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Written for the Jumping The Shark challenge
, for Merry.
Ronon squinted towards the shore. "What's McKay doing?"
John lifted his head up from his surfboard. On the beach, Rodney was jumping up and down wildly, waving his arms back and forth at them, his mouth open wide; the waves were drowning him out. "Beats me." They were floating out past the breakers, so Ronon could get used to balancing on his brand new board (John was determined to make him acknowledge it was the best birthday present ever, though Ronon had looked more impressed by both the set of high-carbon stainless steel kitchen knives Rodney had gotten him, and the three new shirts from Teyla), and more importantly so John could nap in the sun without Rodney making remarks about melanoma. John knew what it meant when a guy wanted to put sunscreen on you, and he was not going there with Rodney McKay.
He turned to look out at the ocean: no storm clouds, no tidal wave coming, no giant shark fin splitting the water.
A short while later, after some panicked yelling and thrashing and beating the giant shark over the head with the surfboards, John crawled out onto the beach and collapsed limply onto a towel. Ronon was still rinsing off his knives in the shallows.
After a little while, Rodney said, "Interestingly enough, the chance of getting attacked by a shark is about one in a hundred million."
"Huh, really interesting," John said bitterly, picking bits of surfboard out of his hair.
"The chance of getting malignant melanoma is about one in two thousand," Rodney added.
John looked at Rodney. Considered the odds. "Yeah, okay," he said. "Get the damn sunscreen."
= End =