"I really tho--"

"Rodney."

...

"It must be someth--"

"RODney."

...

"I can't figure out--"

"RODNEY!"

"Fine." Rodney scowled and crossed his arms across his chest. Three hours trapped in a storage closet and he was bored bored bored; to top it off, the Colonel wouldn't even let Rodney bounce ideas of his well-muscled chest. Rodney sighed. He was going to catch hell for this whole quarantine thing. Again. But honestly, he'd thought he'd fixed all of the problems! This was so not his fault.

John paced the length of the storage room. At least he and Rodney wouldn't die of hunger, though why the scientist had felt the need to track John down and annoy him on inventory day he couldn't say. Inventory was it's own special brand of hell to start with; adding Rodney to the equation was just plain mean.

And then, just when John thought things couldn't get any worse, the quarantine sirens sounded and they'd been summarily locked in the storage room, together, unable to get out because of Rodney's hypochondriac tendencies and paranoia. When they got out of this, he was revoking Rodney's clearance, and they were have a team Back to the Future Marathon.

"Colonel, do you think--"

"Rodney," John growled, feeling the urge to kill something rising up. In desperation, he grabbed the incomplete chart and threw it at Rodney's head. "Shut up. Shut up and help me finish this."

Rodney was blissfully silent for the fifteen minutes it took him to come up with an algorithm that (fairly accurately) calculated the contents of their small storage closet and left them with nothing to do. Again. John whimpered.

"I'm bored," Rodney whined.

"Tough," John ground out.

"What can we do?"

"I don't know."

"We could play prime-not prime, Who deserves to be Canadian, name the Batman villain, Why Back to the Future sucks at life, the Awkward Game..." John banged his head against the wall, hoping against hope that he might develop brain damage, or at the very least bash himself unconscious. "So, what do you want to do?" John turned his head just enough to glare at Rodney.

"Still no ideas," John said cheerily, pasting a fake smile on his face that was all teeth and mostly snarl.

"Wait!" Rodney snapped is fingers excitedly. "I think there's a rule about this!" John watched with disinterest as Rodney pulled the Big Book of Rules off the top shelf. John smirked as Rodney slipped and landed on the floor, the rule book crushing his chest.

"There is!" Rodney crowed triumphantly, pointing to Rule Social•b 99.1. "If friends spend more than 60 minutes trying to decide what to do, they must default to sexual experimentation. Huh." John grabbed the book to read the rule for himself.

"I did not know that rule," John mused speculatively. He looked at Rodney in a new light, appraising his friend. Rodney was...Rodney. With his blue blue eyes and dark lashes, wide sassy mouth and broad hands. Rodney who was appraising him just as blatantly, breath coming a little too quickly.

"Me either," Rodney murmured breathlessly, blue eyes swallowed by black.

"I'll go get the crisco."