"Seriously. It's a perfectly reasonable question. If we were back on Earth, and I was just some guy, and you were just some guy, would you look twice at me?"
"Would you still be arrogant, brilliant, and completely insufferable?"
"Well, there you go. I'd most assuredly jump you on sight."
"I knew guys like you in high school, you know. Jerks, the lot of them."
"But you were perfect, I imagine. Tutoring all the younger students with patience and--"
"Okay, okay. Point made. I was a jerk, too."
"I never said I was a jerk, you did. I didn't go to your high school, Rodney."
"I bet we would have hated each other, though, if you had."
"Why did you come here? I mean, really?"
"Why did you?"
"Don't answer a question with a question. I've been working on this project for years, it's my whole world. You could have walked away, led a simple life, had 2.5 kids and a picket fence."
"Pilots rarely want a simple life. We just want a good place to fly."
"Oh. Well, there's that then, I guess."
"Yeah. More skies than I can count."
"What kind of a question is that?"
"It's a simple one. How do you want to die?"
"What--? Oh, for heaven's sake. Not at all, that's the easy answer, but if you must know, I suppose of old age, preferably in my sleep. Surrounded by my adoring masses, weeping hysterically, obviously, and there would have to be a huge funeral. They'd probably need to sell tickets."
"I never saw the appeal of dying in your sleep."
"Yeah, well, you wouldn't. I suppose death of choice for you goes along the lines of 'blaze of glory'?"
"Would that be so terrible?"
"I'm going to pretend you didn't just ask me that, you martyr. You're going to die of old age, too, if I have anything to say about it."
"I know how to fire a gun."
"I'm not disputing that. I'm just insinuating that you can't do it well."
"If I didn't have such accomplished self-control, I'd hit you."
"You'd probably miss."
"And the self-control is dwindling…"
"Look, just aim at the target, okay, and remember that it isn't just what you see--let instinct guide your aim."
"I don't have instincts, that's your department."
"Just close your eyes."
"What? Am I Luke Skywalker now, Obi-Wan?"
"Do you want to learn to hit a target or not?"
"Not, actually. I would like some pizza. And I'd kind of like to watch Star Wars now."
"When we get to Earth, can I show you off to all my geeky friends?"
"Why the hell not?"
"Because I'm a person. Not a show-dog."
"That isn't fair. If I can't tell them about how I constantly save the universe, I should at least be able to tell them how I'm sleeping with a hot pilot."
"Alright, fine. You can show me off."
"Will you wear one of those slinky black shirts?"
"I don't wear things that are slinky, and you're so pushing it."
"How did this happen?"
"How did what happen?"
"You pushed me up against the lift doors and kissed me senseless, as I recall."
"Oh, right. We should do that again, sometime."
"Now's as good a time as any, I always say."
"Why did you join the military anyway?"
"My father was all about discipline, it's what he wanted."
"Yeah, but why did you join?"
"There's an obvious answer, McKay, and you know what it is."
"Just so you could fly?"
"That and I got to play with guns. Which was a whole lot of fun right up until it was real."
"I'm a genius, you know."
"You've said. More than once, actually. What? Do you want a pin that says 'all hail the genius"?"
"It couldn't hurt, since people so often seem to forget."
"I don't forget."
"You forget most of all!"
"No, I don't forget. I just tend to care more about your personality than your intelligence. Except, of course, for when you're saving our asses."
"I can't decide whether to be flattered or insulted."
"I'd go with flattered, if I were you, since you're a lot easier to deal with that way."
"Now I'm definitely insulted."
"If I kiss you, will you shut up?"
"You should try, and find out."