The Beatings Will Continue Until Morale Improves, Part 2 by Smitty
Part One
Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005
"What happened in here?" John asked, staring at the disaster area that was Lorne's quarters. The air temperature had to be close to a hundred degrees, an altogether too perky pop tune pulsed in the air, and the place was trashed.
"I'm telling you, sir, that cat's a menace to society."
"It's a cat, Major. A kitten. It fits in my hand." John picked up a battered copy of Stephenson's Cryptonomicon and smoothed his thumb over the shredded cover. "Trade you War and Peace for this when you're done."
"War and Peace sucks, sir."
"Kids these days," John muttered. "No sense of tragedy." He set the book down. "That cat did all this?" he asked, looking at the room. A few clothing items looked ripped and an MRE appeared to have exploded over an entire corner. Water puddled out of the open bathroom door and the bits of cardboard from a carton of Power Bars were everywhere, but mostly everything just looked knocked down or disrupted, not permanently damaged. "All right," he said, leaning against a table and crossing his arms across his chest. "When was the last time you saw it?"
"About 1300, sir," Lorne said, fingering the scratch on his cheek. "I brought back some of that meat from lunch because it didn't seem to like Power Bars much and when I opened the cage, it clawed me. Figured it didn't much like being in there, so I left it open and let the thing run around my quarters."
"Big mistake there," John commented, glancing around.
"Right, sir." Lorne's dry tone reminded him that he, Walker, and Guilday had used regular rope to tie a goat up in an airplane hangar.
"Ok, so it's been three hours. It's not that big. It can't have gotten that far." John straightened up.
"If you say so, sir."
US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, 1988
Lorne had been lurking by the falconry when he heard a familiar voice. The nowhere-in-particular drawl and lazy vowels matched the voice that had spoken to him last night in Bill's stall. It was the best lead he had, so Lorne slipped around the building and saw a tall zoomie with dark hair jogging off up the path. He followed as quietly as he could, but the other guy ducked into the trees and Lorne was left following the trail. It came out at a small airfield and the guy was already there. Staying at the treeline, Lorne watched as two other Air Force cadets came running out of a hangar in flight suits and consulted with the dark-haired guy. Lorne couldn't tell for sure, but he thought maybe the black guy was holding a piece of rope.
They split up a moment later and the dark-haired guy stayed on the tarmac, wandering just inside the hangar, then back out and walked slowly along the edge of the paved area. Lorne hung back, knowing better than to rush him in an open space, in the middle of broad daylight. He held his position for as long as he could, but when the zoomie walked up the ramp of the waiting plane, Lorne broke cover and sprinted across the field.
The metal stairs made noise under his feet, but the zoomie was right inside the door and Lorne went for the same chokehold the big guy had used on him the night before. The zoomie twisted as he swung and they both tumbled to the floor. The running engines masked the sound of their bodies' impact and when Lorne twisted his head, he felt a wave of vertigo hit, or else the trees outside were moving.
"What are you doing?" the zoomie growled, catching Lorne by the elbow and twisting himself free. He rolled back into a crouch and blinked at Lorne, his eyebrows rising. Lorne focused enough to read the nametag on the guy's flight suit -- Sheppard. "You're the squid. The one -- oh, fuck."
"You tied me up and left me in a goat shed! You stole Bill!"
"I also lost Bill, so how about you stop yelling at me and help me find him again, all right?"
"You lost Bill?" Lorne repeated, a little gobsmacked by the guy's -- Sheppard's -- candor.
"Yeah, he chewed through the rope. He do that a lot?"
"I -- I don't know. I've only been doing this for two months."
"Right, plebe." Sheppard shook his head and turned away. "All right. Let's -- crap."
Lorne blinked and started to ask what was wrong, but the problem became immediately obvious.
The plane was lifting off.
Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005
Sheppard had just stepped back into the hallway when his radio clicked.
"Sheppard here," he said, eyes already sketching down the hallway, looking for hiding places large enough to hold a very small cat. He wondered if he should find some meat to attract Quark's attention.
"Colonel, you'll want to come down here." It was Beckett's voice and Sheppard couldn't tell if he was trying not to laugh or trying not to yell. "I think Rodney's missing his pet?"
"I'll be right there," Sheppard said immediately. "Come on," he said to Lorne, clicking his radio off. "Beckett's got Quark."
Unfortunately, Beckett didn't actually have Quark.
"As you can see," Carson said glumly when Sheppard and Lorne arrived, "the place is a bit of a mess."
The main casualty seemed to white cotton gauze. Lots and lots of white cotton gauze.
"Well," John said, trying to look on the bright side, "I was starting to miss snow."
"Aye, that's not all," Carson said with a sigh. He waded through a sea of gauze, overturned boxes and mostly intact syringe packets. John glanced back at Lorne, who shrugged, and picked through the mess after Carson. "I'm afraid Rodney's pet might have done this," Carson said, holding up a masticated Power Bar wrapper.
"I'd say that's a safe bet," John agreed. "Tore up the Major's quarters right good, too."
"You didn't try to feed the things any of these, did you?" Beckett asked, holding up the wrapper.
"Er," said Lorne. "Was I not supposed to?"
"Oh," said Carson. "This is bad."
US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, 1988
"Ok, we need to get into a seat and strap in," John called as the plane nosed up and they both rocked backward. He crawled across the tilting floor and dragged the cargo door closed.
Bill the Goat, who had been nosing the foodpacks near the front of the cargo bay slid back, hooves scrabbling on the metal aisle.
"Bill!" The squid scrambled forward and hooked one arm around the goat's back, bracing his boots against the seat struts.
"Oh, for crying out loud," John muttered under his breath and went to help the kid. He had better traction and managed to hold them both in place as the plane ascended and leveled off. "What's your name?" he asked as he detached himself from pileup on the deck.
"Midshipman Fourth Class Lorne, sir!"
"Right, Lorne, what are you doing at the Academy?"
"Sir?"
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
"Recon Marine, sir!"
Recon Marine. Suddenly this explained a lot.
"Recon Marines are stupid, Lorne. They jump out of perfectly good airplanes for the fun of it, you got me? Do you want to be stupid, Lorne?"
The kid looked torn and it was no wonder -- John had just nailed him in his favorite verbal trap.
Without demanding an answer, John picked himself up and checked the altimeter in the jumpmaster's equipment. Five thousand feet and holding. No passengers, so it must be someone getting their hours in, or an informal lesson. Talking to Lorne had given him an idea.
John paced back to the rear storage area and found four parachutes. He glanced at the ceiling. A static line was already in place from the week's jump training runs.
"Hey," he called to Lorne, who was fawning over his nasty, smelly, caprine mascot. The kid jumped to his feet. "You jumped before?"
"What?"
"Simple question, plebe. Have you ever jumped out of an airplane?"
"I did a couple of tandem jumps in high school, sir."
"Good, we're taking this goat and we're getting off this cruise ship." John threw him one of the backpacks containing a parachute and watched Lorne's eyes widen in panic.
"Sir, isn't there training involved?"
"You think I'm going to push you out of this plane without a lesson? You see this pack? You put it on. You jump out of the plane. You count to ten. You pull the cord."
"I thought you said jumping out of a perfectly good airplane was stupid?"
"I thought you wanted to get your goat to the stadium in time for kickoff."
"Sir, are we even over the stadium?"
"We'll take that up with the pilot, as soon as I'm sure you're going to be able to do this," John said, raising his voice over the noise of the engines. "You punking out on me?"
He watched Lorne's chin set and rise and he felt a flash of pride at the determined look on his face.
"Hell, no, sir."
Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005
"How bad, Doc?" John demanded.
"They're very high in potassium," Carson explained, sitting on an overturned shelving unit and resting his chin in his hands. "Which seems to cause the wassal to shift into its defensive state."
"Defensive state?" John repeated, his voice barely audible.
"Aye. Nothing too drastic that I can tell. Significant adrenaline rush. A bit of psychosis, temporary of course, and its claws come out. I told Rodney not to feed it Power Bars or bananas."
"Ok, nobody told me not to feed it after midnight," Lorne protested. "How was I supposed to know it was a gremlin? I thought all that was -- you know what, never mind."
"Sheppard to Weir," John said, tapping his radio.
"Yes, John?" The woman had 'talent show' lurking in her voice, he was sure she did.
"You need to make a city-wide announcement," he said. "Rodney's cat-thing is on the loose and as it turns out, it could be dangerous."
"Understood, Colonel. Weir out."
"Major," he said in the silence before Weir's announcement, "get on the horn to the Marines. Teams of two, everyone on duty or who hasn't been on a mission in the last six hours. You're with me."
"On it, sir."
"Atlantis, this is Dr. Weir. I've been informed by Colonel Sheppard that we have a situation. Dr. McKay's cat…thing…is loose and may be dangerous. If you see it, please report its location to Colonel Sheppard immediately.
"I don't get it," Lorne said when he finished assigning teams. "It didn't even want the Power Bar when I tried to feed it."
Before Beckett could reply, John's radio clicked again.
"Hold on," he said. "This is Sheppard. Go ahead."
"Colonel, this is Dr. Weir. I think you should get up here."
"On my way. Control room," he said to Lorne, taking off at a run.
The Ancients were nothing if not practical and the nearest transporter was just across from the door of the infirmary. John tapped the location of the control room on the schematic of Atlantis on the wall and when the door opened, they were there.
The control room was in chaos.
"I've got it -- "
"Don't let -- "
"Missed -- "
"Got it -- never mind -- "
"Fast little bugger -- "
"Elizabeth?" John asked, walking up behind her. Lights flashed overhead, coffee dripped from consoles, and no one was in their seats.
"No one can get a hand on it," she said incongruously, leaning over the railing and pointing. "There!"
Campbell, who had taken over for Peter Grodin, dove across a console, causing the overhead lights to flicker and a siren to go off before he tumbled over the edge. John winced in sympathetic pain -- the buttons on those panels had hard edges -- and saw Lorne do the same beside him. He saw a red and gold streak dash away.
Campbell hit the ground with a crash that seemed to signal the end of the chase. People abandoned their pursuit and helped him up.
"Are you all right?" Elizabeth called from the upper level. Campbell flashed her a thumbs up and Elizabeth sighed in both relief and defeat. "Sorry, Colonel," she said, turning to John. "It was running across the consoles and I thought we had it."
"Oh, it'll show up somewhere, soon enough," John said, crossing his arms across his chest.
Just then, the transporter opened and Rodney spilled out onto the catwalk.
"Colonel!" he blurted out. "Elizabeth. Did you find her? Carson said -- "His face fell and he turned slowly to look out over the mess of the control room. "Oh. I guess not."
"Sorry, Rodney," Elizabeth said. "We'll find him."
Rodney looked morose for about half a second, then realized John and Lorne were standing there.
"Rodney," John said quickly, to dispel the tantrum he saw building on Rodney's face.
"You, you, people!" Rodney exploded. "You think you can bully everyone with physical violence. Haven't you learned anything from last night? You should know better than to make war on a people smarter and more technologically advanced than yourselves, seeing as war is oh, your specialty. And -- oh my God. Is that coffee on the Ancient technology?"
"McKay." John steered Rodney away from Lorne. "Look at me. Quark got loose and I've got the whole duty rotation out looking for her. You need to calm down and let my people do their jobs."
Rodney drew himself up and John wasn't sure if there was a yelling fit or a good sulk coming on. Either way, he wasn't waiting around. The rapid clicks in his ear were indicating more Quark sightings. He turned away and walked through the doorway and into the hall where he could cycle through the incoming complaints. Lorne followed him, still in his gym clothes.
"All right, you check out the situation in the mess hall," John told him. "I'm going down to -- "
His radio clicked again and he hit it a little harder than entirely necessary. "What is it?"
"Colonel, this is Lieutenant Cadman. I've got McKay's furball cornered in my quarters."
"We're on our way. Exercise caution," John said quickly, tapping his radio again and taking off at a run. "Cadman," he called back to Lorne. Lorne nodded, tapped his own radio, and started giving orders.
The transporter took them to the living quarters quickly and John let them into Cadman's room without knocking.
There was a thirty degree temperature drop as John walked through the door. He recoiled immediately and winced against the volume of the song echoing in the small suite.
"Geez, Cadman," he said. "I didn't realize you were such a Barry Manilow fan."
"Permission to speak freely, sir," Cadman said dryly, not moving from her attack stance. She had Quark backed into a corner and was threatening it with a squeeze bottle of water. It might have been more threatening if Cadman had been wearing her uniform and not a full set of sweats, fluffy socks, and had a long scarf wrapped twice around her neck. She was one of the Marines excused from Quark-searching because she'd been on a mission a few hours ago.
"Wait a minute," John said, the pieces coming together in his head. "Major Lorne. Your room was blazing hot and you had...what the hell were you playing?"
"It was Mariah Carey, sir," Lorne said immediately. "Part of McKay's psychological warfare."
"It's not just cold water and screwed up environmental controls?" John asked curiously.
"Well, he's gotten really good at the exploding toilets," Lorne said. "But yeah. The lights are on all night, off all day, and he's been pumping music into our quarters 24-7. The AC/DC at 0300 was kinda cool, but when I figure out who brought this crap to another galaxy, they're getting their pencil protector rammed up their -- "
"Thank you, Major," John interrupted. He turned away and tapped his radio. "Beckett? It's Sheppard."
"Colonel! Any luck?"
"We've got it cornered and if I thought you could get near it, I'd be calling for a sedative, but first I have a question."
"All right."
"You said that eating Power Bars would put McKay's...whatever it is...into a...what did you call it? Defensive state."
"Aye."
"Is there anything else that would do the same thing? A smell, a sound..."
"Aye. Their ears are fairly sensitive. I would think that if they have predators, it wouldnae be a potassium that alerted them but possibly a high frequency -- and by high, I don't mean even as high as a dog whistle -- "
"Right, so say music pitched toward the high end of the human voice range?" John said, giving Lorne a significant glance.
"Aye, that's possible," Beckett answered.
"That's outstanding," Lorne said, eavesdropping. "Mariah Carey's voice drives small animals to violence. I can't wait to write home."
"Thanks, Doc," John said, tapping his radio off. "Ok, so we know what set Quark off," he said. "And then she got into the Power Bars in your room...which she wouldn't touch before...."
"And not just small animals," Cadman announced, jabbing the water bottle warningly at Quark, who was hissing and snarling in the corner. Sir, is there a...cure for this 'roid rage, you think?"
John tapped his radio again. "Sheppard to McKay. McKay. McKay." No answer. "Fine. Sheppard to Zelenka."
"Yes, Colonel? This is Dr. Zelenka."
"Zelenka. Where's McKay?"
"That I do not know. He went up to the control room to find his Quark and I have not seen him since."
"Ok, fine, whatever. Look, the music you guys are piping into the Marines rooms is what's driving Quark crazy. Think you could turn it off?"
"I would have no objection if it meant seeing our little friend again," Zelenka said, sounding happier. "But Dr. McKay has controlled all functions to a remote that he carries on his person. You will need to contact him."
John rolled his eyes. "Ok. Thanks, Zelenka." He keyed off his radio. "I'm going to find McKay," he said. "Lorne, give Cadman some...backup, there." He eyed the water bottle. "And give Beckett a call and see if he has any suggestions."
He left as quickly as he could, glad to feel the warm air after the chill of Cadman's quarters. He was surprised that no one had come complaining to him and wondered if that meant his troops were plotting revenge.
Rodney was just leaving his quarters when John turned the corner.
"McKay!" he called, breaking into a jog.
"Have you found Quark, yet, Colonel?" Rodney asked, turning around. "Or are you too busy playing with brainless testosterone gang to even look?"
"Give me the remote, McKay," John ordered, too tired of chasing after the cat-thing to deal with Rodney's attitude.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Rodney sniffed.
"The remote," John snapped. He reached out and pushed on Rodney's shoulder, turning him face-first against the wall.
"Wait, what are you doing?" Rodney asked as John kicked his ankles apart and set a knee against the inside of Rodney's thigh. "Is this some sort of depraved military prison sex?"
"Where is it, McKay?" John growled, starting with Rodney's waist and running both hands over his torso and along the underside of both arms, then the tops, from the shoulders down.
"You don't know where it is?" Rodney asked, skeptical and sarcastic all at once. "Let me give you a clue -- think down, not up."
John was way ahead of him, running both hands lightly up the inside of Rodney's legs, pressing lightly against the material of his pants.
"Colonel, for crying out loud -- " Rodney swallowed the end of his sentence.
John has been sweeping up the inside of Rodney's leg when the back of his wrist found exactly what Rodney had accused him of losing.
As usual, Rodney protested too much and for a reason lightyears away from the one he gave.
John straightened slowly, leaving his hand where it was, and pushing his body gently against Rodney's. Rodney gave a slight, hitching breath that told John exactly what he thought of depraved military prison sex. "Rodney," John breathed, moving slowly against him.
"Oh," Rodney said, sounding half-surprised and half-aroused.
John hit the mechanism on the wall and the door to Rodney's room opened. John got them both inside and Rodney against the wall as he thought, Close, close, close and lock to the door. He pressed his mouth against the back of Rodney's neck and shifted his hips forward, pressing the entire length of his body against Rodney's.
"Condoms and um, lube in the -- in the desk," Rodney sputtered as John rocked gently against him.
"You brought condoms and lube here from Earth?" John asked against Rodney's shoulder.
"Well, in hopes that you might have caught a clue before someone set up a Walgreens in the Pegasus galaxy," Rodney mumbled, pushing back against him. "Call me an optimist."
"All right, hold on," John said, setting his hands on Rodney's hips and lingered with his eyes closed. Frottage hadn't been so enticing since his school days. "I'm gonna -- "
His radio clicked.
"No, no, don't answer it," Rodney said, although John didn't think he was really close enough to hear it. "They can live without you for an hour. Look, here, here's the remote. We'll put it back." He fumbled something out of his hip pocket and started punching buttons. "See, see? Music off, environmental controls back on line -- "
"Sheppard here," John growled. His good humor was completely gone.
"Colonel," Lorne said tiredly, "she's on the loose again."
US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, 1988
John snagged a radio headset from the bulkhead and pulled it onto his head. He raised his eyebrows at Lorne and flashed him a thumbs up before toggling the intercom.
"This Cadet First Class John Sheppard," he said crisply. "I'm in the cargo bay -- "
"Sheppard?"
John froze and winced at the intercom. He knew that voice.
"This is Captain Davis. What the hell are you doing in my cargo bay?"
"Sir, I -- " He took his thumb off the button for a second and chewed on his lower lip. "I reconned the Navy goat, sir."
"What? That was you?" John's AOC sounded pissed enough to shit bricks. "Sheppard -- "
"Sir, I had intended to have it back on the field with, uh..." He thought of the bag tucked into his flight suit. "...appropriate spirit attire. But it got away from me, sir. I found it in your plane just as you were taking off."
"You did that?" Captain Davis's tone was disbelieving. "Brass ones, Sheppard. Speaking of brass, the 'Dant isn't so pleased about you tying up a plebe for four hours."
"I know, sir," John called into the radio. "He's not too thrilled about it either. I've got him back here, too."
"You've got -- you mean you're both AWOL from the game?"
"Yes, sir. But I've got a plan."
Silence, during which John and Lorne exchanged dubious glances and then, "This better be good, Sheppard."
"Yes, sir. I think you'll like it." John took a deep breath. "We want to jump, sir. There are chutes back here. You fly over the stadium and Bill, Fourth Class Lorne and I will parachute into the stadium."
"Sheppard, that's the worst idea ever."
"Sir, I've done the calculations. I'll run a static line for the goat. Lorne and I jump after it, deploy at five thousand feet when Bill deploys at seven and we'll be on the field in plenty of time to handle his landing."
"Sheppard -- "
"I've got my jump quals, sir, and Lorne here has a few jumps under his belt." Lorne widened his eyes at John. John ignored him.
"You really think you can pull this off, Sheppard?" Davis barked. "Because one bad call, one broken bone -- "
"It'll be the best Beat Navy ever, sir," John said.
This time the silence was long and ended with a sigh of capitulation. "All right, Sheppard. Give me your numbers."
Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005
"Wait!" Rodney called as John walked out the door.
"I don't have time for this, McKay," John sighed, turning in the doorway and bracing one hand on the frame.
"Yes, you do. Look." Rodney picked up something from his desk, shoved a control crystal into it and tossed it to Sheppard.
It was a life signs detector and it glowed in John's hand to show the white spots that were himself and Rodney and then a yellow spot racing down a parallel hallway.
"See, there she is," Rodney said, leaning over the detector and pointing at the yellow spot. "I rigged the -- "
"Save it for later, McKay," John said, turning and walking swiftly to intercept the yellow dot.
"Wait, what are you going to use to subdue her? Because I have an idea."
"Then talk fast."
"Ok, Quark got all upset by the music, right? So if we play some nice, soothing, calming music, then maybe -- "
"It'll soothe the savage beast?"
"Long enough for Beckett to stick one of his needles in her."
"Has promise. Pull up something pretty on that iPod of yours."
John turned the corner and saw Quark racing down the hallway, straight toward him. Lorne and Cadman were hot on his tail.
"Whoa, ok, McKay, get a move on!" John feinted to the right and then dove left to scoop up Quark in his bare hands. He suffered for it, sharp little cat claws tearing as his palms and the back of his hands as Quark escaped and scrambled up his chest. He grabbed for her again and struggled as Lorne and Cadman shouted and Rodney muttered and punched buttons and then the hallway was filled with music and Quark paused on his shoulder.
John plucked her off and held her up. She was still panting and snarling a little, but mostly she looked confused and a bit put out about having nothing to scratch.
Beckett stepped out of the transporter. "Ah, I see our wee patient is ready for her medicine," he said cheerfully, stepping up and sliding the needle easily into Quark's flank. "That should do her."
It took her three seconds to go limp.
"I hope you didn't OD her with your imprecise witchcraft," Rodney snapped, taking her from John's hands and cuddling her against his chest.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Beckett said, rolling his eyes. "To the infirmary with her, now, Rodney. You, too, Colonel. Let me clean those scratches."
"Fine, fine," John said, flexing his hand. "Lorne, Cadman, go do your thing. Call off the search parties."
Lorne nodded and moved off to complete his duties.
John cocked his head and listened to what Rodney was piping into the halls. "Rodney," he said warningly. "Is this what I think it is?"
"If you didn't want me using the most boring music ever written," Rodney said matter-of-factly, "then you never should have given me the password to your mp3 folder."
John stepped into the transporter after Rodney and reminded himself that he was never going to get to use the lube and condoms in Rodney's desk drawer if he killed Rodney for calling Johnny Cash boring.
Falcon Stadium, Colorado Springs, 1988
John checked his own chute, Lorne's, and Bill's. He would have preferred to pack his own but this was something he'd have to get used to in the 'real' Air Force. He buckled himself into a pack and watched carefully as Lorne got into his own.
"Sheppard?" Davis's voice came from the radio in the bulkhead. "I'm in a holding pattern over the stadium. You have two minutes to kickoff."
John thumbed the transmission button on his headset. "Thank you, sir. We're prepping the goat." John left the radio and reached into the bag Nate had packed earlier. He pulled out the blanket they'd decorated and tossed it over Bill's back.
"Aw, c'mon," Lorne said. "You're not gonna -- "
" It's my firstie year and we will never again have a use for this masterpiece,' " John said. "I am absolutely getting restriction out of this, so I might as well make the whole thing worth it."
Lorne quieted and handed John the third chute.
"All right," John murmured, holding the thing against his chest. "How are we going to do this?"
He sat the pack on Bill's back and started wrapping one of the straps around Bill's stomach, to pin the blanket down. The goat turned its head, glared at him, and proceeded to dump the pack on the ground.
"Ok, you're going to have to hold him," John said to Lorne.
"What?"
"We've got two minutes to get down there," John reminded him. "And he's not just going to hold still and let me put this thing on him.
"He's not going to like this," Lorne said, putting the goat in some sort of modified headlock and bracing himself.
"He doesn't have to like it," John grunted, resituating the blanket and then the pack. He pressed the pack down with his chest, leaning awkwardly around the goat and Lorne to buckle the straps. "He's a goat." And after a pause, added, "We never speak of this again, got it?"
"Yes, sir," Lorne agreed through clenched teeth.
"Ok, ok, I almost got it. One more sec. Ok." John rolled off to the side, glaring at the goat. "I smell like goat."
"I do, too, sir."
"Ok." John rolled to his feet and rigged the static line to Bill's backpack. "Captain Davis, sir? We're ready to open the door."
The light over the door flashed twice and the sound of the catch releasing was audible. John heaved the door open while Lorne held onto Bill and the wind rushed into the Twin Otter. John shielded himself with the door as best he could, but he was pretty sure there was no hope for his hair.
He looked down at the field and the stands and the thousands of people below them and then looked back at Lorne.
"You ready to do this, kid?"
"Sir, yes, sir!"
Lorne was fucking terrified. John sighed to himself and tried to pretend he hadn't noticed.
"All right, bring up Bill."
Bill planted his hooves and sat down.
"Now, Lorne, get him here now!" John checked over his shoulder. They had seconds to get Bill in position and out the door if he was going to land on the field and not in the stands. John started counting to himself.
Lorne, to his credit, didn't hesitate. He put his shoulder against the goat's back and shoved it across the deck of the DHC-6.
John joined him behind the goat and together they heaved Bill out of the plane and watched until the static line pulled taut and Bill's parachute deployed. Lorne relaxed visibly.
John was still counting desperately in his head, waiting for Captain Davis to circle around and put them back in range. Twenty-eight, twenty-seven --
"Hey, Lorne," he yelled over the wind. "Nice job." He stuck out his hand. "My name's John. I owe you a drink after all this." Seventeen. Sixteen. Fifteen.
Lorne was a little slow on the uptake. Then a bright smile appeared on his face. "Thank you!" he replied earnestly. Nine. Eight. Seven. "My name is -- "
John shoved him out the door. Fucking shame about the timing. He'd have to get Lorne's first name later. He marched off the airplane and found himself in freefall. John Sheppard saw no point in jumping out of perfectly good airplanes, but he saw a point in jumping out of faulty ones and he saw the point in practicing, should his perfectly good airplane not stay that way.
And, ok, maybe the freefall was sort of fun.
He fell past an already floating Bill, counted to five, and pulled his ripcord. The shoulder harness jerked him up and back -- well, it felt up and back -- as the parachute deployed and then he was just floating, sinking slowly in the bright autumn sky. A quick glance down told him that he was definitely over Falcon Stadium, even over the field, and it wouldn't take much in the way of adjustment to put him right where he needed to be.
He hoped Bill was that lucky. He hoped his math was that good.
John twisted around and was relieved to see Lorne descending with him, maybe fifty yards away, looking as if he'd just swallowed the worst Beat Air Force -- John assumed Navy would drink the reverse -- ever. One with the juice from the turkey pastrami pan, and no, John didn't privately want to hurl every time those sandwiches appeared on the lunch menu, thank you very much.
A few seconds later, John realized that everyone -- and by everyone, he meant the entire Cadet Wing, a handful of midshipmen, an ungodly number of parents, officers, enlisted folk, and a number of the residents of Colorado Springs -- was watching them descend. He wondered if Captain Davis had managed to radio ahead or if there were some untold number of Marine sniper scopes pointed at his head. He used his steering lines and toggles to adjust his descent slightly and saw Lorne fumbling to angle himself somewhere around the twenty yard line. John hit near Air Force's forty, jogged forward a few steps, and shrugged off his pack, as his chute hit the astroturf. The defensive line had parted for him and for that, he was grateful, but he had more important things to do than knock helmets.
Bill was coming down in a controlled drift, just about over the fifty, where John had sent him. Even as he waited with Lorne, who had sprinted forty yards to get there, for Bill to get within catching range, John felt pretty pleased with his aim.
Goats were heavier than they looked and being taller, John suffered the brunt of Bill's return to earth. He wrestled him down as gently as possible and immediately started unbuckling the straps. There was movement everywhere, football players and the 'Dant and who knew who else running at them, but on the sideline, John saw a familiar sight and smiled.
Nate and Dan were running for him, wooden cart in tow. He made short work of Bill's parachute and dumped the whole mess in Lorne's arms. Dan manhandled Bill onto the cart and he and Nate took off, leaving John to get yelled at and laugh just as loud as everyone else as they circled the field with Bill.
Bill, of course, looked dashing in his new blanket, which bore the seal of the Air Force Academy on one side.
The other side proclaimed, "Air Force Flies! Navy Dies!"
Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005
Quark came out of her sedative-induced sleep just as sweet and adorable as she'd been before her capture. Rodney fawned over her and fed her from his own tray as John poked a spoon in his jello and watched. Then they went to Rodney's room, waited for Quark to fall asleep -- so not to traumatize her -- and got experimental with Rodney's stash of lube and condoms. John decided not to ruin the afterglow by asking about Rodney's piano skills.
US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, 1988
John ignored a half dozen regulations and bought Lorne that drink. After that, he delivered Lorne to Bill Mulveny and Brad Connolly for that real meal in Colorado Springs and delivered himself to Nate. Nate stopped laughing at him long enough to give him not just the promised blow job, but also a nice, slow, finger-fucking. John made certain to enjoy every second because the special disciplinary board the Commandant convened Monday morning gave him three months of restriction and enough tours to keep him on campus until spring break.
Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005
"So how did you wind up in the Air Force?" Sheppard asked Lorne as they walked down a blessedly quiet hallway.
Lorne shrugged. "Some crazy zoomie spooned me and then kicked me out an airplane door. It was such a rush, I did the exchange cadet program second class year, decided I liked the Air Force better than the Marines, and cross-commissioned."
"Go figure," Sheppard said, only a little bit smug, really. "Well, Major, we're glad to have you."
"Thank you, sir." Lorne paused at his door. "If you don't mind, I think I'll grab that shower now."
"Good plan. And good job today." John had gone another twenty feet down the hall when he heard Lorne call to him.
"Colonel!"
"Yeah?" he asked, pivoting lazily on one foot.
"The score of the 1988 Air Force - Navy game was 34 to 24, sir," Lorne said. "Air Force."
John nodded. "Thank you." He smiled. "I haven't forgotten."
He headed down the hall and walked into his own room, only to find Elizabeth sitting at his desk with a thick file folder on her lap.
"Fancy meeting you here," he drawled, tilting his head to read the white label on the folder.
"You know what this is, Colonel?"
"Looks like my service jacket," he mumbled out of the corner of his mouth.
"Mm," Elizabeth agreed. "And I've read it. I've read the whole thing."
"And now you want to borrow War and Peace?" he asked hopefully.
"No. I just wanted to let you know that the reason for that last major infraction at the Academy isn't a complete secret." She raised her eyebrows. "You might want to be careful who gets ahold of that information. Particularly if it's someone you're going to be spending a lot of time with. I believe you have a talent show to plan?"
"What? Elizabeth!" John gestured wildly at the door and all that lay beyond. "The Marines are thrilled! McKay drove his own cat feral! This is the best thing that's happened for them all year!" Elizabeth smiled sweetly at him when he paused to take a breath. "And it hasn't been a week, yet."
"I'm exercising my authority," Elizabeth told him. "Good luck, and have fun." She stood up serenely and walked out of his door.
John threw himself on his bed, unhooked his radio from his ear and covered his eyes with his arm. Some days it just didn't pay to get out of bed in the morning.
The End
Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005
"What happened in here?" John asked, staring at the disaster area that was Lorne's quarters. The air temperature had to be close to a hundred degrees, an altogether too perky pop tune pulsed in the air, and the place was trashed.
"I'm telling you, sir, that cat's a menace to society."
"It's a cat, Major. A kitten. It fits in my hand." John picked up a battered copy of Stephenson's Cryptonomicon and smoothed his thumb over the shredded cover. "Trade you War and Peace for this when you're done."
"War and Peace sucks, sir."
"Kids these days," John muttered. "No sense of tragedy." He set the book down. "That cat did all this?" he asked, looking at the room. A few clothing items looked ripped and an MRE appeared to have exploded over an entire corner. Water puddled out of the open bathroom door and the bits of cardboard from a carton of Power Bars were everywhere, but mostly everything just looked knocked down or disrupted, not permanently damaged. "All right," he said, leaning against a table and crossing his arms across his chest. "When was the last time you saw it?"
"About 1300, sir," Lorne said, fingering the scratch on his cheek. "I brought back some of that meat from lunch because it didn't seem to like Power Bars much and when I opened the cage, it clawed me. Figured it didn't much like being in there, so I left it open and let the thing run around my quarters."
"Big mistake there," John commented, glancing around.
"Right, sir." Lorne's dry tone reminded him that he, Walker, and Guilday had used regular rope to tie a goat up in an airplane hangar.
"Ok, so it's been three hours. It's not that big. It can't have gotten that far." John straightened up.
"If you say so, sir."
US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, 1988
Lorne had been lurking by the falconry when he heard a familiar voice. The nowhere-in-particular drawl and lazy vowels matched the voice that had spoken to him last night in Bill's stall. It was the best lead he had, so Lorne slipped around the building and saw a tall zoomie with dark hair jogging off up the path. He followed as quietly as he could, but the other guy ducked into the trees and Lorne was left following the trail. It came out at a small airfield and the guy was already there. Staying at the treeline, Lorne watched as two other Air Force cadets came running out of a hangar in flight suits and consulted with the dark-haired guy. Lorne couldn't tell for sure, but he thought maybe the black guy was holding a piece of rope.
They split up a moment later and the dark-haired guy stayed on the tarmac, wandering just inside the hangar, then back out and walked slowly along the edge of the paved area. Lorne hung back, knowing better than to rush him in an open space, in the middle of broad daylight. He held his position for as long as he could, but when the zoomie walked up the ramp of the waiting plane, Lorne broke cover and sprinted across the field.
The metal stairs made noise under his feet, but the zoomie was right inside the door and Lorne went for the same chokehold the big guy had used on him the night before. The zoomie twisted as he swung and they both tumbled to the floor. The running engines masked the sound of their bodies' impact and when Lorne twisted his head, he felt a wave of vertigo hit, or else the trees outside were moving.
"What are you doing?" the zoomie growled, catching Lorne by the elbow and twisting himself free. He rolled back into a crouch and blinked at Lorne, his eyebrows rising. Lorne focused enough to read the nametag on the guy's flight suit -- Sheppard. "You're the squid. The one -- oh, fuck."
"You tied me up and left me in a goat shed! You stole Bill!"
"I also lost Bill, so how about you stop yelling at me and help me find him again, all right?"
"You lost Bill?" Lorne repeated, a little gobsmacked by the guy's -- Sheppard's -- candor.
"Yeah, he chewed through the rope. He do that a lot?"
"I -- I don't know. I've only been doing this for two months."
"Right, plebe." Sheppard shook his head and turned away. "All right. Let's -- crap."
Lorne blinked and started to ask what was wrong, but the problem became immediately obvious.
The plane was lifting off.
Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005
Sheppard had just stepped back into the hallway when his radio clicked.
"Sheppard here," he said, eyes already sketching down the hallway, looking for hiding places large enough to hold a very small cat. He wondered if he should find some meat to attract Quark's attention.
"Colonel, you'll want to come down here." It was Beckett's voice and Sheppard couldn't tell if he was trying not to laugh or trying not to yell. "I think Rodney's missing his pet?"
"I'll be right there," Sheppard said immediately. "Come on," he said to Lorne, clicking his radio off. "Beckett's got Quark."
Unfortunately, Beckett didn't actually have Quark.
"As you can see," Carson said glumly when Sheppard and Lorne arrived, "the place is a bit of a mess."
The main casualty seemed to white cotton gauze. Lots and lots of white cotton gauze.
"Well," John said, trying to look on the bright side, "I was starting to miss snow."
"Aye, that's not all," Carson said with a sigh. He waded through a sea of gauze, overturned boxes and mostly intact syringe packets. John glanced back at Lorne, who shrugged, and picked through the mess after Carson. "I'm afraid Rodney's pet might have done this," Carson said, holding up a masticated Power Bar wrapper.
"I'd say that's a safe bet," John agreed. "Tore up the Major's quarters right good, too."
"You didn't try to feed the things any of these, did you?" Beckett asked, holding up the wrapper.
"Er," said Lorne. "Was I not supposed to?"
"Oh," said Carson. "This is bad."
US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, 1988
"Ok, we need to get into a seat and strap in," John called as the plane nosed up and they both rocked backward. He crawled across the tilting floor and dragged the cargo door closed.
Bill the Goat, who had been nosing the foodpacks near the front of the cargo bay slid back, hooves scrabbling on the metal aisle.
"Bill!" The squid scrambled forward and hooked one arm around the goat's back, bracing his boots against the seat struts.
"Oh, for crying out loud," John muttered under his breath and went to help the kid. He had better traction and managed to hold them both in place as the plane ascended and leveled off. "What's your name?" he asked as he detached himself from pileup on the deck.
"Midshipman Fourth Class Lorne, sir!"
"Right, Lorne, what are you doing at the Academy?"
"Sir?"
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
"Recon Marine, sir!"
Recon Marine. Suddenly this explained a lot.
"Recon Marines are stupid, Lorne. They jump out of perfectly good airplanes for the fun of it, you got me? Do you want to be stupid, Lorne?"
The kid looked torn and it was no wonder -- John had just nailed him in his favorite verbal trap.
Without demanding an answer, John picked himself up and checked the altimeter in the jumpmaster's equipment. Five thousand feet and holding. No passengers, so it must be someone getting their hours in, or an informal lesson. Talking to Lorne had given him an idea.
John paced back to the rear storage area and found four parachutes. He glanced at the ceiling. A static line was already in place from the week's jump training runs.
"Hey," he called to Lorne, who was fawning over his nasty, smelly, caprine mascot. The kid jumped to his feet. "You jumped before?"
"What?"
"Simple question, plebe. Have you ever jumped out of an airplane?"
"I did a couple of tandem jumps in high school, sir."
"Good, we're taking this goat and we're getting off this cruise ship." John threw him one of the backpacks containing a parachute and watched Lorne's eyes widen in panic.
"Sir, isn't there training involved?"
"You think I'm going to push you out of this plane without a lesson? You see this pack? You put it on. You jump out of the plane. You count to ten. You pull the cord."
"I thought you said jumping out of a perfectly good airplane was stupid?"
"I thought you wanted to get your goat to the stadium in time for kickoff."
"Sir, are we even over the stadium?"
"We'll take that up with the pilot, as soon as I'm sure you're going to be able to do this," John said, raising his voice over the noise of the engines. "You punking out on me?"
He watched Lorne's chin set and rise and he felt a flash of pride at the determined look on his face.
"Hell, no, sir."
Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005
"How bad, Doc?" John demanded.
"They're very high in potassium," Carson explained, sitting on an overturned shelving unit and resting his chin in his hands. "Which seems to cause the wassal to shift into its defensive state."
"Defensive state?" John repeated, his voice barely audible.
"Aye. Nothing too drastic that I can tell. Significant adrenaline rush. A bit of psychosis, temporary of course, and its claws come out. I told Rodney not to feed it Power Bars or bananas."
"Ok, nobody told me not to feed it after midnight," Lorne protested. "How was I supposed to know it was a gremlin? I thought all that was -- you know what, never mind."
"Sheppard to Weir," John said, tapping his radio.
"Yes, John?" The woman had 'talent show' lurking in her voice, he was sure she did.
"You need to make a city-wide announcement," he said. "Rodney's cat-thing is on the loose and as it turns out, it could be dangerous."
"Understood, Colonel. Weir out."
"Major," he said in the silence before Weir's announcement, "get on the horn to the Marines. Teams of two, everyone on duty or who hasn't been on a mission in the last six hours. You're with me."
"On it, sir."
"Atlantis, this is Dr. Weir. I've been informed by Colonel Sheppard that we have a situation. Dr. McKay's cat…thing…is loose and may be dangerous. If you see it, please report its location to Colonel Sheppard immediately.
"I don't get it," Lorne said when he finished assigning teams. "It didn't even want the Power Bar when I tried to feed it."
Before Beckett could reply, John's radio clicked again.
"Hold on," he said. "This is Sheppard. Go ahead."
"Colonel, this is Dr. Weir. I think you should get up here."
"On my way. Control room," he said to Lorne, taking off at a run.
The Ancients were nothing if not practical and the nearest transporter was just across from the door of the infirmary. John tapped the location of the control room on the schematic of Atlantis on the wall and when the door opened, they were there.
The control room was in chaos.
"I've got it -- "
"Don't let -- "
"Missed -- "
"Got it -- never mind -- "
"Fast little bugger -- "
"Elizabeth?" John asked, walking up behind her. Lights flashed overhead, coffee dripped from consoles, and no one was in their seats.
"No one can get a hand on it," she said incongruously, leaning over the railing and pointing. "There!"
Campbell, who had taken over for Peter Grodin, dove across a console, causing the overhead lights to flicker and a siren to go off before he tumbled over the edge. John winced in sympathetic pain -- the buttons on those panels had hard edges -- and saw Lorne do the same beside him. He saw a red and gold streak dash away.
Campbell hit the ground with a crash that seemed to signal the end of the chase. People abandoned their pursuit and helped him up.
"Are you all right?" Elizabeth called from the upper level. Campbell flashed her a thumbs up and Elizabeth sighed in both relief and defeat. "Sorry, Colonel," she said, turning to John. "It was running across the consoles and I thought we had it."
"Oh, it'll show up somewhere, soon enough," John said, crossing his arms across his chest.
Just then, the transporter opened and Rodney spilled out onto the catwalk.
"Colonel!" he blurted out. "Elizabeth. Did you find her? Carson said -- "His face fell and he turned slowly to look out over the mess of the control room. "Oh. I guess not."
"Sorry, Rodney," Elizabeth said. "We'll find him."
Rodney looked morose for about half a second, then realized John and Lorne were standing there.
"Rodney," John said quickly, to dispel the tantrum he saw building on Rodney's face.
"You, you, people!" Rodney exploded. "You think you can bully everyone with physical violence. Haven't you learned anything from last night? You should know better than to make war on a people smarter and more technologically advanced than yourselves, seeing as war is oh, your specialty. And -- oh my God. Is that coffee on the Ancient technology?"
"McKay." John steered Rodney away from Lorne. "Look at me. Quark got loose and I've got the whole duty rotation out looking for her. You need to calm down and let my people do their jobs."
Rodney drew himself up and John wasn't sure if there was a yelling fit or a good sulk coming on. Either way, he wasn't waiting around. The rapid clicks in his ear were indicating more Quark sightings. He turned away and walked through the doorway and into the hall where he could cycle through the incoming complaints. Lorne followed him, still in his gym clothes.
"All right, you check out the situation in the mess hall," John told him. "I'm going down to -- "
His radio clicked again and he hit it a little harder than entirely necessary. "What is it?"
"Colonel, this is Lieutenant Cadman. I've got McKay's furball cornered in my quarters."
"We're on our way. Exercise caution," John said quickly, tapping his radio again and taking off at a run. "Cadman," he called back to Lorne. Lorne nodded, tapped his own radio, and started giving orders.
The transporter took them to the living quarters quickly and John let them into Cadman's room without knocking.
There was a thirty degree temperature drop as John walked through the door. He recoiled immediately and winced against the volume of the song echoing in the small suite.
"Geez, Cadman," he said. "I didn't realize you were such a Barry Manilow fan."
"Permission to speak freely, sir," Cadman said dryly, not moving from her attack stance. She had Quark backed into a corner and was threatening it with a squeeze bottle of water. It might have been more threatening if Cadman had been wearing her uniform and not a full set of sweats, fluffy socks, and had a long scarf wrapped twice around her neck. She was one of the Marines excused from Quark-searching because she'd been on a mission a few hours ago.
"Wait a minute," John said, the pieces coming together in his head. "Major Lorne. Your room was blazing hot and you had...what the hell were you playing?"
"It was Mariah Carey, sir," Lorne said immediately. "Part of McKay's psychological warfare."
"It's not just cold water and screwed up environmental controls?" John asked curiously.
"Well, he's gotten really good at the exploding toilets," Lorne said. "But yeah. The lights are on all night, off all day, and he's been pumping music into our quarters 24-7. The AC/DC at 0300 was kinda cool, but when I figure out who brought this crap to another galaxy, they're getting their pencil protector rammed up their -- "
"Thank you, Major," John interrupted. He turned away and tapped his radio. "Beckett? It's Sheppard."
"Colonel! Any luck?"
"We've got it cornered and if I thought you could get near it, I'd be calling for a sedative, but first I have a question."
"All right."
"You said that eating Power Bars would put McKay's...whatever it is...into a...what did you call it? Defensive state."
"Aye."
"Is there anything else that would do the same thing? A smell, a sound..."
"Aye. Their ears are fairly sensitive. I would think that if they have predators, it wouldnae be a potassium that alerted them but possibly a high frequency -- and by high, I don't mean even as high as a dog whistle -- "
"Right, so say music pitched toward the high end of the human voice range?" John said, giving Lorne a significant glance.
"Aye, that's possible," Beckett answered.
"That's outstanding," Lorne said, eavesdropping. "Mariah Carey's voice drives small animals to violence. I can't wait to write home."
"Thanks, Doc," John said, tapping his radio off. "Ok, so we know what set Quark off," he said. "And then she got into the Power Bars in your room...which she wouldn't touch before...."
"And not just small animals," Cadman announced, jabbing the water bottle warningly at Quark, who was hissing and snarling in the corner. Sir, is there a...cure for this 'roid rage, you think?"
John tapped his radio again. "Sheppard to McKay. McKay. McKay." No answer. "Fine. Sheppard to Zelenka."
"Yes, Colonel? This is Dr. Zelenka."
"Zelenka. Where's McKay?"
"That I do not know. He went up to the control room to find his Quark and I have not seen him since."
"Ok, fine, whatever. Look, the music you guys are piping into the Marines rooms is what's driving Quark crazy. Think you could turn it off?"
"I would have no objection if it meant seeing our little friend again," Zelenka said, sounding happier. "But Dr. McKay has controlled all functions to a remote that he carries on his person. You will need to contact him."
John rolled his eyes. "Ok. Thanks, Zelenka." He keyed off his radio. "I'm going to find McKay," he said. "Lorne, give Cadman some...backup, there." He eyed the water bottle. "And give Beckett a call and see if he has any suggestions."
He left as quickly as he could, glad to feel the warm air after the chill of Cadman's quarters. He was surprised that no one had come complaining to him and wondered if that meant his troops were plotting revenge.
Rodney was just leaving his quarters when John turned the corner.
"McKay!" he called, breaking into a jog.
"Have you found Quark, yet, Colonel?" Rodney asked, turning around. "Or are you too busy playing with brainless testosterone gang to even look?"
"Give me the remote, McKay," John ordered, too tired of chasing after the cat-thing to deal with Rodney's attitude.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Rodney sniffed.
"The remote," John snapped. He reached out and pushed on Rodney's shoulder, turning him face-first against the wall.
"Wait, what are you doing?" Rodney asked as John kicked his ankles apart and set a knee against the inside of Rodney's thigh. "Is this some sort of depraved military prison sex?"
"Where is it, McKay?" John growled, starting with Rodney's waist and running both hands over his torso and along the underside of both arms, then the tops, from the shoulders down.
"You don't know where it is?" Rodney asked, skeptical and sarcastic all at once. "Let me give you a clue -- think down, not up."
John was way ahead of him, running both hands lightly up the inside of Rodney's legs, pressing lightly against the material of his pants.
"Colonel, for crying out loud -- " Rodney swallowed the end of his sentence.
John has been sweeping up the inside of Rodney's leg when the back of his wrist found exactly what Rodney had accused him of losing.
As usual, Rodney protested too much and for a reason lightyears away from the one he gave.
John straightened slowly, leaving his hand where it was, and pushing his body gently against Rodney's. Rodney gave a slight, hitching breath that told John exactly what he thought of depraved military prison sex. "Rodney," John breathed, moving slowly against him.
"Oh," Rodney said, sounding half-surprised and half-aroused.
John hit the mechanism on the wall and the door to Rodney's room opened. John got them both inside and Rodney against the wall as he thought, Close, close, close and lock to the door. He pressed his mouth against the back of Rodney's neck and shifted his hips forward, pressing the entire length of his body against Rodney's.
"Condoms and um, lube in the -- in the desk," Rodney sputtered as John rocked gently against him.
"You brought condoms and lube here from Earth?" John asked against Rodney's shoulder.
"Well, in hopes that you might have caught a clue before someone set up a Walgreens in the Pegasus galaxy," Rodney mumbled, pushing back against him. "Call me an optimist."
"All right, hold on," John said, setting his hands on Rodney's hips and lingered with his eyes closed. Frottage hadn't been so enticing since his school days. "I'm gonna -- "
His radio clicked.
"No, no, don't answer it," Rodney said, although John didn't think he was really close enough to hear it. "They can live without you for an hour. Look, here, here's the remote. We'll put it back." He fumbled something out of his hip pocket and started punching buttons. "See, see? Music off, environmental controls back on line -- "
"Sheppard here," John growled. His good humor was completely gone.
"Colonel," Lorne said tiredly, "she's on the loose again."
US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, 1988
John snagged a radio headset from the bulkhead and pulled it onto his head. He raised his eyebrows at Lorne and flashed him a thumbs up before toggling the intercom.
"This Cadet First Class John Sheppard," he said crisply. "I'm in the cargo bay -- "
"Sheppard?"
John froze and winced at the intercom. He knew that voice.
"This is Captain Davis. What the hell are you doing in my cargo bay?"
"Sir, I -- " He took his thumb off the button for a second and chewed on his lower lip. "I reconned the Navy goat, sir."
"What? That was you?" John's AOC sounded pissed enough to shit bricks. "Sheppard -- "
"Sir, I had intended to have it back on the field with, uh..." He thought of the bag tucked into his flight suit. "...appropriate spirit attire. But it got away from me, sir. I found it in your plane just as you were taking off."
"You did that?" Captain Davis's tone was disbelieving. "Brass ones, Sheppard. Speaking of brass, the 'Dant isn't so pleased about you tying up a plebe for four hours."
"I know, sir," John called into the radio. "He's not too thrilled about it either. I've got him back here, too."
"You've got -- you mean you're both AWOL from the game?"
"Yes, sir. But I've got a plan."
Silence, during which John and Lorne exchanged dubious glances and then, "This better be good, Sheppard."
"Yes, sir. I think you'll like it." John took a deep breath. "We want to jump, sir. There are chutes back here. You fly over the stadium and Bill, Fourth Class Lorne and I will parachute into the stadium."
"Sheppard, that's the worst idea ever."
"Sir, I've done the calculations. I'll run a static line for the goat. Lorne and I jump after it, deploy at five thousand feet when Bill deploys at seven and we'll be on the field in plenty of time to handle his landing."
"Sheppard -- "
"I've got my jump quals, sir, and Lorne here has a few jumps under his belt." Lorne widened his eyes at John. John ignored him.
"You really think you can pull this off, Sheppard?" Davis barked. "Because one bad call, one broken bone -- "
"It'll be the best Beat Navy ever, sir," John said.
This time the silence was long and ended with a sigh of capitulation. "All right, Sheppard. Give me your numbers."
Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005
"Wait!" Rodney called as John walked out the door.
"I don't have time for this, McKay," John sighed, turning in the doorway and bracing one hand on the frame.
"Yes, you do. Look." Rodney picked up something from his desk, shoved a control crystal into it and tossed it to Sheppard.
It was a life signs detector and it glowed in John's hand to show the white spots that were himself and Rodney and then a yellow spot racing down a parallel hallway.
"See, there she is," Rodney said, leaning over the detector and pointing at the yellow spot. "I rigged the -- "
"Save it for later, McKay," John said, turning and walking swiftly to intercept the yellow dot.
"Wait, what are you going to use to subdue her? Because I have an idea."
"Then talk fast."
"Ok, Quark got all upset by the music, right? So if we play some nice, soothing, calming music, then maybe -- "
"It'll soothe the savage beast?"
"Long enough for Beckett to stick one of his needles in her."
"Has promise. Pull up something pretty on that iPod of yours."
John turned the corner and saw Quark racing down the hallway, straight toward him. Lorne and Cadman were hot on his tail.
"Whoa, ok, McKay, get a move on!" John feinted to the right and then dove left to scoop up Quark in his bare hands. He suffered for it, sharp little cat claws tearing as his palms and the back of his hands as Quark escaped and scrambled up his chest. He grabbed for her again and struggled as Lorne and Cadman shouted and Rodney muttered and punched buttons and then the hallway was filled with music and Quark paused on his shoulder.
John plucked her off and held her up. She was still panting and snarling a little, but mostly she looked confused and a bit put out about having nothing to scratch.
Beckett stepped out of the transporter. "Ah, I see our wee patient is ready for her medicine," he said cheerfully, stepping up and sliding the needle easily into Quark's flank. "That should do her."
It took her three seconds to go limp.
"I hope you didn't OD her with your imprecise witchcraft," Rodney snapped, taking her from John's hands and cuddling her against his chest.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Beckett said, rolling his eyes. "To the infirmary with her, now, Rodney. You, too, Colonel. Let me clean those scratches."
"Fine, fine," John said, flexing his hand. "Lorne, Cadman, go do your thing. Call off the search parties."
Lorne nodded and moved off to complete his duties.
John cocked his head and listened to what Rodney was piping into the halls. "Rodney," he said warningly. "Is this what I think it is?"
"If you didn't want me using the most boring music ever written," Rodney said matter-of-factly, "then you never should have given me the password to your mp3 folder."
John stepped into the transporter after Rodney and reminded himself that he was never going to get to use the lube and condoms in Rodney's desk drawer if he killed Rodney for calling Johnny Cash boring.
Falcon Stadium, Colorado Springs, 1988
John checked his own chute, Lorne's, and Bill's. He would have preferred to pack his own but this was something he'd have to get used to in the 'real' Air Force. He buckled himself into a pack and watched carefully as Lorne got into his own.
"Sheppard?" Davis's voice came from the radio in the bulkhead. "I'm in a holding pattern over the stadium. You have two minutes to kickoff."
John thumbed the transmission button on his headset. "Thank you, sir. We're prepping the goat." John left the radio and reached into the bag Nate had packed earlier. He pulled out the blanket they'd decorated and tossed it over Bill's back.
"Aw, c'mon," Lorne said. "You're not gonna -- "
" It's my firstie year and we will never again have a use for this masterpiece,' " John said. "I am absolutely getting restriction out of this, so I might as well make the whole thing worth it."
Lorne quieted and handed John the third chute.
"All right," John murmured, holding the thing against his chest. "How are we going to do this?"
He sat the pack on Bill's back and started wrapping one of the straps around Bill's stomach, to pin the blanket down. The goat turned its head, glared at him, and proceeded to dump the pack on the ground.
"Ok, you're going to have to hold him," John said to Lorne.
"What?"
"We've got two minutes to get down there," John reminded him. "And he's not just going to hold still and let me put this thing on him.
"He's not going to like this," Lorne said, putting the goat in some sort of modified headlock and bracing himself.
"He doesn't have to like it," John grunted, resituating the blanket and then the pack. He pressed the pack down with his chest, leaning awkwardly around the goat and Lorne to buckle the straps. "He's a goat." And after a pause, added, "We never speak of this again, got it?"
"Yes, sir," Lorne agreed through clenched teeth.
"Ok, ok, I almost got it. One more sec. Ok." John rolled off to the side, glaring at the goat. "I smell like goat."
"I do, too, sir."
"Ok." John rolled to his feet and rigged the static line to Bill's backpack. "Captain Davis, sir? We're ready to open the door."
The light over the door flashed twice and the sound of the catch releasing was audible. John heaved the door open while Lorne held onto Bill and the wind rushed into the Twin Otter. John shielded himself with the door as best he could, but he was pretty sure there was no hope for his hair.
He looked down at the field and the stands and the thousands of people below them and then looked back at Lorne.
"You ready to do this, kid?"
"Sir, yes, sir!"
Lorne was fucking terrified. John sighed to himself and tried to pretend he hadn't noticed.
"All right, bring up Bill."
Bill planted his hooves and sat down.
"Now, Lorne, get him here now!" John checked over his shoulder. They had seconds to get Bill in position and out the door if he was going to land on the field and not in the stands. John started counting to himself.
Lorne, to his credit, didn't hesitate. He put his shoulder against the goat's back and shoved it across the deck of the DHC-6.
John joined him behind the goat and together they heaved Bill out of the plane and watched until the static line pulled taut and Bill's parachute deployed. Lorne relaxed visibly.
John was still counting desperately in his head, waiting for Captain Davis to circle around and put them back in range. Twenty-eight, twenty-seven --
"Hey, Lorne," he yelled over the wind. "Nice job." He stuck out his hand. "My name's John. I owe you a drink after all this." Seventeen. Sixteen. Fifteen.
Lorne was a little slow on the uptake. Then a bright smile appeared on his face. "Thank you!" he replied earnestly. Nine. Eight. Seven. "My name is -- "
John shoved him out the door. Fucking shame about the timing. He'd have to get Lorne's first name later. He marched off the airplane and found himself in freefall. John Sheppard saw no point in jumping out of perfectly good airplanes, but he saw a point in jumping out of faulty ones and he saw the point in practicing, should his perfectly good airplane not stay that way.
And, ok, maybe the freefall was sort of fun.
He fell past an already floating Bill, counted to five, and pulled his ripcord. The shoulder harness jerked him up and back -- well, it felt up and back -- as the parachute deployed and then he was just floating, sinking slowly in the bright autumn sky. A quick glance down told him that he was definitely over Falcon Stadium, even over the field, and it wouldn't take much in the way of adjustment to put him right where he needed to be.
He hoped Bill was that lucky. He hoped his math was that good.
John twisted around and was relieved to see Lorne descending with him, maybe fifty yards away, looking as if he'd just swallowed the worst Beat Air Force -- John assumed Navy would drink the reverse -- ever. One with the juice from the turkey pastrami pan, and no, John didn't privately want to hurl every time those sandwiches appeared on the lunch menu, thank you very much.
A few seconds later, John realized that everyone -- and by everyone, he meant the entire Cadet Wing, a handful of midshipmen, an ungodly number of parents, officers, enlisted folk, and a number of the residents of Colorado Springs -- was watching them descend. He wondered if Captain Davis had managed to radio ahead or if there were some untold number of Marine sniper scopes pointed at his head. He used his steering lines and toggles to adjust his descent slightly and saw Lorne fumbling to angle himself somewhere around the twenty yard line. John hit near Air Force's forty, jogged forward a few steps, and shrugged off his pack, as his chute hit the astroturf. The defensive line had parted for him and for that, he was grateful, but he had more important things to do than knock helmets.
Bill was coming down in a controlled drift, just about over the fifty, where John had sent him. Even as he waited with Lorne, who had sprinted forty yards to get there, for Bill to get within catching range, John felt pretty pleased with his aim.
Goats were heavier than they looked and being taller, John suffered the brunt of Bill's return to earth. He wrestled him down as gently as possible and immediately started unbuckling the straps. There was movement everywhere, football players and the 'Dant and who knew who else running at them, but on the sideline, John saw a familiar sight and smiled.
Nate and Dan were running for him, wooden cart in tow. He made short work of Bill's parachute and dumped the whole mess in Lorne's arms. Dan manhandled Bill onto the cart and he and Nate took off, leaving John to get yelled at and laugh just as loud as everyone else as they circled the field with Bill.
Bill, of course, looked dashing in his new blanket, which bore the seal of the Air Force Academy on one side.
The other side proclaimed, "Air Force Flies! Navy Dies!"
Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005
Quark came out of her sedative-induced sleep just as sweet and adorable as she'd been before her capture. Rodney fawned over her and fed her from his own tray as John poked a spoon in his jello and watched. Then they went to Rodney's room, waited for Quark to fall asleep -- so not to traumatize her -- and got experimental with Rodney's stash of lube and condoms. John decided not to ruin the afterglow by asking about Rodney's piano skills.
US Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, 1988
John ignored a half dozen regulations and bought Lorne that drink. After that, he delivered Lorne to Bill Mulveny and Brad Connolly for that real meal in Colorado Springs and delivered himself to Nate. Nate stopped laughing at him long enough to give him not just the promised blow job, but also a nice, slow, finger-fucking. John made certain to enjoy every second because the special disciplinary board the Commandant convened Monday morning gave him three months of restriction and enough tours to keep him on campus until spring break.
Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 2005
"So how did you wind up in the Air Force?" Sheppard asked Lorne as they walked down a blessedly quiet hallway.
Lorne shrugged. "Some crazy zoomie spooned me and then kicked me out an airplane door. It was such a rush, I did the exchange cadet program second class year, decided I liked the Air Force better than the Marines, and cross-commissioned."
"Go figure," Sheppard said, only a little bit smug, really. "Well, Major, we're glad to have you."
"Thank you, sir." Lorne paused at his door. "If you don't mind, I think I'll grab that shower now."
"Good plan. And good job today." John had gone another twenty feet down the hall when he heard Lorne call to him.
"Colonel!"
"Yeah?" he asked, pivoting lazily on one foot.
"The score of the 1988 Air Force - Navy game was 34 to 24, sir," Lorne said. "Air Force."
John nodded. "Thank you." He smiled. "I haven't forgotten."
He headed down the hall and walked into his own room, only to find Elizabeth sitting at his desk with a thick file folder on her lap.
"Fancy meeting you here," he drawled, tilting his head to read the white label on the folder.
"You know what this is, Colonel?"
"Looks like my service jacket," he mumbled out of the corner of his mouth.
"Mm," Elizabeth agreed. "And I've read it. I've read the whole thing."
"And now you want to borrow War and Peace?" he asked hopefully.
"No. I just wanted to let you know that the reason for that last major infraction at the Academy isn't a complete secret." She raised her eyebrows. "You might want to be careful who gets ahold of that information. Particularly if it's someone you're going to be spending a lot of time with. I believe you have a talent show to plan?"
"What? Elizabeth!" John gestured wildly at the door and all that lay beyond. "The Marines are thrilled! McKay drove his own cat feral! This is the best thing that's happened for them all year!" Elizabeth smiled sweetly at him when he paused to take a breath. "And it hasn't been a week, yet."
"I'm exercising my authority," Elizabeth told him. "Good luck, and have fun." She stood up serenely and walked out of his door.
John threw himself on his bed, unhooked his radio from his ear and covered his eyes with his arm. Some days it just didn't pay to get out of bed in the morning.
The End