Stargate Atlantis A/U Fanfic: The Education of Little Bear (12/12, Part 2)
Title: The Education of Little Bear
Author: Negolith2
Rating: PG-13
Category: Alternate Universe
Word Count/This Chapter: 8,200 / 66,700 COMPLETE
Warnings: None, really, just some cussing, can't help it.
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, not for profit, blah blah blah copywrite cakes.
Summary: The sequel to 'Untamed'. Really. Since I've been sticking close to canon, this is the simple story of how Dr. M. Rodney McKay, Ph.D., Ph.D., gets the Pretender gene.
XII: Con't
They all saw Rodney come out from behind the juniper, but Teyla was the first to sense something wasn’t quite right. John picked it up a second later and started forward only to be stopped by Teyla’s hand in the middle of his chest. “Wait,” she said and cocked her head. Her eyes widened, then she cried out and cradled her head. John caught her, but he was bristling and growling and it was clear he wanted to do nothing more than charge forward. “Wait,” she said again, her voice tight with pain. “He’s … fighting it. Please, John. Patience.”
Ronon and Lorne came up, zats drawn, and they all watched helplessly as Rodney thrashed around on the ground, his claws boxing at air, then ripping huge clods of earth free as he rolled over and over. Twice more Teyla stopped John from interfering, and as she held him back with one small hand on his chest she could feel his deep growl that was completely drowned out by Rodney’s roaring.
When Rodney finally fell silent and collapsed the softer roar of the surf felt practically deafening.
Teyla started for Rodney and this time John held her back. She whirled on him. “It is safe now.”
John met her copper bright eyes for a moment, glanced briefly towards Rodney, then nodded and let go. They both were by Rodney’s side a second later, Lorne and Ronon still covering the prone body. Teyla knelt and carefully cradled his head in her lap, her hand settling on his forehead as she started tracing a thumb between his eyes. And even though he could see Rodney’s sides heaving with every rapid breath, John still had to place a hand there to reassure himself the man was still alive.
“What the hell happened?” Lorne gritted out between clenched teeth.
“He, um, fought Yogi,” John said, his voice slightly awed. Just like the first night when he went alpha, he could sense the shadow of the bear around Rodney when he stepped out from behind the bush. Then something else rose up, and though he didn’t actually see it with his own eyes, he could tell it was, well, bright. Very bright. Staring into the noon sun bright. And mad as hell. Now the shadow was gone. John looked up at Lorne and Ronon. “He won.”
Ronon was the first to deactivate his zat and tuck it away. Lorne hesitated until Teyla looked up at him and nodded.
Rodney groaned and it almost sounded like a long drawn out ow that ended in a grunt. A blue eye cracked open and looked up at Teyla. She laughed, and the sound was pure joy. “Yes, Dr. McKay - you are alive.”
“Hey, buddy,” John drawled and moved into Rodney’s line of vision. “Looks like you need a bath.”
Rodney lifted his head enough to look down at his front legs and dirt encrusted paws. He made a deep gurgle that ended in a disgusted snort and let his head fall back onto Teyla’s lap. She grinned. “He said….”
John held up a hand. “No translation needed. I know, I know - asshole.”
Rodney snorted wearily and let his eyes drift shut. Not even thirty seconds later a bearish snore burbled out of him.
-oOo-
Five days later….
Rodney watched the ocean disappear as Lorne brought ‘Jumper Two over a beach and headed inland to Vancouver’s airport. The Major was kind enough to bring them in for this meeting since he had to make a run to Seattle to pick up a couple of scientists from the University of Washington, but they were going to have to take the supply boat back, and he was so not looking forward to that. He was still feeling a little queasy from the bug he caught while he was strung out just before the full moon and decided to hit full force the day after the last night of the full moon, and he just knew he was going to be puking over the side the second they left port. He had some Dramamine in his pocket, but that was just going to be a placebo the way his stomach felt at the moment, but at least the Immodium seemed to be holding….
He glanced up at the only other occupant in the passenger cabin, Zelenka, and thanked God the man had gotten over his kimchi craving. He was actually safe to be around, olfactory speaking, and he could now smell the man’s base scent - he had a bit of a shorted out electronics and hot soldering iron smell about him. It made his nose tickle. He rubbed at the balm on his upper lip and released another wave of mint and eucalyptus. That helped.
Sheppard was sitting in the co-pilot’s seat, and he could see him and Lorne doing a lot of laughing at the moment. Probably pilot bonding stories. Aerial no-shit-there-I-was tales of heroic landings with no engines or landing gear or something or other.
“Well, it is good to see your surly attitude has remained unscathed by this whole incident,” Zelenka said and pushed up his glasses. “You haven’t quit scowling since we left Atlantis.”
“It’s my stomach,” Rodney replied with a sneer. “Do you have any idea what this is all about? Because really, I should be in bed. Still.”
“For the hundredth time, Rodney - no.”
“Well, he’s your friend. You should know.”
Zelenka sighed. “All I know is that Pavle did not want to send over internet or phone, even though we have best security in the world.”
“Huh. Pussy.”
“No, wolf.”
Rodney sneered again.
It only took a few more minutes to reach the airport, and when Lorne brought the Sikorsky down by the private hanger owned by the conglomerate that ran Atlantis the first thing he saw was a huge black limo idling in front of the closed bay doors.
Sheppard was the first to get out, and he looked pretty ominous himself all in black - black jeans, black boots, black button-up shirt, black leather jacket, dark sunglasses…. Really, he knew the man liked Johnny Cash, but that was taking it just a little too far. He held open the passenger cabin door, and as soon as Rodney and Zelenka were past the rotors he rapped on the cockpit canopy and flashed Lorne a thumbs-up before he, too, was trotting over to the limo.
The down blast from the take-off was still whipping everyone’s hair around when the back door of the limo opened and Pavle stepped out. His long pony tail flapped briefly but nothing escaped. He drew his chin back, opened his arms wide, and grinned at Zelenka. “Kolega!”
Rodney rolled his eyes at the cheek kissing thing again.
Pavle looked at Rodney, and thankfully that was all he did. “Dr. McKay - you look well.”
Rodney was pale, had bags under his eyes that he could pack a weekend to Vegas in, and hadn’t shaved in three days, but he knew what Pavle was getting at. “I feel great,” he said, a crooked smirk lighting his face. He hadn’t felt Yogi burble or grumble or growl since that last night of the full moon, and quite frankly, when the next full moon came around, he didn’t expect to. He no longer had a sentient shadow lurking over his shoulder. No. Now his shadow was his own, albeit a bit darker and heavier feeling, but he was in control, and nothing was going to change that.
Now if he could just quit having the Viking dreams…. Those were odd, especially when the only Vikings he were familiar with were sausages dipped in batter and deep fried.
Rodney watched Pavle narrow his eyes down and regard him. The grin that broke out on the werewolf prince’s face even made Rodney grin goofily. “That is very good to hear. Very good.” Then he focused past Rodney and his smile was gone in an instant. Rodney looked over his shoulder and saw Sheppard standing there, hands on hips, his mouth drawn into a tight line. All the little hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he casually scooted back the few steps that would take him out of the direct line of fire, because seriously - all his new found little werebear senses were screaming in warning right now. He crossed his arms over his chest and chewed on a thumbnail.
Zelenka also backed up, his gaze going back and forth between the two still men. Correction - princes.
“So,” John drawled out rather lazily. “You’re Lupis.”
“You’re Onca,” Pavle replied just as nonchalantly.
“Long way from home.”
“Same could be said for you.”
“Not my home anymore.” John shrugged. “You know that.”
“Yes. I do.” Pavle casually started to walk to his left. John countered. “But you’re Patrick’s son. Surely you have plans.”
John grimaced, his eyebrows rose above his sunglasses, and he shook his head. “No.”
Pavle grunted. They continued to circle each other. “I’m surprised they let you live.”
“Dear old Dad was feeling magnanimous that day.”
“Not very wise of him.”
John just shrugged.
Rodney couldn’t take it any longer, the alpha pheromones in the air were making him dizzy, and he was really really tired. “Oh, Jesus … would you two just, just hurry up and sniff each other’s butts or something? Because really - this is getting stupid.” He snapped his fingers. “Chop chop. I’m dying here.” Both vargyrs stopped and faced Rodney. “You had information?” he said to Pavle. “So, let’s see it so I can ride the Vomit Tugboat back home and sleep!”
Zelenka’s mouth hung open and he backed away from Rodney.
John was the first to crack a grin and chuff. He glanced sideways at Pavle and saw the man had his head cocked and looking incredibly amused. He pointed at Rodney. “Is he always this….”
“Lippy?” John supplied. “Yeah.”
“I am so sorry.”
“Eh, you get used to it.”
“Okay, butt sniffing over.” Rodney made a gimme motion. “Share.”
Pavle was chuckling as he pulled a Blackberry out of the inside pocket of his cashmere overcoat and started keying up an image. “We found some tattoos on the vargyr that bit you, Dr. McKay, and they had my people baffled for the longest time.” He turned it around for Rodney. “It took our clan historians awhile to track one of them down.”
Rodney took it out of his hands and looked at the image, and John and Zelenka crowded around to see. It was a wrinkly old man’s torso, and over his heart was an age faded tat about four inches high of a part man, part bear figure that vaguely resembled an old cave painting done in black and ochre. There were other tattoos as well - intricate woven designs along his collar bones, around his biceps, and one dark unidentifiable blob on a forearm that may have been black at one time but were now a diluted indigo, the lines and details blurred with age. There were some pale blue markings around one eye as well, but it was impossible to tell it was actually a tattoo or not. Could be veins for all Rodney could tell. “What exactly am I looking at besides an old man in need of a bath and moisturizer?”
“Clan markings,” John supplied. “The older European clans tend to do that.”
Pavle nodded. “And this most certainly qualifies.”
“I see an Irish mark, a Norse….” John started but was interrupted.
“You know your clans?”
John gave a one shouldered shrug. “Wasn’t my choice.” He lifted his sunglasses and peered closer at the image. “I don’t recognize the man/bear tat.”
“That’s because that clan has been extinct for over seven centuries,” Pavle said. He took his Blackberry back. “Or so we thought.”
“What?” John put his sunglasses back on. “The only extinct clan I know of is Draconis.”
“This one is a subclan of Ursus,” Pavle replied. “Or, if you look at different histories, the progenitor of Ursus. These vargyrs were cave bears.”
“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” Rodney said. “Cave bears?”
“As in Pleistocene, ice age, wooly mammoths, saber tooth cats cave bears?” Zelenka added.
“Yes.”
“Well, that explains why you don’t look like a regular bear,” John said. “Got that blunt muzzle, long front arms, tiny ears….”
Pavle looked genuinely curious. “I would like to see that. But, I digress. This clan was known for its unheard of strength and hired out as mercenaries eager to fight in whatever war they could find. Very aggressive, had reputations as fearsome warriors who wouldn’t stop until pretty much hacked to pieces. They ranged mainly across Northern Europe and Russia, and in some of the information the historians found they were even referred to as god bears. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Berserkers of Norse history were of this clan. Or imitators.”
“Oh, great,” Zelenka muttered and rolled his eyes. “God bear. His ego is bad enough as is.” He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.
“How old was that guy?” Rodney squeaked out, then glared at Zelenka.
Pavle shrugged. “At least seven hundred years. Some vargyr can live over fifteen hundred.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Wererats. Already told us about those.” Rodney crossed his arms and seemed to be hugging himself. He suddenly frowned, but it was more in curiosity than consternation, and glanced up at Pavle. “God bear, huh?”
“Here we go,” Zelenka mumbled and threw his hands up.
Pavle grinned. “Revered for their size and strength, not for any divine powers.”
Rodney’s head waggled sheepishly. “Of course. I figured that much out.”
John chuffed.
Pavle’s grin faded. “You have a very old and powerful spirit within you, Dr. McKay, and you are now the last of the god bears. This is why I could not share this information over the internet.”
John rubbed his mouth. “Other clans would like to have a piece of that,” he said quietly.
Rodney actually got a bit paler than he already was.
“Is this place you work secure?” Pavle asked.
“Very,” all three men replied in unison. “And I will make sure he remains his own … man,” John added.
Pavle stared at John, his amber eyes narrowing, his expression calculating but not hostile. John studied him just as intently back, and the silence that stretched between the two started to get uncomfortable. Rodney and Zelenka both jumped when the wolf prince’s face split into a grin that showed all four fangs. “I believe you.” He held out his hand.
John took it without hesitation. “You know, for a dog, you’re not half bad.”
“And for a Sheppard, you seem surprisingly reasonable.”
John let out a coughing bark of laughter. “Yeah, don’t let the family hear that.”
Rodney found himself grinning rather goofily - this alpha pheromone thing did have its fun moments. Or maybe he was just loopy from the flu. Didn’t matter which, however, just as long as he could still play with the coolest toys on the planet and get the Nobel Prize some day.
“Say, we have quite a few hours to kill before our ride leaves,” John drawled. “How does pizza and beer sound?”
“Nasty,” Rodney muttered.
“Wonderful!” Pavle replied.
“I know great place down by the waterfront,” Zelenka added.
“Then let’s go - I have the ride.” Pavle opened the back door to the limo and gestured everyone in. John and Rodney crawled in first, and as they settled in the leather seats they heard Pavle say, “By the way, Radek - the strangest thing happened when I open your last e-mail….”
Rodney practically choked, then luckily could disguise it with a coughing fit and drowned out the conversation outside the limo. He saw John raise an eyebrow at him - damn him and his vargyr senses anyway - and he waved him off. “Never mind, I’ll, ah, e-mail you later.”
Nearly seven hours later Rodney was the only sober one and was having a helluva time herding Sheppard and Zelenka down the pier to their waiting ride. He was grumpy, and beyond tired, and had to make the chauffeur take him to a drug store to get more Immodium, and his back hurt from sleeping in the back of the limo while the terrible trio decided to hit as many disreputable looking bars as possible between the pizza joint and the Atlantis dock, and if he heard one more chorus of “Girls Girls Girls” - in English and Czech simultaneously - he was seriously going to channel his inner god bear and go berserk on a few asses. They were almost to the boat when Zelenka suddenly made the unmistakable glrk of impending drunken sickness and put a hand to his mouth. Sheppard just calmly grabbed the smaller man by the back of his jacket collar, marched him over to the edge of the pier, and just held him out at quite an extreme angle, one handed, so the man could get sick over the water. Rodney had to turn away and plug his ears because, hello, on the verge of doing the same thing himself, and the sound was not helping.
Then he had a sudden stab of jealousy that Zelenka wasn’t puking on a were-whatever. Sometimes life was so not fair….
~Finis
End Note: And the story that kept getting interrupted is finally DONE! Yay! But I have more in store for our boys. Speaking of which, everybetty was so kind to find this lovely picture of the boys playing in the greenhouse:
Author: Negolith2
Rating: PG-13
Category: Alternate Universe
Word Count/This Chapter: 8,200 / 66,700 COMPLETE
Warnings: None, really, just some cussing, can't help it.
Disclaimer: Don't own the characters, not for profit, blah blah blah copywrite cakes.
Summary: The sequel to 'Untamed'. Really. Since I've been sticking close to canon, this is the simple story of how Dr. M. Rodney McKay, Ph.D., Ph.D., gets the Pretender gene.
XII: Con't
They all saw Rodney come out from behind the juniper, but Teyla was the first to sense something wasn’t quite right. John picked it up a second later and started forward only to be stopped by Teyla’s hand in the middle of his chest. “Wait,” she said and cocked her head. Her eyes widened, then she cried out and cradled her head. John caught her, but he was bristling and growling and it was clear he wanted to do nothing more than charge forward. “Wait,” she said again, her voice tight with pain. “He’s … fighting it. Please, John. Patience.”
Ronon and Lorne came up, zats drawn, and they all watched helplessly as Rodney thrashed around on the ground, his claws boxing at air, then ripping huge clods of earth free as he rolled over and over. Twice more Teyla stopped John from interfering, and as she held him back with one small hand on his chest she could feel his deep growl that was completely drowned out by Rodney’s roaring.
When Rodney finally fell silent and collapsed the softer roar of the surf felt practically deafening.
Teyla started for Rodney and this time John held her back. She whirled on him. “It is safe now.”
John met her copper bright eyes for a moment, glanced briefly towards Rodney, then nodded and let go. They both were by Rodney’s side a second later, Lorne and Ronon still covering the prone body. Teyla knelt and carefully cradled his head in her lap, her hand settling on his forehead as she started tracing a thumb between his eyes. And even though he could see Rodney’s sides heaving with every rapid breath, John still had to place a hand there to reassure himself the man was still alive.
“What the hell happened?” Lorne gritted out between clenched teeth.
“He, um, fought Yogi,” John said, his voice slightly awed. Just like the first night when he went alpha, he could sense the shadow of the bear around Rodney when he stepped out from behind the bush. Then something else rose up, and though he didn’t actually see it with his own eyes, he could tell it was, well, bright. Very bright. Staring into the noon sun bright. And mad as hell. Now the shadow was gone. John looked up at Lorne and Ronon. “He won.”
Ronon was the first to deactivate his zat and tuck it away. Lorne hesitated until Teyla looked up at him and nodded.
Rodney groaned and it almost sounded like a long drawn out ow that ended in a grunt. A blue eye cracked open and looked up at Teyla. She laughed, and the sound was pure joy. “Yes, Dr. McKay - you are alive.”
“Hey, buddy,” John drawled and moved into Rodney’s line of vision. “Looks like you need a bath.”
Rodney lifted his head enough to look down at his front legs and dirt encrusted paws. He made a deep gurgle that ended in a disgusted snort and let his head fall back onto Teyla’s lap. She grinned. “He said….”
John held up a hand. “No translation needed. I know, I know - asshole.”
Rodney snorted wearily and let his eyes drift shut. Not even thirty seconds later a bearish snore burbled out of him.
-oOo-
Five days later….
Rodney watched the ocean disappear as Lorne brought ‘Jumper Two over a beach and headed inland to Vancouver’s airport. The Major was kind enough to bring them in for this meeting since he had to make a run to Seattle to pick up a couple of scientists from the University of Washington, but they were going to have to take the supply boat back, and he was so not looking forward to that. He was still feeling a little queasy from the bug he caught while he was strung out just before the full moon and decided to hit full force the day after the last night of the full moon, and he just knew he was going to be puking over the side the second they left port. He had some Dramamine in his pocket, but that was just going to be a placebo the way his stomach felt at the moment, but at least the Immodium seemed to be holding….
He glanced up at the only other occupant in the passenger cabin, Zelenka, and thanked God the man had gotten over his kimchi craving. He was actually safe to be around, olfactory speaking, and he could now smell the man’s base scent - he had a bit of a shorted out electronics and hot soldering iron smell about him. It made his nose tickle. He rubbed at the balm on his upper lip and released another wave of mint and eucalyptus. That helped.
Sheppard was sitting in the co-pilot’s seat, and he could see him and Lorne doing a lot of laughing at the moment. Probably pilot bonding stories. Aerial no-shit-there-I-was tales of heroic landings with no engines or landing gear or something or other.
“Well, it is good to see your surly attitude has remained unscathed by this whole incident,” Zelenka said and pushed up his glasses. “You haven’t quit scowling since we left Atlantis.”
“It’s my stomach,” Rodney replied with a sneer. “Do you have any idea what this is all about? Because really, I should be in bed. Still.”
“For the hundredth time, Rodney - no.”
“Well, he’s your friend. You should know.”
Zelenka sighed. “All I know is that Pavle did not want to send over internet or phone, even though we have best security in the world.”
“Huh. Pussy.”
“No, wolf.”
Rodney sneered again.
It only took a few more minutes to reach the airport, and when Lorne brought the Sikorsky down by the private hanger owned by the conglomerate that ran Atlantis the first thing he saw was a huge black limo idling in front of the closed bay doors.
Sheppard was the first to get out, and he looked pretty ominous himself all in black - black jeans, black boots, black button-up shirt, black leather jacket, dark sunglasses…. Really, he knew the man liked Johnny Cash, but that was taking it just a little too far. He held open the passenger cabin door, and as soon as Rodney and Zelenka were past the rotors he rapped on the cockpit canopy and flashed Lorne a thumbs-up before he, too, was trotting over to the limo.
The down blast from the take-off was still whipping everyone’s hair around when the back door of the limo opened and Pavle stepped out. His long pony tail flapped briefly but nothing escaped. He drew his chin back, opened his arms wide, and grinned at Zelenka. “Kolega!”
Rodney rolled his eyes at the cheek kissing thing again.
Pavle looked at Rodney, and thankfully that was all he did. “Dr. McKay - you look well.”
Rodney was pale, had bags under his eyes that he could pack a weekend to Vegas in, and hadn’t shaved in three days, but he knew what Pavle was getting at. “I feel great,” he said, a crooked smirk lighting his face. He hadn’t felt Yogi burble or grumble or growl since that last night of the full moon, and quite frankly, when the next full moon came around, he didn’t expect to. He no longer had a sentient shadow lurking over his shoulder. No. Now his shadow was his own, albeit a bit darker and heavier feeling, but he was in control, and nothing was going to change that.
Now if he could just quit having the Viking dreams…. Those were odd, especially when the only Vikings he were familiar with were sausages dipped in batter and deep fried.
Rodney watched Pavle narrow his eyes down and regard him. The grin that broke out on the werewolf prince’s face even made Rodney grin goofily. “That is very good to hear. Very good.” Then he focused past Rodney and his smile was gone in an instant. Rodney looked over his shoulder and saw Sheppard standing there, hands on hips, his mouth drawn into a tight line. All the little hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he casually scooted back the few steps that would take him out of the direct line of fire, because seriously - all his new found little werebear senses were screaming in warning right now. He crossed his arms over his chest and chewed on a thumbnail.
Zelenka also backed up, his gaze going back and forth between the two still men. Correction - princes.
“So,” John drawled out rather lazily. “You’re Lupis.”
“You’re Onca,” Pavle replied just as nonchalantly.
“Long way from home.”
“Same could be said for you.”
“Not my home anymore.” John shrugged. “You know that.”
“Yes. I do.” Pavle casually started to walk to his left. John countered. “But you’re Patrick’s son. Surely you have plans.”
John grimaced, his eyebrows rose above his sunglasses, and he shook his head. “No.”
Pavle grunted. They continued to circle each other. “I’m surprised they let you live.”
“Dear old Dad was feeling magnanimous that day.”
“Not very wise of him.”
John just shrugged.
Rodney couldn’t take it any longer, the alpha pheromones in the air were making him dizzy, and he was really really tired. “Oh, Jesus … would you two just, just hurry up and sniff each other’s butts or something? Because really - this is getting stupid.” He snapped his fingers. “Chop chop. I’m dying here.” Both vargyrs stopped and faced Rodney. “You had information?” he said to Pavle. “So, let’s see it so I can ride the Vomit Tugboat back home and sleep!”
Zelenka’s mouth hung open and he backed away from Rodney.
John was the first to crack a grin and chuff. He glanced sideways at Pavle and saw the man had his head cocked and looking incredibly amused. He pointed at Rodney. “Is he always this….”
“Lippy?” John supplied. “Yeah.”
“I am so sorry.”
“Eh, you get used to it.”
“Okay, butt sniffing over.” Rodney made a gimme motion. “Share.”
Pavle was chuckling as he pulled a Blackberry out of the inside pocket of his cashmere overcoat and started keying up an image. “We found some tattoos on the vargyr that bit you, Dr. McKay, and they had my people baffled for the longest time.” He turned it around for Rodney. “It took our clan historians awhile to track one of them down.”
Rodney took it out of his hands and looked at the image, and John and Zelenka crowded around to see. It was a wrinkly old man’s torso, and over his heart was an age faded tat about four inches high of a part man, part bear figure that vaguely resembled an old cave painting done in black and ochre. There were other tattoos as well - intricate woven designs along his collar bones, around his biceps, and one dark unidentifiable blob on a forearm that may have been black at one time but were now a diluted indigo, the lines and details blurred with age. There were some pale blue markings around one eye as well, but it was impossible to tell it was actually a tattoo or not. Could be veins for all Rodney could tell. “What exactly am I looking at besides an old man in need of a bath and moisturizer?”
“Clan markings,” John supplied. “The older European clans tend to do that.”
Pavle nodded. “And this most certainly qualifies.”
“I see an Irish mark, a Norse….” John started but was interrupted.
“You know your clans?”
John gave a one shouldered shrug. “Wasn’t my choice.” He lifted his sunglasses and peered closer at the image. “I don’t recognize the man/bear tat.”
“That’s because that clan has been extinct for over seven centuries,” Pavle said. He took his Blackberry back. “Or so we thought.”
“What?” John put his sunglasses back on. “The only extinct clan I know of is Draconis.”
“This one is a subclan of Ursus,” Pavle replied. “Or, if you look at different histories, the progenitor of Ursus. These vargyrs were cave bears.”
“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” Rodney said. “Cave bears?”
“As in Pleistocene, ice age, wooly mammoths, saber tooth cats cave bears?” Zelenka added.
“Yes.”
“Well, that explains why you don’t look like a regular bear,” John said. “Got that blunt muzzle, long front arms, tiny ears….”
Pavle looked genuinely curious. “I would like to see that. But, I digress. This clan was known for its unheard of strength and hired out as mercenaries eager to fight in whatever war they could find. Very aggressive, had reputations as fearsome warriors who wouldn’t stop until pretty much hacked to pieces. They ranged mainly across Northern Europe and Russia, and in some of the information the historians found they were even referred to as god bears. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Berserkers of Norse history were of this clan. Or imitators.”
“Oh, great,” Zelenka muttered and rolled his eyes. “God bear. His ego is bad enough as is.” He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.
“How old was that guy?” Rodney squeaked out, then glared at Zelenka.
Pavle shrugged. “At least seven hundred years. Some vargyr can live over fifteen hundred.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Wererats. Already told us about those.” Rodney crossed his arms and seemed to be hugging himself. He suddenly frowned, but it was more in curiosity than consternation, and glanced up at Pavle. “God bear, huh?”
“Here we go,” Zelenka mumbled and threw his hands up.
Pavle grinned. “Revered for their size and strength, not for any divine powers.”
Rodney’s head waggled sheepishly. “Of course. I figured that much out.”
John chuffed.
Pavle’s grin faded. “You have a very old and powerful spirit within you, Dr. McKay, and you are now the last of the god bears. This is why I could not share this information over the internet.”
John rubbed his mouth. “Other clans would like to have a piece of that,” he said quietly.
Rodney actually got a bit paler than he already was.
“Is this place you work secure?” Pavle asked.
“Very,” all three men replied in unison. “And I will make sure he remains his own … man,” John added.
Pavle stared at John, his amber eyes narrowing, his expression calculating but not hostile. John studied him just as intently back, and the silence that stretched between the two started to get uncomfortable. Rodney and Zelenka both jumped when the wolf prince’s face split into a grin that showed all four fangs. “I believe you.” He held out his hand.
John took it without hesitation. “You know, for a dog, you’re not half bad.”
“And for a Sheppard, you seem surprisingly reasonable.”
John let out a coughing bark of laughter. “Yeah, don’t let the family hear that.”
Rodney found himself grinning rather goofily - this alpha pheromone thing did have its fun moments. Or maybe he was just loopy from the flu. Didn’t matter which, however, just as long as he could still play with the coolest toys on the planet and get the Nobel Prize some day.
“Say, we have quite a few hours to kill before our ride leaves,” John drawled. “How does pizza and beer sound?”
“Nasty,” Rodney muttered.
“Wonderful!” Pavle replied.
“I know great place down by the waterfront,” Zelenka added.
“Then let’s go - I have the ride.” Pavle opened the back door to the limo and gestured everyone in. John and Rodney crawled in first, and as they settled in the leather seats they heard Pavle say, “By the way, Radek - the strangest thing happened when I open your last e-mail….”
Rodney practically choked, then luckily could disguise it with a coughing fit and drowned out the conversation outside the limo. He saw John raise an eyebrow at him - damn him and his vargyr senses anyway - and he waved him off. “Never mind, I’ll, ah, e-mail you later.”
Nearly seven hours later Rodney was the only sober one and was having a helluva time herding Sheppard and Zelenka down the pier to their waiting ride. He was grumpy, and beyond tired, and had to make the chauffeur take him to a drug store to get more Immodium, and his back hurt from sleeping in the back of the limo while the terrible trio decided to hit as many disreputable looking bars as possible between the pizza joint and the Atlantis dock, and if he heard one more chorus of “Girls Girls Girls” - in English and Czech simultaneously - he was seriously going to channel his inner god bear and go berserk on a few asses. They were almost to the boat when Zelenka suddenly made the unmistakable glrk of impending drunken sickness and put a hand to his mouth. Sheppard just calmly grabbed the smaller man by the back of his jacket collar, marched him over to the edge of the pier, and just held him out at quite an extreme angle, one handed, so the man could get sick over the water. Rodney had to turn away and plug his ears because, hello, on the verge of doing the same thing himself, and the sound was not helping.
Then he had a sudden stab of jealousy that Zelenka wasn’t puking on a were-whatever. Sometimes life was so not fair….
~Finis
End Note: And the story that kept getting interrupted is finally DONE! Yay! But I have more in store for our boys. Speaking of which, everybetty was so kind to find this lovely picture of the boys playing in the greenhouse: