three freaks showed up wearing polar bear costumes and invited us to their village, what did you say?"

He's still mad. I get that. Really, Rodney doesn't have to keep picking at it.

"Oh, yes . . . the ever brilliant, 'What harm can it do?'"

I sigh as deeply as I can without moving my back and make a flight adjustment. I'm trying to keep from touching too much of the seat and it's starting to make me tired from sitting so stiffly.

"Rodney, they weren't dressed as polar bears. There are no polar bears on P2M-439."

It was the wrong thing to say.

Damn it.

"Polar bears, fainting goats or great ice moles . . . who cares? I told you what would happen if we went with them."

To be fair, he did tell me.

It didn't stop me from wanting to shove my fist down his throat to shut him up.

Oops.

The H.U.D. is giving me the measurements of my hands on the control, and the odds on actually getting one of my fists down McKay's throat.

Sunshine and puppies!

"And what you thought they meant by 'Tree of Death' is beyond me," complained McKay.

"Hey, how was I to know? They drag out this tree the size of a rocking chair in a pot about as big as a dinner plate. How was I to know they wanted to fight to the death while balancing on it?"

McKay snorted and flapped a hand in the air. "Hello—'Tree of Death.'"

I just stare straight ahead while he pokes around making sure we didn't take damage during our get away.

Neither of us wants to be caught in another gate because of a faulty pod.

Great, up pops the statistics of getting a Puddle Jumper stuck in a gate a second time. And the numbers are not so comforting.

Sunshine and fricking puppies.

"At least I didn't insult them by looking at the uncovered face of their Chosen One. Everything was under control until you acted like a Peeping Tom," I say in a snitty voice.

Hey, I can do snitty, too.

McKay sputtered. "A Peeping Tom? He was standing right there. How was I supposed to know he was too holy to look upon? Looked amazingly like Ben Stiller . . . how was I supposed to interpret that as, 'I'm too holy to look upon?'"

I lean forward, trying to ease my back. "Gee, I don't know. Maybe because everyone was shrieking and covering their eyes when he accidentally dropped his mask?"

He made a derisive snorting noise, which I ignored. I was too busy trying to keep the H.U.D. from telling me how to space him again.

"And when they asked you to do the 'Dance of Atonement,' you could have done a better job of it. Arms flying one way and your legs another . . . then you took a dive off the table and right in the middle of their barrel of 'holy sky tears.' You stayed down so long I was beginning to think you drowned. By the way, I thought you told me you played the piano at one point. You should have a better sense of rhythm than that."

The snorting noise from McKay turned into a harsh cough. "Hey, I told you not to bring up the piano thing," he said quietly.

Okay, he did, but I was feeling a bit . . . out of sorts. I didn't mean to cross the line. "Sorry."

"Okay," Rodney muttered.

Then blessed silence for almost 15 minutes.

Until . . .

"I did okay with the dance . . . it was when you spit the local brew into the face of the Chief's daughter when she flashed you, that's when they started shooting."

Sunshine and fricking puppies!

The End.