AN: Okay, so I swore off this fandom after the season four ender because it made me angry. But, I must say, I've been quite pleased so far with the new season, so I'm back. I've been noticing a theme, which prompted this fic. Enjoy!
oATLANTISo
"So is this the new theme for the year?"
John looked up from his game of Solitaire and raised an eyebrow at Rodney. "Huh?"
"Eloquently put." Rodney flopped into the chair next to the bed. "A month ago, you get impaled by a piece of wood and lead a suicidal rescue mission. Yesterday, you do the suicidal rescue mission and get impaled by a Wraith cruiser masquerading as an alien tentacle. Are you done now, or should I just move your stuff into the infirmary?"
John cocked his head to the side as he looked quizzically at Rodney. He couldn't decide if the scientist was really angry, or just tired from the events of the last few days. "It's not like I plan these things."
"That's what scares me."
"I'll make you a deal – you lead the suicidal rescue missions, and I promise not to get impaled by anything else." John laughed at the horrified expression Rodney gave him, but regretted it as a sharp pain radiated out from his lungs. He coughed harshly, feeling the pull of stitches as he leaned forward. A cup of water appeared, and he sipped at it as the cough subsided. "Thanks," he whispered.
"Don't get used to it," Rodney replied as he helped John settle back. "I mean it. No more almost dying." He frowned, rethinking what he'd said. "Okay, scratch that, this is Atlantis. Almost dying comes with the territory. No more actual dying, how about that? I think you're close to breaking Dr. Jackson's record."
"Not sure that's possible. But I promise, if I can avoid it, no more actual dying."
"Conditional promises don't count."
"All you're getting."
Rodney sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. "Fine. But if you die, they'll send another immature and suicidal military commander, and I don't have time to break in another one."
John rolled his eyes. "Whatever. You can say all you want to the contrary, but you wouldn't have things any other way, and you know it."
"Fine." Rodney stuck his tongue out. "I was going to give you this," he held up a pudding cup, "but now I'm just going to eat it myself." He stood and turned smartly on his heel, only looking back when he reached the door. His features softened, and he frowned slightly. "Remember – no more actual dying."
John tossed him a salute with his middle finger, but then nodded seriously. "I'm doing my best, Rodney."
Rodney nodded back. "Good enough for me."
He left then, and John settled further into the bed. He smiled faintly, and then his grin broadened. "Hey Doc! Any chance of me getting out of here soon?"