John was kicking back in his quarters, a well-deserved brew in one hand and a comic book in the other, when Rodney came charging in, the fingers of both hands spasming inarticulately and his face flaming red with frustration. It was either that or he was having a stroke.
John hoped not. "Hey, what's up?"
Rodney's mouth made a squishing noise as if he'd just swallowed his tongue, and then he exploded into curses, the words "Incompetent boobies," "nincompoops," and "nit-brained simpletons who don't deserve to inhabit the same planet as my genius, let alone the same hemisphere," streaming out of his mouth without pause while John tried to hold back a smirk. Seriously, when McKay got going John kind of wished he could sample him for a beat track.
"No kidding," John said.
Rodney paused and gaped at him, then said, "And if I hadn't made the catch and uncoupled their sorry excuse for a generator we'd all be dead, so yes, I fired their useless behinds and confined both of them to their quarters where they will be free to contemplate the error of their ways for the next week and a half until the Daedalus arrives to haul them out of this galaxy, which is only just barely far enough to satisfy me, I'll have you know."
"Oh, I know." John nodded earnestly.
Rodney's eyes narrowed.
"I'm sure they're both ruing the day." John tipped his beer in congratulations.
"Grab a beer. You've earned it."
Rodney gave him one last distrustful look, then skirted the bed to open the mini-fridge. "I thought you said you had beer," he said, pulling out a Coors.
Rodney took a chair and propped his feet on the bed. "I certainly deserve better, or weren't you listening when I mentioned the imminent demise I just saved us from? Do you have any idea how many megatons a naquadah generator would yield if it exploded? At that proximity to the gate room, no less?"
John chewed his lip and stared upward. "Mmm, carry the three...throw in a kitten..."
Rodney kicked his foot.
"Yes! Bingo! A lot!" Rodney shook his head despairingly.
"Well, thanks, Rodney. For saving us from the mortal peril."
Rodney sipped his beer and stared at John with slitted eyes. With his hair still ruffled up from his tantrum, he looked like a mean old tomcat contemplating taking a swipe with his claws.
John bit the inside of his cheek. "My guys especially thank you."
"Yeah, you know—" John waved his free hand. "My 'nads. I hear radiation is a bitch to wash out of the chromosomes."
Rodney's lips quirked. "Assuming they didn't fry in the two megaton blast."
John pointed. "Right! It's always something."
Chuckling outright, Rodney tilted his head back and let his beer rest on his stomach. "God." He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "So, how was your day? Count any good bullets? File any fascinating paperwork?"
"Not really." John finished his beer and tossed it for two right into the trash can. "Oh—there was that one Trust agent Lorne and I caught sabotaging the jumpers."
Rodney's eyes popped open.
John shrugged. "Minor shootout. No explosions imminent." He bit back a smirk. "Probably our jumper would have just..." John demonstrated the falling arc and plummet with one hand, then grinned. "Wet landing."
Rodney swallowed. "Wet. Very wet."
"I prefer dry, myself."
"I've noticed," Rodney said, his voice wry.
They sat in silence, Atlantis' hum keeping them company. After a while Rodney said, "So. Another beer?"
"Don't mind if I do."
It was just that kind of day.