SGA fic: Red Shirt
Title: Red Shirt
Author: winkingstar
Rating: PG13
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: Rodney wears a red shirt.
Wordcount: ~2,900
Spoilers: Nothing specific.
Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis is not mine, I'm not making any money off this, and I am but a poor starving grad student anyway.
Notes: For the fabulous and courageous propinquitine, who braved the perils of Internet Explorer for me.
Here's the Wikipedia article for "redshirt" for those who did not grow up on Star Trek.
*
"Seriously, McKay?" John quirks an eyebrow at Rodney as they wait for the 'gate to activate. "A red shirt?"
"Well, I'm sorry it doesn't live up to your fashion standards, Colonel," Rodney snaps, "but what with being a genius and making scientific breakthroughs you don't even begin to appreciate properly, I haven't had time for such mundane things as laundry and this was the only clean shirt I could find."
John smirks. "A red shirt," he repeats slowly, waggling his eyebrows for extra emphasis. "On an off-world mission."
Rodney's eyes go wide as he gets it. "Oh god, I'm going to die!" he exclaims. "Hang on, let me just-"
"Wormhole activated," Chuck announces as the 'gate swooshes open.
John grabs Rodney's tac vest and drags him toward the 'gate.
"No time for changing," he says, grinning at the look of panic on Rodney's face.
Rodney whimpers.
"Don't worry," John says as they pause in front of the 'gate. "I'll look out for you." Then he pushes Rodney through.
They step out in a forest clearing on M59-237.
"I'm going to die," Rodney repeats forlornly, plucking at the hem of his shirt.
"Buck up, buddy," John says. "It's just a standard meet-and-greet."
"Hello? Have you suddenly developed amnesia? In the past four years, exactly how many of our 'standard meet-and-greets' have ended without bodily injury for at least one of us?"
John just shrugs because he kind of has a point. But they always make it back.
"Factor in the red shirt and I'm doomed," Rodney concludes morosely.
"What is the significance of the red shirt?" Teyla inquires.
"Besides the fact that it makes him an easy target to pick out, it's an unlucky color to wear off-world," John explains. He briefly considers making Ronon and Teyla watch some Star Trek, but then thinks of all the Kirk jokes Rodney will make and settles for saying, "It's an Earth thing."
Teyla and Ronon exchange their long-suffering crazy-Earthlings look.
"The Florians are well-spoken of," Teyla puts in. "I have not dealt with them myself, but I have heard no bad reports from any of the trading partners they share with my people."
"We've heard that before," Rodney mutters under his breath.
"If we are friendly and do not insult them," Teyla says, pointedly looking at Rodney, "they will have no reason to harm us."
"We should go that way," John interjects, nodding at a path after looking at the life signs detector. "It looks like there's a settlement over there."
They follow the path out of the forest and spot a city on the other side of a meadow. When they arrive at the city, they follow the nearly empty streets to the city center where an open-air market is set up. The market consists of a series of brightly-colored tents with an assortment of goods both strange and familiar. They wander among the stalls: Rodney and Ronon are particularly interested in the food vendors, John eyes a display of bright cloths, and Teyla pauses to trade for a ceramic tea set. When they leave the ceramics stall, Teyla clutching a carefully packed box, Rodney nearly trips over a small creature sitting placidly in the middle of the bustling walkway.
"Is that a rabbit?" Rodney asks, kneeling down to look closer. The rabbit stares back at him, seemingly oblivious to the hustle and bustle of the market crowd.
"Looks like," John says. "But it's a space bunny, so you should probably-"
"Ow! It bit me!" Rodney cries, standing and clutching his right hand to his chest. The space bunny hops indifferently away.
"-be careful," John finishes with a sigh, rummaging through the pockets of his tac vest. "Here," he says, grabbing Rodney's hand and carefully cleaning the tiny drop of blood off his index finger with a disinfectant wipe before sticking a Band-Aid on it.
"Stupid space rabbits," Rodney mutters as they resume their stroll through the market. He's soon distracted by a tent with a huge selection of baked goods. "A bakery tent!" he exclaims, bouncing on his toes. "This has got to be the coolest thing in the galaxy! Why don't they have something like this on Earth?"
"I'm pretty sure they do," John drawls. "See, we have similar open-air markets. They're called farmers' markets. Not that you would know anything about fresh food since you have to be dragged bodily from your labs."
But Rodney's not really listening anymore. The woman at the bakery tent is smiling at him. "My name is Atari," she says, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
"Seriously?" Rodney asks.
The woman nods. "What do you desire, Blue-Eyed One?"
Rodney preens and inquires about the various baked goods. John eyes the woman suspiciously. Ronon picks up a muffin and eats it in one bite. Teyla sighs and shifts the box in her arms.
John suddenly notices that the shadows are stretching in odd shapes and the sky is quickly getting darker even though it's not long past midday. "Rodney," he says.
"Hm?" Rodney glances back from where he's engrossed in conversation with Atari. "Oh, yes, apparently we've arrived just in time for a solar eclipse. And these people are not entirely stupid and have managed to predict it. There's some sort of festival later." He turns back to Atari just as the market is plunged into darkness.
"Rodney," John says again, uneasily. "How long will it last?"
"How the hell would I know?" Rodney snaps. "I'm sorry I forgot to check the relative sizes of this system's star and this planet's moon before we left."
"Just don't wander off in the dark."
"I'm not stupid."
But John reaches for Rodney's hand as his eyes adjust to the shadows. The market slowly grows lighter again.
"Gah!" John exclaims, leaping back when it's light enough to see the man who's hand he'd been holding-the man who is very clearly not Rodney. He bumps into Teyla, who drops her box with an audible crunch. She doesn't say anything, doesn't frown or narrow her eyes; she just looks at him. John squirms. "Sorry?" he offers tentatively.
"Where's McKay?" Ronon asks.
John whirls around to find that Rodney is nowhere in sight. "Rodney!" he calls, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of that stupid red shirt amid the brightly-colored crowd. "McKay!" He taps his radio on. "McKay, do you copy?" There's no response. "Damn that red shirt," he mutters. Turning to Atari, he snarls, "What'd you do to McKay?"
Ronon pulls out his gun.
"Ronon," Teyla says, laying one hand on his arm and the other on John's chest. "Let us ask these good people if they know what happened to our friend before shooting them."
Ronon lowers his gun slightly and stares at the bakery woman in silence.
"Where's McKay?" John demands.
"He was Chosen by the Sacred One," Atari whispers. John can't decide if her tone is reverent or ominous.
"The 'sacred one'?" John repeats. She points. He follows the line indicated by her finger. "The bunny?"
"It is the Sacred One," Atari corrects.
"And what did the 'sacred one' do to my scientist?"
"There is no need to panic, Messy-Haired One. It is a great honor to be Chosen for the ceremony."
"Ceremony?" John growls, irritated by talking in circles with Atari.
"John, I do not think you are getting anywhere," Teyla murmurs. "Let me speak with her." Turning to Atari, she asks, "Which ceremony does our friend have the pleasure of participating in? As you see, we are travellers, and it is many years since I have heard of your world."
"It is the Leporidae Festival," Atari supplies.
"Ah, I have heard of that," Teyla says. "It is a harvest festival. Rodney will not come to any harm."
"The Patient One is correct," Atari confirms, sounding slightly offended. "We do not hurt living creatures. We celebrate life here, we do not destroy it."
John realizes they hadn't seen any meat at any of the food stalls. But Rodney is still missing, so he asks in a somewhat neutral tone, "Where's the ceremony?"
"We would be honored to attend, if it is permitted," Teyla adds calmly.
"Of course," Atari says. "The Leporidae is celebrated in the Hutch, near the city entrance. We will all be going." She gestures at the other market vendors and shoppers, who look to be packing up. "But it does not start for a half hour yet. I will be honored to escort the Blue-Eyed One's friends."
"Thank you." Teyla smiles.
"Would you like some pastries?" Atari asks. "For the Blue-Eyed One and his friends, I will not charge anything."
Ronon seems happy to forgive her at this point.
They make their way to the ceremony half an hour later. Atari smilingly extols the virtues of the Sacred One, Teyla appears to listen intently, Ronon looks bored, and John brings up the rear, carrying a bag filled to bursting with pastries.
But when they reach the Hutch, John freezes in the doorway. There is a hairy man wielding a knife in front of Rodney, but John's eyes are drawn to the offerings on the table behind them. Because apparently the Leporidae is a festival in honor of citrus fruits (though what that has to do with bunnies eludes him).
Rodney, staring at the knife being waved under his nose, crumples to the ground. John drops the pastries and then steps on the bag as he shoves his way to the front of the room and kneels beside Rodney. Ronon and Teyla are right behind him, so he lets them deal with the knife man and the protests of the Florians while he checks Rodney's pulse.
Teyla speaks calmly and quietly and draws the crowd away from John and Rodney. John's stomach unclenches as Rodney's eyelids twitch.
"Ow," Rodney mutters, fluttering a hand to feel the bump on the back of his head.
"You hit your head when you fainted," John says with a smirk, trying to hide the relief he feels at seeing those bright blue eyes glaring up at him.
"I did not faint," Rodney huffs. Then, focusing on John's expression, he adds, "Yes, you smirk. Like it's not a tragedy that I've lost yet more of my brilliant brain cells."
"Well, as long as the first thing you say is a complaint, I know you're okay."
"You couldn't have showed up five minutes sooner? They tried to kill me, you know." Rodney looks around then and spots Teyla and Ronon talking with the Florians. "Why aren't you pointing guns at them?" he squawks. "They tried to kill me!" He waves his arms in elaborate stabbing motions.
"Shut up, McKay," John whispers, grabbing Rodney's wrists to stop his flailing. "They weren't trying to kill you. It's a ritual thing."
"The big hairy guy pulled a knife on me!" Rodney hisses. "They were going to cut my heart out and eat it!"
"We're not in the Temple of Doom, Rodney. They weren't going to use the knife on you. They're vegetarians. The knife's for the ceremonial food."
"Food?" Rodney perks up and looks around again, as though expecting a huge buffet table. His eyes go wide as he spots the small table piled with citrus fruits. He splutters incoherently for several moments before John is able to make out words. "What-That-You! You said they weren't trying to kill me! I am deathly allergic to citrus, you moron! I don't make these things up for your amusement, you know. You should listen-"
John clamps a hand over Rodney's mouth, dropping one of Rodney's hands to do so. Rodney smacks the side of his head.
"Ow! Will you stop that?" John growls. "I know about the citrus allergy." He takes both his hands away, crosses his arms over his chest, and glares at Rodney.
"Are you boys all right?" Teyla calls from across the room, where everyone is staring at them.
"Yes," John answers, still glaring at Rodney. "McKay hit his head but he's being his usual winsome self, so he'll be fine."
"I am glad to hear it," Teyla says with a knowing smile. "We are almost done here, so perhaps you and Ronon can take Rodney back to the jumper. I will meet you there shortly."
"Sorry," Rodney says in a small voice.
"Shut up, you idiot," John says, still trying to sound annoyed but not quite managing. "Come on, naptime's over." He stands and extends a hand to help Rodney up as Ronon appears beside them.
"Can you walk?" Ronon asks.
"Yes, I can walk," Rodney replies disparagingly as John stoops to pick up the bag of pastries from where he dropped it in the doorway. "I hit my head, not my legs. You should be more concerned about any lasting damage to my brain." He turns to John. "Quick! Ask me a question to make sure I'm not stupid!"
John rolls his eyes. "What's the square root of pi?"
"1.772454," Rodney answers.
"Six decimals? That's all you've got?"
Rodney hmphs indignantly.
"Here," John says, holding out the bag of pastries.
Rodney eyes the bag suspiciously. "What is it?"
"Pastries from your new girlfriend."
Rodney takes the bag and roots through the pastries, which are now somewhat squashed after being dropped on the floor and stepped on. "Wait," Rodney says, looking up. "You stopped for pastries? I was in mortal peril and you stopped for pastries?"
"She gave them to us," John protests. "She assured us that you wouldn't be hurt and then offered us pastries because we're friends of the 'Blue-Eyed One.'"
"You stopped for pastries!" Rodney accuses.
"I'll eat them," Ronon offers.
Rodney clutches the bag to his chest and stares at him witheringly. "I didn't say I wasn't going to eat them! But you people need to work on your priorities." He takes a bite of a cheese Danish-type thing. "Five minutes later and you would have been deprived of my brilliance, and who would save the city from attack at the last minute with an ingenious plan then?"
John feels the words like a punch in the stomach. Because he’d told Rodney he would look out for him in his stupid red shirt and then he’d gone and lost him.
Rodney catches sight of John’s face and says, softer, “I didn’t mean that literally. You’re pretty good at last-minute saves, too. Hail Marys and all that football crap.” Then he adds, “Ask me another question!”
"You're fine, Rodney," John says wearily.
"Hey, you're not a doctor, not that doctors know much of anything, but still, they have machines to check these things and the least you can do is ask me a few questions until we get back to civilization. So." He snaps his fingers. "I need a question!"
John sighs. "1,491,507."
"What kind of question is that? It's obviously not prime since it's divisible by 9, as any idiot can tell you," Rodney complains as they reach the jumper.
"Well, at least that part of your brain is working." John opens the rear hatch and they walk inside. "Now tell me all the factors."
"Can't you ask me to explain general relativity or something instead?"
"Only if you admit I'm smarter than you at math."
"Fine. 1, 3, 9, 37, 1493..."
Teyla rejoins them as Rodney finishes listing factors. "They are very sorry about the citrus," she informs Rodney. "I have reassured them that the 'Blue-Eyed One' does not hold it against them. And we have been invited back for the Ochotonidae festival, which they promise does not involve any citrus."
"Right, like I'm going to trust these crazy people again. That other festival probably involves whales."
"Maybe it's a chocolate festival," John suggests.
"They don't have chocolate in this galaxy, not real chocolate," Rodney says irritably. "Can we go now? I need to have my brain checked for lasting damages and get the hell out of this shirt."
"Going," John agrees, settling into the pilot's seat.
Rodney sulks and demands more questions by turns all the way back to Atlantis.
John hurries through a debriefing with Sam while Ronon and Teyla accompany Rodney to the infirmary. He's slouching against the wall beside Rodney's room when Rodney returns from the medical ward.
"Keller gave me a clean bill of health and says my brain is fine, whatever her opinion is worth," Rodney says, pausing to wave his door open. John pushes off from the wall and follows him inside. "Now I need to burn this shirt. Is there even anywhere to burn things around here? Those damn Ancients were probably above burning things. They probably never even had photographs of exes to get rid of. I suppose I could chuck it in the ocean or cut it up or something, but it's so much more satisfying to burn things. Oh! Bunsen burners! We have Bunsen burners in the labs!" He half-turns back towards the door, but John catches his wrist and pulls him back.
"How 'bout we just get the shirt off you?" John suggests, running his hands up under the fabric.
"Yes," Rodney gasps as John licks the spot below his right ear. "That works, too."
(The red shirt is ceremonially burned in a trash bin on Rodney's balcony the next morning. John also tries to throw in Rodney's gray plaid pants, but Rodney snatches them back with malicious threats to John's sparkly purple curtains.)
~ { end } ~
Author: winkingstar
Rating: PG13
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: Rodney wears a red shirt.
Wordcount: ~2,900
Spoilers: Nothing specific.
Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis is not mine, I'm not making any money off this, and I am but a poor starving grad student anyway.
Notes: For the fabulous and courageous propinquitine, who braved the perils of Internet Explorer for me.
Here's the Wikipedia article for "redshirt" for those who did not grow up on Star Trek.
*
"Seriously, McKay?" John quirks an eyebrow at Rodney as they wait for the 'gate to activate. "A red shirt?"
"Well, I'm sorry it doesn't live up to your fashion standards, Colonel," Rodney snaps, "but what with being a genius and making scientific breakthroughs you don't even begin to appreciate properly, I haven't had time for such mundane things as laundry and this was the only clean shirt I could find."
John smirks. "A red shirt," he repeats slowly, waggling his eyebrows for extra emphasis. "On an off-world mission."
Rodney's eyes go wide as he gets it. "Oh god, I'm going to die!" he exclaims. "Hang on, let me just-"
"Wormhole activated," Chuck announces as the 'gate swooshes open.
John grabs Rodney's tac vest and drags him toward the 'gate.
"No time for changing," he says, grinning at the look of panic on Rodney's face.
Rodney whimpers.
"Don't worry," John says as they pause in front of the 'gate. "I'll look out for you." Then he pushes Rodney through.
They step out in a forest clearing on M59-237.
"I'm going to die," Rodney repeats forlornly, plucking at the hem of his shirt.
"Buck up, buddy," John says. "It's just a standard meet-and-greet."
"Hello? Have you suddenly developed amnesia? In the past four years, exactly how many of our 'standard meet-and-greets' have ended without bodily injury for at least one of us?"
John just shrugs because he kind of has a point. But they always make it back.
"Factor in the red shirt and I'm doomed," Rodney concludes morosely.
"What is the significance of the red shirt?" Teyla inquires.
"Besides the fact that it makes him an easy target to pick out, it's an unlucky color to wear off-world," John explains. He briefly considers making Ronon and Teyla watch some Star Trek, but then thinks of all the Kirk jokes Rodney will make and settles for saying, "It's an Earth thing."
Teyla and Ronon exchange their long-suffering crazy-Earthlings look.
"The Florians are well-spoken of," Teyla puts in. "I have not dealt with them myself, but I have heard no bad reports from any of the trading partners they share with my people."
"We've heard that before," Rodney mutters under his breath.
"If we are friendly and do not insult them," Teyla says, pointedly looking at Rodney, "they will have no reason to harm us."
"We should go that way," John interjects, nodding at a path after looking at the life signs detector. "It looks like there's a settlement over there."
They follow the path out of the forest and spot a city on the other side of a meadow. When they arrive at the city, they follow the nearly empty streets to the city center where an open-air market is set up. The market consists of a series of brightly-colored tents with an assortment of goods both strange and familiar. They wander among the stalls: Rodney and Ronon are particularly interested in the food vendors, John eyes a display of bright cloths, and Teyla pauses to trade for a ceramic tea set. When they leave the ceramics stall, Teyla clutching a carefully packed box, Rodney nearly trips over a small creature sitting placidly in the middle of the bustling walkway.
"Is that a rabbit?" Rodney asks, kneeling down to look closer. The rabbit stares back at him, seemingly oblivious to the hustle and bustle of the market crowd.
"Looks like," John says. "But it's a space bunny, so you should probably-"
"Ow! It bit me!" Rodney cries, standing and clutching his right hand to his chest. The space bunny hops indifferently away.
"-be careful," John finishes with a sigh, rummaging through the pockets of his tac vest. "Here," he says, grabbing Rodney's hand and carefully cleaning the tiny drop of blood off his index finger with a disinfectant wipe before sticking a Band-Aid on it.
"Stupid space rabbits," Rodney mutters as they resume their stroll through the market. He's soon distracted by a tent with a huge selection of baked goods. "A bakery tent!" he exclaims, bouncing on his toes. "This has got to be the coolest thing in the galaxy! Why don't they have something like this on Earth?"
"I'm pretty sure they do," John drawls. "See, we have similar open-air markets. They're called farmers' markets. Not that you would know anything about fresh food since you have to be dragged bodily from your labs."
But Rodney's not really listening anymore. The woman at the bakery tent is smiling at him. "My name is Atari," she says, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
"Seriously?" Rodney asks.
The woman nods. "What do you desire, Blue-Eyed One?"
Rodney preens and inquires about the various baked goods. John eyes the woman suspiciously. Ronon picks up a muffin and eats it in one bite. Teyla sighs and shifts the box in her arms.
John suddenly notices that the shadows are stretching in odd shapes and the sky is quickly getting darker even though it's not long past midday. "Rodney," he says.
"Hm?" Rodney glances back from where he's engrossed in conversation with Atari. "Oh, yes, apparently we've arrived just in time for a solar eclipse. And these people are not entirely stupid and have managed to predict it. There's some sort of festival later." He turns back to Atari just as the market is plunged into darkness.
"Rodney," John says again, uneasily. "How long will it last?"
"How the hell would I know?" Rodney snaps. "I'm sorry I forgot to check the relative sizes of this system's star and this planet's moon before we left."
"Just don't wander off in the dark."
"I'm not stupid."
But John reaches for Rodney's hand as his eyes adjust to the shadows. The market slowly grows lighter again.
"Gah!" John exclaims, leaping back when it's light enough to see the man who's hand he'd been holding-the man who is very clearly not Rodney. He bumps into Teyla, who drops her box with an audible crunch. She doesn't say anything, doesn't frown or narrow her eyes; she just looks at him. John squirms. "Sorry?" he offers tentatively.
"Where's McKay?" Ronon asks.
John whirls around to find that Rodney is nowhere in sight. "Rodney!" he calls, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of that stupid red shirt amid the brightly-colored crowd. "McKay!" He taps his radio on. "McKay, do you copy?" There's no response. "Damn that red shirt," he mutters. Turning to Atari, he snarls, "What'd you do to McKay?"
Ronon pulls out his gun.
"Ronon," Teyla says, laying one hand on his arm and the other on John's chest. "Let us ask these good people if they know what happened to our friend before shooting them."
Ronon lowers his gun slightly and stares at the bakery woman in silence.
"Where's McKay?" John demands.
"He was Chosen by the Sacred One," Atari whispers. John can't decide if her tone is reverent or ominous.
"The 'sacred one'?" John repeats. She points. He follows the line indicated by her finger. "The bunny?"
"It is the Sacred One," Atari corrects.
"And what did the 'sacred one' do to my scientist?"
"There is no need to panic, Messy-Haired One. It is a great honor to be Chosen for the ceremony."
"Ceremony?" John growls, irritated by talking in circles with Atari.
"John, I do not think you are getting anywhere," Teyla murmurs. "Let me speak with her." Turning to Atari, she asks, "Which ceremony does our friend have the pleasure of participating in? As you see, we are travellers, and it is many years since I have heard of your world."
"It is the Leporidae Festival," Atari supplies.
"Ah, I have heard of that," Teyla says. "It is a harvest festival. Rodney will not come to any harm."
"The Patient One is correct," Atari confirms, sounding slightly offended. "We do not hurt living creatures. We celebrate life here, we do not destroy it."
John realizes they hadn't seen any meat at any of the food stalls. But Rodney is still missing, so he asks in a somewhat neutral tone, "Where's the ceremony?"
"We would be honored to attend, if it is permitted," Teyla adds calmly.
"Of course," Atari says. "The Leporidae is celebrated in the Hutch, near the city entrance. We will all be going." She gestures at the other market vendors and shoppers, who look to be packing up. "But it does not start for a half hour yet. I will be honored to escort the Blue-Eyed One's friends."
"Thank you." Teyla smiles.
"Would you like some pastries?" Atari asks. "For the Blue-Eyed One and his friends, I will not charge anything."
Ronon seems happy to forgive her at this point.
They make their way to the ceremony half an hour later. Atari smilingly extols the virtues of the Sacred One, Teyla appears to listen intently, Ronon looks bored, and John brings up the rear, carrying a bag filled to bursting with pastries.
But when they reach the Hutch, John freezes in the doorway. There is a hairy man wielding a knife in front of Rodney, but John's eyes are drawn to the offerings on the table behind them. Because apparently the Leporidae is a festival in honor of citrus fruits (though what that has to do with bunnies eludes him).
Rodney, staring at the knife being waved under his nose, crumples to the ground. John drops the pastries and then steps on the bag as he shoves his way to the front of the room and kneels beside Rodney. Ronon and Teyla are right behind him, so he lets them deal with the knife man and the protests of the Florians while he checks Rodney's pulse.
Teyla speaks calmly and quietly and draws the crowd away from John and Rodney. John's stomach unclenches as Rodney's eyelids twitch.
"Ow," Rodney mutters, fluttering a hand to feel the bump on the back of his head.
"You hit your head when you fainted," John says with a smirk, trying to hide the relief he feels at seeing those bright blue eyes glaring up at him.
"I did not faint," Rodney huffs. Then, focusing on John's expression, he adds, "Yes, you smirk. Like it's not a tragedy that I've lost yet more of my brilliant brain cells."
"Well, as long as the first thing you say is a complaint, I know you're okay."
"You couldn't have showed up five minutes sooner? They tried to kill me, you know." Rodney looks around then and spots Teyla and Ronon talking with the Florians. "Why aren't you pointing guns at them?" he squawks. "They tried to kill me!" He waves his arms in elaborate stabbing motions.
"Shut up, McKay," John whispers, grabbing Rodney's wrists to stop his flailing. "They weren't trying to kill you. It's a ritual thing."
"The big hairy guy pulled a knife on me!" Rodney hisses. "They were going to cut my heart out and eat it!"
"We're not in the Temple of Doom, Rodney. They weren't going to use the knife on you. They're vegetarians. The knife's for the ceremonial food."
"Food?" Rodney perks up and looks around again, as though expecting a huge buffet table. His eyes go wide as he spots the small table piled with citrus fruits. He splutters incoherently for several moments before John is able to make out words. "What-That-You! You said they weren't trying to kill me! I am deathly allergic to citrus, you moron! I don't make these things up for your amusement, you know. You should listen-"
John clamps a hand over Rodney's mouth, dropping one of Rodney's hands to do so. Rodney smacks the side of his head.
"Ow! Will you stop that?" John growls. "I know about the citrus allergy." He takes both his hands away, crosses his arms over his chest, and glares at Rodney.
"Are you boys all right?" Teyla calls from across the room, where everyone is staring at them.
"Yes," John answers, still glaring at Rodney. "McKay hit his head but he's being his usual winsome self, so he'll be fine."
"I am glad to hear it," Teyla says with a knowing smile. "We are almost done here, so perhaps you and Ronon can take Rodney back to the jumper. I will meet you there shortly."
"Sorry," Rodney says in a small voice.
"Shut up, you idiot," John says, still trying to sound annoyed but not quite managing. "Come on, naptime's over." He stands and extends a hand to help Rodney up as Ronon appears beside them.
"Can you walk?" Ronon asks.
"Yes, I can walk," Rodney replies disparagingly as John stoops to pick up the bag of pastries from where he dropped it in the doorway. "I hit my head, not my legs. You should be more concerned about any lasting damage to my brain." He turns to John. "Quick! Ask me a question to make sure I'm not stupid!"
John rolls his eyes. "What's the square root of pi?"
"1.772454," Rodney answers.
"Six decimals? That's all you've got?"
Rodney hmphs indignantly.
"Here," John says, holding out the bag of pastries.
Rodney eyes the bag suspiciously. "What is it?"
"Pastries from your new girlfriend."
Rodney takes the bag and roots through the pastries, which are now somewhat squashed after being dropped on the floor and stepped on. "Wait," Rodney says, looking up. "You stopped for pastries? I was in mortal peril and you stopped for pastries?"
"She gave them to us," John protests. "She assured us that you wouldn't be hurt and then offered us pastries because we're friends of the 'Blue-Eyed One.'"
"You stopped for pastries!" Rodney accuses.
"I'll eat them," Ronon offers.
Rodney clutches the bag to his chest and stares at him witheringly. "I didn't say I wasn't going to eat them! But you people need to work on your priorities." He takes a bite of a cheese Danish-type thing. "Five minutes later and you would have been deprived of my brilliance, and who would save the city from attack at the last minute with an ingenious plan then?"
John feels the words like a punch in the stomach. Because he’d told Rodney he would look out for him in his stupid red shirt and then he’d gone and lost him.
Rodney catches sight of John’s face and says, softer, “I didn’t mean that literally. You’re pretty good at last-minute saves, too. Hail Marys and all that football crap.” Then he adds, “Ask me another question!”
"You're fine, Rodney," John says wearily.
"Hey, you're not a doctor, not that doctors know much of anything, but still, they have machines to check these things and the least you can do is ask me a few questions until we get back to civilization. So." He snaps his fingers. "I need a question!"
John sighs. "1,491,507."
"What kind of question is that? It's obviously not prime since it's divisible by 9, as any idiot can tell you," Rodney complains as they reach the jumper.
"Well, at least that part of your brain is working." John opens the rear hatch and they walk inside. "Now tell me all the factors."
"Can't you ask me to explain general relativity or something instead?"
"Only if you admit I'm smarter than you at math."
"Fine. 1, 3, 9, 37, 1493..."
Teyla rejoins them as Rodney finishes listing factors. "They are very sorry about the citrus," she informs Rodney. "I have reassured them that the 'Blue-Eyed One' does not hold it against them. And we have been invited back for the Ochotonidae festival, which they promise does not involve any citrus."
"Right, like I'm going to trust these crazy people again. That other festival probably involves whales."
"Maybe it's a chocolate festival," John suggests.
"They don't have chocolate in this galaxy, not real chocolate," Rodney says irritably. "Can we go now? I need to have my brain checked for lasting damages and get the hell out of this shirt."
"Going," John agrees, settling into the pilot's seat.
Rodney sulks and demands more questions by turns all the way back to Atlantis.
John hurries through a debriefing with Sam while Ronon and Teyla accompany Rodney to the infirmary. He's slouching against the wall beside Rodney's room when Rodney returns from the medical ward.
"Keller gave me a clean bill of health and says my brain is fine, whatever her opinion is worth," Rodney says, pausing to wave his door open. John pushes off from the wall and follows him inside. "Now I need to burn this shirt. Is there even anywhere to burn things around here? Those damn Ancients were probably above burning things. They probably never even had photographs of exes to get rid of. I suppose I could chuck it in the ocean or cut it up or something, but it's so much more satisfying to burn things. Oh! Bunsen burners! We have Bunsen burners in the labs!" He half-turns back towards the door, but John catches his wrist and pulls him back.
"How 'bout we just get the shirt off you?" John suggests, running his hands up under the fabric.
"Yes," Rodney gasps as John licks the spot below his right ear. "That works, too."
(The red shirt is ceremonially burned in a trash bin on Rodney's balcony the next morning. John also tries to throw in Rodney's gray plaid pants, but Rodney snatches them back with malicious threats to John's sparkly purple curtains.)
~ { end } ~