"Who needs a bed?" Stupid, stupid words, from a stupid stupid scientist. John should have known better . . . he really should have. Whenever Rodney said anything with that much determined conviction and pomp it was usual just a sign that he was denying something very
important... something that was going to come back and bite him in the ass later. Literally.

"Excuse me, laddie? I didn't catch that?" Beckett asked, before another jolt of pain screamed down John's left side. He clenched his teeth.

"Nothing," John grumbled, burying his head in a medical-smelling infirmary pillow. Why did it always have to smell like lemons? He hated lemons. He doubly hated them now that they reminded him of ...

"What was our little bundle of sunshine saying, Carson?" Came Rodney's voice from above him, both booming and shrill . . . like the voice of God, only far more annoying.

"Nothing."

"I'm sure." He sounded smug. Why the hell should he be smug, this was all his fault to begin with. John liked flying. He liked heights, but he never would have consented to . . . roof sex, if it weren't for that arrogant little bastard and his . . . 'beds are for missionaries and right wing fundamentalists. Have a little sense of adventure, John, puh-lease.' It wasn't that John wasn't adventurous. He'd sky dived, helicopter skied, parasurfed, and traveled to countless alien worlds (Actually, 127 . . . so, he was good at counting, okay?). Rodney had absolutely no business telling him that he had no sense of adventure.

He just had a little problem losing his sense of danger/reality/space in the heat of the moment. Didn't Rodney want a passionate lover?

"What I don't understand," Carson said, archly, "is how ya managed to fall on your side like that . . ." Turning to Rodney. "It's almost as though he rolled . . ."

John could practically hear the smirk. "Well, you know, Carson. Grace in anything that doesn't fly really isn't a Sheppard-thing."

John tried to turn to glare at him, but the bruising running all down his side stopped him with a gasp.

"It would do you well to remember that you body alone doesn't fly," Carson added, completely not helpfully.

John flipped him the bird.

"Why, Rodney, it appears that he's requesting more blood tests, making the sign of a needle like that."

"You're absolutely right, Carson. Maybe you'll let me try out my field medic skills this time?"

"Aye, Rodney, that sounds like a great idea. I'll be back." John heard some shuffling and felt a pat on his back. "I'll bring ya some more ice as well."

"Thanks," he told the pillow.

The second the steps had retreated, John heard humming. It was Rodney's triumphant little hum, the one he made after a major discover... and sometimes after he came. John found this disturbing, but not necessarily unpleasantly so. But why now? Why when John was laid up in the infirmary because Rodney couldn't contain himself five goddamn minutes when they were inspecting the construction at one of the Athosian settlements? Because Rodney was just and evil bastard.
That was all there was too it.

"Can't you even try to be sympathetic, Rodney?"

"Let me think . . . nope. You were the one who was all into public places and the great outdoors and Dr. Weir's desk and the puddlejumper and those stupid flowers that I swear have inflamed my eczema and then in that moss that..."

"So if I inflame your sense of hypochondria it's okay for you to push me off a goddamn roof!"

"You rolled."

"Did not."

Actually, he did.

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Why would I push you?"

"I don't know... some sort of revenge for me pushing you off a balcony, when you had a shield."

"Maybe, if you had more meat on you, you..."

"How about we push you off a roof to test that theory?"

"I have brittle bones, thank you very much. And besides, this is all muscle."

"Sure." John rolled his eyes, even knowing Rodney couldn't see them buried in the pillow as they were.

"Besides, that thing with the shield was kind of a turn-on, if you remember correctly." He did, but there was no way he was going to pump that ego even just a tad. "And you rolled."

"You let me."

"It was the heat of the moment."

John opened his mouth to object, but then he felt a firm hand massaging the tension from his shoulders. "Besides," the voice was less shrill now, and cooing, "I convinced Carson to release you into my custody and Elizabeth to give me time off until you're up and ready to go."

Those hands felt so good... and that voice was almost purring... so what if they were treacherous roof-pushing hands and coercive sex-daring purrs? There were always ways he could get back at the bastard... after he was fully up, of course. John wanted to have a witty comeback. But instead he said, "Mmmmmm..."

FIN