The choice of the word impossible doesn't escape Ianto. He's got a feeling that they're not just talking about John's job anymore either, but rather about John himself, from the way he phrases it. It comes with the territory. Throwing himself into danger. The possibility that he might not come out of it a real threat. The probability he'll need patching up pretty high regardless. In the past three months alone, John had gotten himself knocked around by a fight club (or two), stabbed by a bandit, and burnt to death by a dragon. In three months, he had done that.

Ianto's hands are steady and gentle as they make their way down the patches on John's back and he mulls the thought over. He joined the mission to Atlantis knowing that he might never be able to return. That in and of itself should have been a warning sign. Ianto really hadn't understood until that night with the dragon, though. Feeling helpless, running up against a brick wall named John Sheppard, and everything that had come after that. At least he's allowing him this much now, he supposes.

"I suppose I'd better be stocking up my first aid kit now, then, while there's a lull," Ianto replies, as lightly as he can. Like he hasn't begun to do something of the sort already. Like he hasn't spent three sleepless nights by the side of John's medical pod, wondering whether it was all a lie and he'd never wake up again after all.