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five.
The first time it happens is during the siege their first year in Atlantis. Rodney's been awake for days, hopped up on coffee and whatever speed he can finagle out of Carson, and so he doesn't even fully believe it happened, when he remembers it later.
For one thing, how cliched could a person be? A kiss and a "So long," before rushing off to his death? It's ridiculous.
Of course, when it's actually happening, Rodney's not thinking any of those things. When it's happening, it's like this:
As Rodney realizes the generator's dead, Sheppard slides out of the chair, loose-limbed in a way that reminds Rodney of a panther, fluid movements as it poises to attack. He then hauls Rodney up, bodily, from the floor where he's fiddling with the generator.
"What—"
But Rodney's cut off by Sheppard's mouth crushing hard against his own. The shock has him frozen for a good few seconds, during which Sheppard gets his hand on the back of Rodney's neck, squeezing almost too hard until Rodney gets with the program and opens his mouth to Sheppard's tongue, hot and urgent against his own.
Stubble rasps against Rodney's cheek, and they both have gone way too long without a shower, but it's without question the best kiss of Rodney's life, something earth-shattering and paradigm-shifting, and he's just starting to get into the groove of it when Sheppard pulls back, chest rising and falling with his heavy breaths.
"So long, Rodney," he says, with a smile that's rueful in a way Rodney doesn't understand until he gets to the gateroom, sees the jumper on the sensor.
"You let Sheppard fly that jumper?" is all he can say to Elizabeth, and he knows the answer but he has to ask anyway.
four.
The second time, John's pretty sure they're both about to die.
They've been thrown into a jail cell—a real shithole, and John knows shitholes, could almost call himself a connoisseur of shitholes—and though Ronon and Teyla had gotten away before they'd been grabbed, they still need to get to the gate, call Atlantis, organize a rescue, and, well.
The cell has started to fill up with water.
It's waterfalling in from an open spot on one wall, and within about ten minutes they're up to their necks and shivering.
"Oh god," Rodney's saying, his voice high and reedy as he babbles through minute five of his proclamations of their impending doom. There's a splash as his hand comes up, fisting desperately in the collar of John's shirt. "Sheppard, what do we—"
And John can't anymore, can't keep waiting for whatever is the appropriate amount of time before they're both drowning—he wants to enjoy this, wants to go down doing something if he can't go down fighting.
He puts both hands on Rodney's face, fingers water-wrinkled as they press into Rodney's cheekbones, and Rodney stops talking, blinks with wet eyelashes before John leans in and they're kissing, Rodney's mouth wide and quick and open against him, like they're sharing air, like Rodney knows exactly what John's thinking.
What John's thinking is that this is a far better way than he ever expected to go out, less violent by half—even though it's wrong, and Rodney shouldn't be going down with him. Rodney shouldn't, Rodney can't—
John breaks the kiss, stroking over Rodney's face with shaky hands, and whispers, "You," but that's as far as he gets before something explodes, the door of their cell splintering inward and water rushing out around them, and Ronon's there, fists wrapped around the handle of an ax. John watches Rodney crumple to the floor, hyperventilating even as he tries to yell at Ronon about showing up a little quicker next time.
three.
The third time it happens they're hunkered down behind the debris of a recently-culled town, the air heavy with the ozone tang of energy weapons mixed with the Wraith-stench of decay. The three Atlantis teams on the scene had been nearly done evacuating the survivors, just a few people left doing a final sweep when the Stargate had whooshed into life, followed by the telltale scream of darts overhead. They'd buzzed the remnants of the town—"Scanning us!" Rodney'd shouted, eyes on his tablet even as he ran, Sheppard's hand a vice-grip on his bicep.
"Report," Sheppard's barking into his radio, and Rodney can hear Major Lorne's voice, harried but steady, confirming the remaining marines are all accounted for.
The sound of the darts fades, and Rodney fumbles, changing tablet for life-signs detector as the Wraith begin to come for them on foot.
Sheppard's eyes are darting around as he pops up, fires off a few shots, then ducks back down, and he's got that look on his face that he gets when he's about to do something brave and stupid. He squints down at the life signs detector and nods minutely, and then his eyes are on Rodney, hazel sharpening into flint, like a knife's edge.
"You remember how to lay down cover?" Sheppard says, gaze flicking briefly over to Rodney's P-90.
"Of—Of course, yeah," Rodney says, because weapons practice feels stupid and unnecessarily militaristic right up to the moment you realize your life's on the line, and he saw that moment come and go more than two years ago. "But—"
Sheppard grabs him by the tac vest, pressing his mouth against Rodney's dry lips. Rodney lets his lips part with a small sound that's not a whimper, and thinks I guess this is just what we do now as Sheppard's tongue slides wet and desperate against his. He opens his eyes and sees Sheppard's got his own screwed up tight, and he's kissing Rodney like he wants to crawl inside him, to inhabit him, and all Rodney wants to do in that moment is let him, keep him.
It's over too quickly, Sheppard pulling back with a wry half-smile on his face, meeting Rodney's eyes quickly and saying "Cover me," before he's gone, already in motion; so Rodney does the only thing he can do, now, and watches Sheppard's back.
two.
It's been maybe thirty minutes since John took a knife to the gut—they'd run, whipping through underbrush until Ronon slowed, announced they weren't likely to be tracked. John had taken that opportunity to collapse against a tree trunk, and Teyla and Ronon had exchanged a look with Rodney.
"We will go to the Gate," Teyla had said, with a soft, cool hand to John's forehead.
Now, John's still propped up against the tree, and Rodney's hovering over him with the medical kit, hands moving too quick for John to follow.
"Sheppard," Rodney's saying, in a tone that suggests it's not the first time he's called John's name in the last few minutes. He snaps fingers in front of John's face. "John? Are you tracking?"
The effort it takes to respond is momentous. John licks his lips, nods. "Yeah," he gets out, voice shaky.
"Teyla and Ronon will be back soon," Rodney says, pressing his hands to the bandage on John's belly. Keeping me together, John thinks, with a semi-hysterical laugh.
"Okay," John manages, his eyes fluttering shut. He doesn't know how much time passes before there's pressure on his lips, dry but plush, and his eyes flutter open to see Rodney's face there, blurry and worried.
"Oh," John says, suddenly clear, "I'm not gonna make it, huh?"
Rodney makes a noise that's half growl, kissing John harder this time.
"Yes you are," he says, sounding almost annoyed. "You've got a 100% track record of survival if we do this." He slides his tongue out, lapping across John's slack mouth. "So just shut up and don't die."
one.
Rodney thinks maybe he should expect it this time, the rough, insistent grab of John's hand on his shirt while Rodney's halfway into a rant, pulling him close and crushing their mouths together; but he doesn't, he can't, because this isn't John running off and doing something dumb, or John with a mortal wound from already having done something dumb—this is John trying to convince Rodney to help him hurtle his way into oblivion.
"John," Rodney says, slurred against lips and tongue, "no."
John doesn't let him speak, though, puts his hand on the back of Rodney's neck and just squeezes, making a broken, needy sound into his mouth. Rodney can't stop himself from reacting to that, grabbing John right back so they're pressed together, all heat and panicked sweat.
When John finally lets go, his mouth is red, his eyes pleading.
"I can't—" Rodney starts, but John cuts him off with a quick, rigid shake of his head.
"This is the only plan we've got," he says, "you said it yourself."
A hundred different retorts bloom and die on Rodney's tongue, but in the end, he just nods. Neither of them is stupid, and they both know how to do what needs to be done.
It just never used to be so hard, Rodney thinks, as John walks out the door and he begins frantically running through calculations so he can bend the laws of the universe and make sure John lives to see the other side.
zero.
John's in his quarters, paging boredly through a golf magazine, when the door slides open. Rodney's the only one John's door will just open like that for, but they don't have plans today—Rodney'd said he was taking advantage of the uncharacteristic quiet streak to get some "actual science" done, and John figured it was another couple of hours before he needed to go down to the labs and force Rodney to eat and hydrate.
He lifts his head, ready to ask what's up, when he takes in Rodney's expression: wild-eyed, but his chin raised, jaw set with that confidence, that persistence that John's come to trust in a crisis.
A crisis, John's mind supplies, sharp like an alarm, and he sits up, eyebrows knitting together. "Rodney, what's—"
And then Rodney's on him, throwing himself onto the bed and pressing John back against it, half-covering him with his body, his tongue opening John's mouth up like he owns it, like he belongs there. John's pulse starts racing, heart rabbiting in his chest, and he brings his hands up to hold Rodney's face, realizing too late that he's shaking. One of Rodney's hands, big and warm, is splayed over John's hip, holding him steady, but John can't think, can barely breathe past the panic that's rising in his throat.
"Rodney—" he tries, pulling back from the kiss, but it comes out strangled, like he's been parched for days, and then Rodney's kissing him again, making these muffled little sounds against John's mouth.
Rodney has to breathe, though, and this time John at least gets a few words out, catches Rodney's eye and says, "Are we—what's—" and panicked babbling is Rodney's thing, not John's, but whatever it is must have Rodney so spooked that he's speechless—and that particular realization makes John's stomach drop out.
He pulls back, grabs Rodney by the shoulders, and squeezes.
"Tell me what's happening and I'll figure something out, I'll—" John cuts himself off, seeing uncertainty cloud across Rodney's face. He takes a breath, swallows around the lump in his throat, and then: "Rodney. Are we…are we about to die?"
Rodney winces. "Um," he says, color staining his cheeks. "Not, um, not as such, no." He looks away, pushes himself up, the confidence draining out of him. "Sorry. If you'd rather this just—I mean, if you don't want—"
"That's not what I said," John interrupts, mentally finishing Rodney's sentences: if you'd rather this just be something we do when you think we're seconds away from shuffling off this mortal coil, and if you don't want me; the second of which is almost laughable in how wrong it is, and the only thing John can think to do is pull Rodney back against him, feel tension bleed out of him as John tilts his head up, brushes his lips against Rodney's, sweet and soft in a way he never thought he'd have, never thought he deserved.
"Oh," Rodney breathes, blessedly quick on the uptake, and he palms over John's face, warm and gentle.
And John doesn't want to talk anymore, just wants to give in to the touch, the heat of Rodney's mouth, but maybe Rodney's rubbed off on him more than he realized, because he can't ignore the question niggling in the back of his mind; he needs to know. "What…why now?"
Rodney breathes out, shaky, and tucks his face against John's neck, exhaling over the ridge of the iratus bug scar. John shivers.
"We could," Rodney starts, and his hand is on John's chest, feeling out the shape of his dog tags through the shirt. "Any time, you know? We could just…"
John nods. He knows. "Yeah," he says, then shakes his head, breathing out a laugh. "Jesus, Rodney, you're a lot braver than I am, you know that?"
Rodney's head comes up at that, and he smiles, amused and private and lopsided. "Smarter, too," he says, and John grins, squeezes his shoulder.
"Yeah," he agrees, "whole lot smarter."