Road Trip Bakersfield Bound
Title: Road Trip
Author: stella_pegasi
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, Ronon Dex, Carson Beckett
Spoilers:Post-Season Five
Genre(s): Slice of Life, Action/Adventure, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Humor, and I promise, WHUMP!
Warnings: Language
Het/Slash/Gen: Gen
Word count: Total: 14,810 (Two parts, Wine Country and Bakersfield Bound)
Disclaimer: I do not own them, I would have treated them better.
Summary:The boys take thiry days leave and set out on the road. What could possibly go wrong on vacation?
Written for the Let's Blow Something Up (BigBang) Challenge on stargateland.
My deepest thanks to the wonderful and lovely sherry57 for her very quick beta. I have attempted to make corrections, but was in a hurry to get this posted for the challenge...any errors left standing are all mine.
ROAD TRIP
by stella_pegasi
Bakersfield Bound
Sheppard was daydreaming. Well, if forced to, he would admit he wasn’t daydreaming; he had virtually stopped thinking at all. He had always loved to drive, and he was in tune with the car, the road, and the traffic. Any thoughts that drifted into his mind seemed to float away just as quickly.
A little over two hours had passed since they left Sonoma, and they traveled through communities deep in the Central Valley area. There were miles of farmland flashing past as they headed down Highway 99. Truckloads of fresh fruits and vegetables seemed to be emerging from every side road.
Ronon had been quiet for most of the trip; they were trying to keep from waking up the still hung-over Rodney and Carson. Both remained a bit queasy, and had fallen asleep as soon as Sheppard had pulled away from the B&B. Sheppard tuned the satellite radio to smooth jazz station to keep the music mellow, and to drown out Carson’s snoring. As they passed a sign announcing the entrance to yet another mega-farm, Ronon finally spoke.
“Sheppard, there’s so much food grown here, but you told us once that people go hungry here. I don’t get it. There’s enough food in those fields to feed all of Sateda, and there were a lot of people there.”
“That’s a good question. There really isn’t an excuse; we’re capable of producing enough food to feed the hungry but…” he sighed. “It doesn’t seem right that anyone should go hungry, but they do. I think it’s the politicians…too busy worrying about themselves and not about the people.”
Ronon grunted, “I know about that. The government officials on Sateda abandoned the people in the end; to save themselves. I guess they are the same everywhere.”
“C…colonel?” A muddled voice asked.
“Carson, you finally decide to join us?”
“Barely, lad; I need something to drink, water or juice. Any chance we could stop for some juices?”
Sheppard smiled, “Yeah; I think we can do that; we’re almost in Modesto. There’s water in the cooler right behind your seat, if you want.”
They drove on for a mile or so when Sheppard spotted a strip mall, “Juice coming up, Carson.”
“Thanks.”
“I want coffee, Sheppard.” Rodney uttered in a gravely voice.
“No more coffee, it’ll just dehydrate you more…you need water or juice. Here.” Carson retrieved another bottle from the cooler and handed it to Rodney.
“How ya feeling, buddy?” Sheppard asked.
Rodney groaned, and Ronon turned to look at him. He looked back at Sheppard, “They look pretty green.” He was grinning.
Sheppard pulled off Highway 99, onto a busy commercial street on the fringes of Modesto. He parked and went inside a grocery store, grabbing bottles of apple and cranberry juice, along with some cookies from the bakery. He took those back to the car, then walked across the parking lot to a Starbucks for coffee. Returned to the SUV with two tall cups, he handed one to Ronon, and then passed out the cookies.
“Here’s a cookie to tide you over; Brad told me about a diner on the other side of Modesto. It’s supposed to serve the best hamburgers in California; nothing like a greasy hamburger when you’ve got a hangover.”
He waited for an answer and when he didn’t get one, Sheppard looked at Ronon. “No snarky or cheeky comments from the back seat? Ummm…they are in bad shape.”
Ronon was staring at the paper cup in his hand. It was filled with frothy foam, “What’s this?”
“I don’t know, some kind of mocha caramel latte thing, since you aren’t overly fond of coffee, thought you might like that. It’s sweet.”
Ronon took a drink, then nodded in approval, taking an even bigger sip. When he looked back at Sheppard, his upper lip was covered in white foam and he was grinning, “That’s good.”
Sheppard laughed. “OK, next stop, lunch.”
Reaching over to flip on the GPS, he punched Meg’s Diner into the GPS, and a female voice came on giving directions. He wasn’t surprised when Rodney commented.
“Finally decide that you needed help finding your way around?”
“Well, since my unofficial navigator took himself out by drinking too much, I decided I would use the GPS. I want to make certain that we find the diner quickly; I think you two need some food.”
“Yeah…whatever. I want that coffee and some aspirin.”
Carson sniped back, “I told you no, drink your water and juice…all of it. No aspirin for you right now…all you need is fluid.”
After passing through Modesto, they followed the GPS directions off of Highway 99 and soon Meg’s Diner loomed into view. Sheppard pulled in, finding a parking place near the door.
“Colonel, can you open the boot?” Beckett asked.
Sheppard popped the rear hatch door and got out of the car, opening Rodney’s door.
“Come on, time to start moving around; it’ll be good for you.” Rodney frowned, but got out of the car.
Carson reached for his medical kit, and pulled out a bottle of dark red pills. He downed a couple, then called to Rodney, “Here, take these, super strong vitamins; they’ll help.”
Rodney took the pills from Carson, “If it helps my head, anything.”
It was shortly after 1:00 PM, and the diner was crowded. They waited for booth being cleaned about half-way down the aisle along the counter. When the bus boy finished, Rodney started to slide along the bench seat first, until Carson stopped him.
“I think it would be better if we sat on the outside; not sure if I’m ready for lunch or not.”
Sheppard grimaced, “Sounds like a good idea.”
Grabbing a menu, Sheppard remarked, as he looked at the offerings, “Man, been a long time since I have seen a menu like this. Look at this, ‘Fried Chili Fries’; French fries, smothered in chili and cheese with a fried egg on top…yummy.”
“That’s good?” Ronon asked.
“Yeah, Chewie, it’s good; it’s not good for you, but it’s good.”
A woman, dressed in a waitress outfit right out of the fifties, walked up. “Hi, boys. What can I get for ya.”
Sheppard grinned, “Put this on one tab, please. I’d like a Big Burger with cheese and fries. For the big guy here, bring him the same and an order of the Fried Chili Fries. Water for me and Mountain Dew for him. Carson, Rodney?”
Carson quietly said, “ A cheeseburger, and water.” Rodney mumbled the same.
As Carson reached in his pocket for his sunglasses, the waitress asked Sheppard, “Looks like your buddies must have had a good time last night.”
Sheppard laughed, “Yeah, they did.”
Carson dropped his head into his hands, “What the hell was I thinking?”
“Yeah, well, you were the one who said kept saying how great the wine was, and your buddy just kept bringing more bottles out. Just another taste, you kept saying. You weren’t thinking. I should have been.” Rodney sighed deeply, laying his head back against the high back of the booth seat.
“Hey, don’t beat yourselves up, guys. You’re on vacation. You should relax and let your hair down, enjoy life.” Sheppard said.
“I am not enjoying this.” Rodney replied.
“I am,” Ronon quipped, eliciting a glare from Sheppard. “What? They’re funny; like you’ve never been hung over, Sheppard.”
“Yeah, I have; that’s why it’s not funny.” As he looked at Carson sitting next to him and Rodney across the table, both looking miserable, he added, “Well, not too funny.”
The waitress brought their food, and as they ate, Rodney and Carson became more and more alert. Fluids and food in their stomachs seemed to chase the cobwebs away. Sheppard knew that the telltale sign they were feeling better was when the bickering began.
“Rodney; stop complaining. I didn’t force ya to drink.”
“No, you just insisted that we try every type of wine they made. You were having way too much fun with your Scottish buddy.”
“You; you kept asking Douglas all those technical details about the chemistry of making wine. He was bringing out bottles to show ya how doing this or that changed the flavors.”
“I was just tasting, but you…you were chugging back the wine like it was water.”
“That wine didn’t drink itself. I…”
“OK, boys, enough; you both drank too much, and you only have yourself to blame. I told you to stop beating yourselves up over it. You’re supposed to be relaxing, and for once, it’s nice to be able to do so without worrying about what’s over our shoulder. Now hush.”
Carson stared at Sheppard for a moment, “It was fun, despite getting trashed. Your friends are good people, col…John. It was a good day; if it didn’t end well, that’s our own fault.”
“Come on, let’s get on the road; we have another four hours or so before we reach Bakersfield.” Sheppard paid the bill, and they piled back into the car. After stopping to fill the SUV with gas, Sheppard headed south down Highway 99.
~~ooOoo~~
“Hey, Sheppard, is this all you do on this planet…eat?”
Sheppard looked over at Ronon, who was devouring an extra-large, chocolate-dipped, soft serve ice cream cone. About three times bigger than the cone he and Beckett had gotten. They had just exited the drive-through at a Dairy Queen, and were back on Highway 99, about an hour from Bakersfield.
“No, we do other things, but I guess when cooped up in a car with nothing better to do, food is a way to pass the time.”
“This is good.” Ronon mumbled.
“Sheppard, why are we staying in Bakersfield? I figured you be pushing to reach Vegas.” He was sucking on a straw stuck in a large strawberry milkshake.
“You in a hurry, McKay?”
“It’s Bakersfield, what the hell is there in Bakersfield?”
“I don’t want to rush this trip. We have no reason to push; we have a month before we have to return to Atlantis. Let’s just kick back and enjoy ourselves. We haven’t been able to do that in a long time.”
“Bakersfield…they sing country music there.” Rodney whined.
“Watch it, McKay…”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot; the great Johnny Cash is a country singer,” Rodney snarked.
Sheppard was about to snark back when he noticed the eighteen-wheeler behind him was beginning to swerve into the left lane. The large truck nearly hit a car that was speeding past in the left lane. The car sped by them so fast that the Rover shuddered in the concussion of wind.
“What the hell?” McKay yelled.
Sheppard didn’t answer; he was busy watching the truck that was still weaving erratically behind him. In the rear view mirror, he could see the driver’s face, but couldn’t tell if the driver’s expression was one of anger or panic. He pressed the gas pedal down to put some distance between the Range Rover and the truck.
“Sheppard, watch out!” Ronon had turned around to see what was behind them, noticing movement along the shoulder of the road. First, one large motorcycle emerged from beside the truck, then two more; they were racing toward the Rover.
As Ronon was warning him about the motorcycles coming up on his right, he saw the front of another pulling around the truck. Within seconds, at least seven bikes were surrounding them, weaving back and forth around their vehicle.
Sheppard had two concerns, other than keeping his friends safe; one, whether the truck behind him was going to remain in control, and the other was the fact that they were coming up on a group of slower moving cars and produce trucks. The car that had sped past them earlier was now caught at the back of the pack, trying to force his way through.
“Guys, tell me you have your seat belts on; this could get ugly.” Sheppard didn’t look around; he didn’t dare take his eyes off the road. “Ronon; now might be a good time to get those guns from the glove compartment.”
A huge, powerful motorcycle pulled up next to him, and Sheppard made eye contact with the large, goateed man sitting astride it. The guy appeared as big as Ronon and clearly had the intention of running them off the road. He kept nudging the big cycle toward the SUV, eventually starting to ram into the drivers’ door and front fender. Sheppard quickly jerked the wheel to the left and caught the cycle’s front wheel, sending it careening toward the median. The bike wobbled wildly, but the rider got it back under control.
“Crap, I think I only made him mad.”
A bump from behind and he saw two bikes pushing up against the bumper. Through the roar from the motorcycles, he could hear Rodney calling 911. He seriously considered slamming on the brakes, but those motorcycles were powerful. Together they might have enough force to push the Range Rover out of control. At the speeds they were traveling, it was a chance he couldn’t take.
“Guys, we are going to have some problems in a couple of minutes, once we catch up with those cars and trucks. These guys are having fun, scaring everyone; they’re gonna want to cause as much havoc as they can. They won’t care if they cause a wreck; I think they’d like it.”
“Sheppard, I called 911. They’re dispatching CHP and local units.”
Sheppard only nodded as they caught up with the traffic in front of them. The cycles, he now counted at least twelve of them, began to weave in and out of the cars and trucks. A couple of cars tried to pull off the road, but were cut off by several bikes. One car recovered and got back onto the road, but the other lost control. His front tires caught the guardrail, jumped the barricade, and rolled down the embankment.
Beckett called out, “Colonel, we need to stop. They could be injured.”
“We can’t, not yet, Carson. Rodney let 911 know…”
They were bumped from behind, then from the right rear corner, sending the Range Rover into the left lane. Sheppard struggled with the wheel, but managed to straighten the vehicle, keeping it on the road. He heard the sound of hydraulic brakes and the squealing of tires behind him. Glancing into the rearview mirror, he saw the eighteen-wheeler careening out of control. The truck slid off the road, slamming into the center median guardrail, which was not tall enough to slow the momentum of the large truck. It toppled onto its side and continued to slide along the metal railing. From behind the truck, at least five more bikes appeared and quickly joined their fellow riders who were beginning to torment the pack of vehicles in front of them.
It didn’t take long for what Sheppard feared would happen, to happen. A car, driven by a young driver, lost control, and slammed nto a produce truck that ran off the road, spilling its load of cantaloupes. The hard fruit began bouncing across the highway; two more cars struck each other and the melee began. Only luck and skill kept Sheppard from wrecking the SUV. He slid to a stop along the edge of the road, only feet from a paneled van that had struck one of the motorcycles.
“Ronon, with me. You two, stay in the car until I tell you it’s OK.”
Ronon handed Sheppard his weapon, and they exited the car, hurrying toward the van, to check on its occupants. Sheppard had just reached the van when Ronon yelled, “Behind you.’
Most of the motorcycles had continued on, harassing the pack of cars and trucks, but two of them stayed back, apparently targeting Sheppard and Ronon. Both bikes were heading toward them at a high rate of speed.
Tires, hit the tires,” Sheppard yelled. He and Ronon took aim and within seconds, the bikes were on their sides, sliding along the roadway, riders tumbling along beside them.
As the dust and noise settled, Sheppard heard sirens in the background and spotted the red and blue lights of the police and EMT units heading their way.
Carson and Rodney had jumped from the Rover, Carson grabbing his med kit. Sheppard and Ronon checked on the motorcyclists; both were alive but injured.
Two CHP motorcycle officers skidded to a stop, along with an ambulance. Sheppard told Ronon, “Put your gun on the ground and step away from it.” When Ronon hesitated, Sheppard growled, “Do it, they’ll ask questions after they shoot us, if you don’t. Keep your hands away from your body.”
The CHP’s approached, guns drawn but not raised; one asked, “Who are you?”
“Colonel John Sheppard, US Air Force; this is Ronon Dex, civilian contractor.” He pointed to Carson and Rodney, “That’s Dr. Carson Beckett, medical doctor, and Dr. Rodney McKay, scientist. They’re also civilian contractors with the Air Force.”
“Those weapons, yours?”
Sheppard nodded, “The permits are in the car; can I get my ID out?” The officer nodded and Sheppard handed over his ID to the officer, while the other officer retrieved the weapons.
The CHP officer relaxed, “Seems to be in order, but we’ll just keep the weapons for a minute. I’m Sergeant Harper; out here on Air Force business, colonel?”
“No, sergeant, we’re on leave, headed for Vegas; wasn’t expecting this.”
“We’ve been getting reports all day about this gang. The bikes all have Montana and Idaho tags. I think they are some kind of militia group, not just a regular motorcycle gang or club, most of them are non-violent. These bastards have been damn good about eluding us; this is the first time that any of them have been caught. Tell me what happened.”
As Sheppard recounted the events, more police and ambulances arrived. Carson began to assist with triage, while the CHP took statements from Ronon and Rodney. It was an hour later, before the CHP officer released them.
“We were lucky, got some badly injured civilians but no deaths. However, we only caught five of them; the rest are still out there roaming around.” He shook Sheppard’s hand, “Colonel, there’s another accident scene about a mile and a half down the road, be careful. I’ve radioed ahead, so they’ll let you through. Keep on the lookout, the rest of them got away again.”
As Sheppard and the others headed for the SUV, the officer added, “Colonel, Dex, that was some damn good shooting to take those bikes down. Thanks for helping us get those guys off the roads.” Sheppard threw up his hand in reply, and they got into the SUV.
Ronon secured the weapons in the glove compartment, and Sheppard pulled back on to the road. None of them spoke until they had cleared the second accident scene. There were still several ambulances, fire and police units working the site, at least seven cars had been involved in the crash and one bike.
As they resumed normal speed, the road in front of them was deserted with all the traffic blocked behind them. Sheppard glanced in the rearview mirror to see Carson still looking behind them at the fading lights.
“Carson, those people are in good hands; you did all you could.”
“Well, I don’t feel that way. I should have stayed and helped.”
Rodney glanced at his friend, “Sheppard’s right; you did enough. Those guys will take care of the injured.”
“Well, I know I could use a drink.” Carson muttered.
Sheppard chuckled, “Hair of the dog?”
“Something like that, my nerves are shattered.”
Sheppard shook his head, “You don’t flinch when the Wraith come knocking, but a gang of bikers sets you off. Well, don’t feel like the lone ranger, I could use a drink, too. Let’s get through Bakersfield, find a hotel, then go get some steaks or ribs and relax.”
“More food…” Ronon pondered, then grinned, “Yeah; I can do that.”
Sheppard wanted to make a straight run to Vegas the next morning, so they drove through
Bakersfield before finding a hotel. They checked into a nice hotel off the main road. Retiring to their respective rooms, they agreed to meet in the lobby in thirty minutes. As usual, they were all on time, except for Rodney.
Sheppard, who was sprawled across a small couch, sighed and started to get up. “I’ll go get him.”
Ronon, however, was quicker. “No, I’ll get him,” and he headed for the elevator. About five minutes later, he came down with a pissed off Rodney in tow.
“You,” he pointed to Sheppard, “had to send Conon for me. He damn near broke my door down.”
Sheppard was still sprawled on the couch, “I don’t know about you, Carson, but I think McKay could have used more time.”
Carson smiled, “Yes, John. I believe you are right. I think he needed more time to dress. Rodney, where the hell do you get those shirts?”
“Har de har har, like you look like some kind of fashion plate. That goes double for ‘Mr. Rumpled Shirt’ over there; he certainly looks like he stepped off the pages of GQ, not. Come on, let’s go get something to eat, I’m starved.”
Rodney stalked out of the entrance, Carson right behind him. As Sheppard walked out with Ronon, he remarked, “What the hell’s wrong with my shirt?” Ronon just slapped him on the shoulder, and headed for the Range Rover.
Sheppard had asked at the front desk for a good steakhouse, and was given directions to a roadhouse that the desk clerk said had the best steaks in Bakersfield. About twenty minutes later, and one wrong turn, which Rodney snarked about, they pulled into a crowded parking lot surrounding a large rough wood building sporting a large bright neon sign that said ‘Roadhouse’.
“See, the food must be great, let’s go in.”
“Sheppard, that place has to be full of cowboys. We are so gonna get killed.”
“McKay, shut up,” Ronon grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the Rover.
They walked into a lively, crowded restaurant with a stage and a dance floor. To Rodney’s surprise, the patrons were young and old, some in suits, some in blue jeans, several families having dinner. There were screens everywhere showing sports, old movies, and cartoons; beer was flowing, but the atmosphere had a fun vibe about it.
“See, not so bad, Rodney; not bad at all.” Sheppard grinned as a hostess led them to an oversized booth toward the back of the room. They ordered a couple of pitchers of beer from their server, whose name was Chris.
When Chris returned with the beer and four frosty mugs, Beckett asked, “Laddie, do ya have live music here at night?”
“Yes, sir; we have a band that plays starting at 10, most of the families have left by then but sometimes, some with older kids stay and let their kids dance. It’s a fun place but still OK for kids to hang around. We don’t even have security here. Now, guys, made up your mind what you want?”
After Chris took their orders, Sheppard poured beer for everyone. He laughed as he saw Rodney pick up the mug, gazing at the frothy beer with suspicion. “That beer isn’t going to attack you, Rodney.”
Rodney looked over at Sheppard, “I…I…that’s what I thought about the wine last night. I’m not so sure about this…”
“You don’t have to drink it, Rodney.” Beckett quipped, then downed a big gulp from his mug.
“Carson’s right, you don’t have to drink. But if you do, just take it slow.”
As they waited for their food, they ate from the large popcorn bowl on the table and talked about the last twenty-four hours. They agreed that their wine country visit, sans the over imbibing, had been a lot of fun.
“Well, this afternoon wasn’t fun; those bikers were a piece of work.” Beckett remarked.
Ronon was on his second mug of beer, “Somebody acting like that on…” he caught himself before he said Sateda, “at home, would be severely dealt with.”
Sheppard answered, “We are a nation of laws, and there was certainly more than enough evidence to put the guys they captured in jail for a long time. I would imagine the local police departments and California Highway Patrol are looking for the others.”
“The reason you had to send Conon after me was that I was watching a local news update on the accidents. Good news, there were some serious injuries but no one was killed. Bad news, they only caught five of them, the rest are still out there roaming around.”
“Well, I imagine they high-tailed it out of this area since the cops are searching. So at least, we won’t have to deal with them again.” Sheppard leaned back in the curve of the booth, beer in hand. He was beginning to feel the events of the afternoon fade away.
“I’m thankful no one died because of those buggers.” Beckett replied.
Sheppard nodded, “It was hairy there for a few minutes, but the good thing is that we got through it, and we are having a nice dinner in a nice place, far away from those bastards.”
“Speaking of food,” Ronon grinned and pointed to two servers carrying large trays of food, heading their way. He punched Sheppard in the arm, “I’m beginning to like it here.” Ronon’s enthusiasm, a rarity for him, set off laughter by his teammates.
They ate, drank more beer, and laughed as Beckett regaled them with stories of his college days, and his nights at the local pubs. They had just finished their meal when the band took the stage. The music was classic Bakersfield country, but even Rodney seemed to be enjoying the band.
Sheppard had stretched his long legs out underneath the large table. He felt relaxed for the first time in a very long time. On Atlantis, even in those rare times when events were mundane, he could never completely unwind. There were simply too many souls he was responsible for to allow himself to relax, even a bit. Here, however, he finally felt he could just kick-back and enjoy the evening. He had been scanning the crowd, which had thinned out considerably. It was a Tuesday night, so probably not the busiest night for the roadhouse. He was content to watch the few patrons that were dancing, and listen to the music. What he was enjoying the most, however, was hearing his teammates laugh.
At least, he was enjoying himself until the little hairs on the back of his neck began to stand-up. His spidy sense was kicking into high gear. Any thoughts of relaxation went out the door, as he noticed a group of rough looking characters walk into the main dining hall. He felt the adrenaline begin to flow, as he realized the new arrivals appeared to be bikers.
Carson was sitting on the outside of the booth across from Ronon. Sheppard sat up and reached over to tap Carson’s arm. When the doctor looked around at him, his expression changed from happy to concern as he saw the look on Sheppard’s face.
“John, what’s wrong?”
“Carson, Chris is over at that table near the stage, Go tell him to call the police and let the manager know there’s about to be trouble. Then get behind the stage, out of the way.”
“Trouble, what kind of trouble, colonel?” Carson whispered as he slipped out of the booth.
Sheppard took a deep breath, “The biker kind.”
He silently cursed; their guns were locked in the car. He was beginning to think that he should have let Ronon bring his blaster. Ronon...he smiled slightly, Ronon was bound to have a few knives on his person.
“Chewie, got a spare knife or two?”
Ronon turned toward him, “What do you think, Sheppard?” He slipped a fairly large knife into Sheppard’s hand. He then slipped another, smaller knife to Rodney.
Rodney stared at the knife, then picked it up, tucking it under his jacket. “You think there’s going to be trouble?”
“Yeah, I thi…,” that was as far as he got before the first scream erupted.
Sheppard counted about twelve bikers; five of them had entered and headed directly for the center of the room. The others were drifting around the perimeter. They were picking up beer mugs and pitchers, and grabbing food from plates. They were also beginning to harass the women at the tables. One very large biker, jerked a teenager from her chair, sat down in it himself, then pulled her into his lap. Sheppard could sense Ronon tense like a coiled spring. He reached out, placing his hand on Ronon’s forearm.
“Not yet, let’s see what they have planned, the longer they go without noticing us, the sooner we’ll have backup from the cops.”
“Sheppard, I’m not going to let them hurt those girls.” Ronon’s voice was full of barely controlled rage.
“Neither am I, just be patient. If they look like they are going to harm anyone, we make ourselves known.”
Glancing over at Rodney, he was pleased to see that his friend didn’t look frightened.
Rodney was tense, but composed. It amazed Sheppard how much he now trusted Rodney to watch his back. He was about to tell Rodney to stay in the background, when the father of the teenager loudly demanded the biker let his daughter go.
Their vantage point didn’t give them a straight visual line to the young girl, but from what he could tell, the biker had decided to nibble on the girl’s neck. When the father interceded, the biker stood up, dropping the girl to the floor, and backhanded the father sending him spinning to the floor. The girl’s mother had grabbed her daughter, attempting to pull her away. Sheppard didn’t have time to react, before Ronon was out of the booth.
“Let her go!” The Satedan rushed toward the table, but two of the large bikers attacked him, slamming Ronon to the floor. Sheppard jumped up and Rodney followed.
“Hey come on, let’s just take it easy here. No need for anyone to get hurt.”
Sheppard slowly approached the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rodney nudge closer to where the two bikers were pining Ronon to the floor. He was pretty certain that Rodney was planning something. He just didn’t know what.
One of the bikers, a tall, rough looking guy, covered in tattoos, walked over to Sheppard.
“So, pretty boy, you and this…this…funny-haired fag over here, think you’re going to stop us? I don’t think so. We came to Southern California to have some fun, and we are going to have some fun.”
“Why don’t you let these people go, then you can have the place and all the beer for yourself.”
“Really, you think we’re just gonna allow these fine people to leave. Fuck, no; we want to party with them.” He grabbed a server around the neck, “Go get us pitchers of beer, now,” he pulled a large knife from underneath his vest, “or I’ll have to mark you.” He pushed the young man away from him.
Another of the bikers had walked up to them, eyeing Sheppard closely. “Son of a bitch, Rich. This is the asshole that ran me off the road this afternoon. I remember him. He had on shades, but I’d know that sissy hair any day. You nearly caused me to wreck my ride, you son of a bitch.” He took a swing at Sheppard and although Sheppard reacted quickly, the man’s huge fist made contact with his left jaw. He was propelled into a table and slid across the top, plates, glasses and silverware scattering in all directions. He rolled his body as he dropped off the table, managing to get to his knees in time to see Rodney put his plan in action.
Rodney had snuck behind the two men holding onto Ronon. Along the way, he had picked up two of the heavy metal water pictures from the server station nearby. As Sheppard pulled himself to his feet, Rodney struck the two bikers over the head with the pitchers, sending both to the floor, allowing Ronon to escape their grasp.
Sheppard skirted the table, motioning for the people at the surrounding tables to move away. His eyes were fixed on the biker that had struck him. The bastard had his foot on the back of the teenager’s mother, pinning her to the floor.
“Some, big brave guy you are. What a conquest, pinning a 100 pound woman to the floor.” He scoffed, “Why don’t you take on someone your own size, or are you chicken?”
The rough biker was pissed, “You little sissy; I’ll kill you.” He rushed Sheppard, slamming into him and they both fell to the floor. Sheppard was smaller than the biker, who was about Ronon’s size, but he was more agile. The biker’s momentum caused him to roll a bit when he hit the floor, and Sheppard managed to slip from under the heavier man. He jumped up and quickly spun around, kicking the man in the stomach. He hoped to knock the air out of him and keep him down for a few moments.
Ronon had tackled two other bikers, who rushed him when their comrades fell. He took one down with a blow to the face, and had the other’s arm pinned behind him. He whispered to the biker. “How do you like picking on someone your size? He squeezed the man’s throat until he passed out. Ronon dropped him to the floor and turned in time to see Sheppard kick the goateed biker, then get struck from behind with a large serving tray wielded by another biker. He moved to help Sheppard when he heard a cry behind him. He whipped around to see Rodney take a punch to the stomach and double over.
Jumping over a chair, Ronon body slammed the biker who hit Rodney, and they went careening into the stage. Pulling the guy up, Ronon threw a hard punch into the guy’s face. Blood began flowing from the guy’s nose and Ronon loosened his grip on the biker letting him fall to the floor.
Sheppard was stunned momentarily; the tray had struck him in the back of the head causing him to black out for a second. He was lying on the floor when his attacker grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him up.
“So, sissy boy, think you can take me on, now.” He twisted Sheppard’s arm behind him.
“Y-yeah, I do.” Sheppard jerked his body down and spun, gaining just enough leverage to swing the biker over his shoulder and to the floor. The biker hit his head on the edge of a table as he went down, knocking him unconscious.
As he straightened up, Sheppard could hear the faint sound of sirens in the background. It wouldn’t be long until help arrived. As he tried to take a deep breath, he felt pain in his right side. He had hit a chair when he fell, bruising his ribs. He paused for a second to get oriented.
All around Sheppard, the patrons had begun to take on the bikers. Near the entrance, three men, two servers and a diner had one of the bikers pinned to the floor; another biker lay unconscious next to them. The mother of the teenage girl, who had been accosted, broke a glass pitcher of beer over the head of one of the bikers, who was punching on her husband. He continued to gaze around the room until he spotted the biker he thought was the leader. The bastard was standing in the center of the dance floor, his arm around one of the female servers, a knife to her throat.
The rest of the room faded from Sheppard’s perception. The biker could hear the sirens as well as he could, and realized that things were quickly going south. The out-of-control bikers had been looking for a fight all day, now they had one. Sheppard took a step toward the man.
“Let her go.”
The biker laughed, “Nah…I like this one. I think I’ll take her with me; she’s hot.” He ran his free hand along her chest. The young woman was staring at Sheppard; fear frozen on her face.
“She’s not going with you; I’m not going let that happen. Let her go.”
Ronon was about to head to Sheppard’s side when he saw Rodney, who had gotten to his feet, was about to be hit from behind again. He yelled for McKay to look out, knowing he probably couldn’t get to the scientist in time. He braced for the blow that the biker was about to deliver when the biker was stopped suddenly by a large metal trash can coming down on his head. The biker fell, unconscious, knocking Rodney over. Ronon grinned, as an angry Carson Beckett, holding the trash can, looked over at him. Carson dropped the can and helped Rodney to his feet.
Ronon turned toward Sheppard, but he didn’t get very far before he felt the sharp edge of a blade slide across his upper right arm. Warm blood began to trickle down his arm from a deep slice along his bicep. He slipped a large knife from its sheath on his belt, and wheeled around, the knife sinking into the biker’s side. He tried to keep from hitting anything vital, knowing Sheppard would prefer they didn’t kill anyone. The biker stumbled backward. A couple of the band members jumped down from the stage, holding the biker down. Ronon concentrated on Sheppard, as Carson began to administer aid to the stabbed biker.
Sheppard took a step toward the biker and his hostage. “Come on, you don’t want to hurt her, you want to hurt me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, asshole. I want to do both.”
The sirens were so close that Sheppard was certain the police would burst through the doors any minute. He could tell the biker knew that as well, the resolve in the man’s eyes was clear. He was going to go down fighting. Sheppard wasn’t going to let him take the girl with him.
Noticing Ronon slowly entering his vision periphery, he formulated a plan; hoping that Ronon would catch on. He started slowly edging toward the biker.
“Come on, let’s finish this. Let her go. I’ll fight you. You’re bigger than me; guess you must outweigh me by fifty pounds. You can take me. Well, you can try. Let her go.”
It was working. Sheppard saw the biker’s grip on the girl loosen. The knife was no longer pressed against the girl’s throat. If he, and Ronon, timed it right, they could end this.
Sheppard’s hand drifted toward the knife tucked in his belt, all the while keeping the biker’s eyes locked on his. When he thought that Ronon was close enough, he smiled at the biker.
“I gave you a chance; you didn’t take it. Sorry….”
With that, he whipped the knife up and lunged at the biker. The biker instinctively raised his knife in Sheppard’s direction, releasing the young woman. Ronon quickly snatched her away to safety. Sheppard continued to rush forward, intending to knock the biker to the floor. He was focused and had suppressed the din of noise around him. He could hear the welcoming sound of the police bursting into the room. It was over, just take this bastard down, and it was over.
However, the biker had other ideas. He lunged at Sheppard; holding his knife in front of him. Sheppard attempted to block the knife with his left arm, but the biker’s weight hit him, and they went down. He felt the knife that he was holding sink into the biker’s abdomen before he lost his grip on the handle. He was pinned to the floor until Ronon pulled the biker off of him, and pulled him to his feet.
“Sheppard, you OK?”
Ronon’s voice sounded far away. He tried to focus on the Satedan, but was having difficulty doing so. He had a sensation of warm fluid trickling down his side and he gingerly touched the area. Pulling his hand back, it was covered with blood. He raised his head toward Ronon, as the room began to fade to black, and he started to sink to the floor again. He uttered one word, “Crap.”
~~ooOoo~~
The familiar soft cadence of the monitors surrounding him was the first sound he recognized. Slowly opening his eyes, he expected to see the deep aqua-green walls of the Atlantis infirmary; instead, he was looking at a white ceiling and deep tan colored walls. The lights were subdued, a fact that he was grateful for since his head was throbbing. He raised his head a bit and saw two figures sitting in chairs at the foot of the bed.
“H-hey…”
Beckett was on his feet in flash, barely beating Rodney to Sheppard’s bedside. “How’re you feeling, laddie”
“Normal…”
McKay scoffed, “Normal…I wouldn’t call a stab wound, bruised ribs, and a minor concussion normal.”
“S-seems normal to me, McKay,” he motioned that he wanted to sit up. Beckett adjusted the bed, raising the head up a bit.
“Could I have some w-water? How b-bad’s the s-stab wound?”
Carson gave him a sip of water, “Not too much at once, colonel; you can have more. As for the stab wound, it’s not as bad as it looked. It bled a lot, but it’s not very deep. It’s more like a slice across your left side. A child doctor finished sewing you up a few minutes ago, took seventeen stitches.” He gave Sheppard another sip of water.
“Child doctor, you mean a kid’s doctor? Where are we, Sesame Street?”
Chuckling Carson said, “No, your doctor is a full-fledged emergency room doctor, he’s just young.”
“Well, C-Carson, they begin to look that way when we get older.”
“Hush, you cheeky bastard; you need to rest. We were concerned about the head injury; you hit your head a second time when you fainted.”
“Passed out, doc; not fainted,” McKay chuckled, and Sheppard grinned slightly at his friend.
“Head’s too hard to hurt very badly, Carson,” but if Sheppard had to admit it, his head was throbbing.
“Well, you were lucky that it’s only a minor concussion.”
Sheppard’s mind cleared enough to realize that Ronon wasn’t in the room. “Where’s Ronon?”
Carson glanced at the monitor, noticing that Sheppard’s heart rate had picked up as he asked about Ronon. ‘Calm down, John. Ronon’s fine, he’s getting stitches in his arm. He got cut, as well, but he’ll be fine. I don’t think he’ll need as many stitches as you did. Now just rest, I’m gonna go let the nurse know you’re awake. The doctor will be back in a bit to check you over, and then we can leave, once they’ve finished with Ronon.”
Carson was about to open the door, when a man in a suit entered. “Gentlemen, I’m Detective Elliot of the Bakersfield Police.” He shook Carson and Rodney’s hands, glancing over at Sheppard. “Colonel, good to see you are awake. We’ve gotten statements from your friends, but I wanted to ask you a couple of questions.”
“Sure, come in.” Sheppard waved his hand.
I won’t keep you long; Dr. McKay said you would be staying at least another day for you to recuperate a bit before you head on to Vegas. We can talk more tomorrow. Mostly, I just wanted to pass on a message from Sergeant Harper of the CHP. He got word about what went down at the Roadhouse, and that you were involved. He said you helped stop some of these guys this afternoon, and he wanted me to pass on his thanks. These guys have been wreaking havoc all over. We think they’ve been in the area for nearly two weeks, but working in pairs, robbing convenient stores and houses. We think they are responsible for two deaths and about seven rapes. Bunch of bad dudes, giving bikers a bad name; hell, I’m afraid to take my bike out for a while until this all settles down.”
“Not the friendliest group I’ve been around, detective.”
The young doctor walked in, followed by Ronon, whose bicep was wrapped in sticky purple gauze. McKay giggled, “Purple becomes you, Conan.”
Ronon glared at the scientist, but asked Sheppard, “You OK, buddy?” Sheppard nodded.
The detective took his leave, after making arrangement to talk with them at 10 am at the hotel. The doctor discharged both Sheppard and Ronon into Beckett’s care.
“I need a shirt.” Sheppard said, after he pulled on his boots, with Carson’s assistance.
“Here,” he handed Sheppard one of Appell Lane Vineyards t-shirts that the colonel had purchased in the vineyard gift shop. “I drove the car here from the Roadhouse, and noticed the bag with the shirts, figured you’d need this.” Sheppard muttered thanks and, with a grimace, pulled the dark green shirt over his head. The bruised ribs and stitches were tender and sore.
“Come on, John,” Carson said gently. “Let’s get you back to the hotel, so you can get some rest.”
~~ooOoo~~
About thirty hours later, they were ready to leave Bakersfield. They met with the police to give their full statements the day before and had turned down a request by the local media for interviews. Carson had insisted that they all rest during the afternoon, sending
Rodney out to pick up burgers for dinner, which they ate in Sheppard’s room. They spent the rest of the evening watching a marathon of the television show, Dirty Jobs. Ronon was fascinated by all the different jobs the host attempted.
Thursday morning was bright and sunny as they checked out of the hotel. Rodney had insisted on taking care of the hotel bill, and was settling up. The other three walked to the newly delivered and undamaged Range Rover. The rental car agency had picked up the damaged vehicle, replacing it with an identical Rover.
Sheppard automatically opened the driver’s door to get in when a sharp ‘no’ from Carson stopped him.
“You are not driving. Rodney’s driving.”
“Rodney? Hell, it’ll be next week before we get to Vegas. He drives like my uncle Francis, slow and steady. I’ll drive.”
“No, and don’t make me sic Ronon on you, laddie. Now, get in the back seat with me.
Ronon’s riding up front. You’re still recuperating and I want to keep an eye on you.” Sheppard frowned, and reluctantly got in the backseat.
Rodney emerged from the hotel, taking the driver’s seat. “OK, we’re out of Bakersfield, and I am so glad to be leaving here.’
“You forget something, Rodney; seatbelts, maybe?”
“Bite me, Sheppard; who put you in charge?”
“Rodney,” Sheppard was exasperated; mostly, because he didn’t like not driving.
“OK, everyone, ‘Colonel I Have to Run Everything’ wants us to all buckle-up.”
“It’s the law, Rodney,” Ronon remarked quietly.
“You can bite me, too, Conan.” Rodney snarked, while Sheppard and Beckett laughed.
Once he was on the main road toward Vegas, Rodney remarked, “You guys realized that we left Atlantis about 48 hours ago and so far we’ve been hung over…”
Sheppard interrupted, “You’ve been hung over.”
Rodney glared over his shoulder at Sheppard, and continued, “Hung over, nearly wrecked, attacked by madmen on motorcycles, then beaten and stabbed by those same madmen.”
“Your point is, McKay,” Sheppard drawled, “all sounds normal to me.”
Rodney sighed deeply, “Yeah. I know, and it’s only day three of a thirty day vacation. We’ll be lucky if we survive.”
Sheppard grinned, “You worry too much. On to Vegas, what could possibly go wrong?”
Rodney groaned.
Author: stella_pegasi
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Rating: PG-13
Character/Pairing: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay, Ronon Dex, Carson Beckett
Spoilers:Post-Season Five
Genre(s): Slice of Life, Action/Adventure, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Humor, and I promise, WHUMP!
Warnings: Language
Het/Slash/Gen: Gen
Word count: Total: 14,810 (Two parts, Wine Country and Bakersfield Bound)
Disclaimer: I do not own them, I would have treated them better.
Summary:The boys take thiry days leave and set out on the road. What could possibly go wrong on vacation?
Written for the Let's Blow Something Up (BigBang) Challenge on stargateland.
My deepest thanks to the wonderful and lovely sherry57 for her very quick beta. I have attempted to make corrections, but was in a hurry to get this posted for the challenge...any errors left standing are all mine.
ROAD TRIP
by stella_pegasi
Bakersfield Bound
Sheppard was daydreaming. Well, if forced to, he would admit he wasn’t daydreaming; he had virtually stopped thinking at all. He had always loved to drive, and he was in tune with the car, the road, and the traffic. Any thoughts that drifted into his mind seemed to float away just as quickly.
A little over two hours had passed since they left Sonoma, and they traveled through communities deep in the Central Valley area. There were miles of farmland flashing past as they headed down Highway 99. Truckloads of fresh fruits and vegetables seemed to be emerging from every side road.
Ronon had been quiet for most of the trip; they were trying to keep from waking up the still hung-over Rodney and Carson. Both remained a bit queasy, and had fallen asleep as soon as Sheppard had pulled away from the B&B. Sheppard tuned the satellite radio to smooth jazz station to keep the music mellow, and to drown out Carson’s snoring. As they passed a sign announcing the entrance to yet another mega-farm, Ronon finally spoke.
“Sheppard, there’s so much food grown here, but you told us once that people go hungry here. I don’t get it. There’s enough food in those fields to feed all of Sateda, and there were a lot of people there.”
“That’s a good question. There really isn’t an excuse; we’re capable of producing enough food to feed the hungry but…” he sighed. “It doesn’t seem right that anyone should go hungry, but they do. I think it’s the politicians…too busy worrying about themselves and not about the people.”
Ronon grunted, “I know about that. The government officials on Sateda abandoned the people in the end; to save themselves. I guess they are the same everywhere.”
“C…colonel?” A muddled voice asked.
“Carson, you finally decide to join us?”
“Barely, lad; I need something to drink, water or juice. Any chance we could stop for some juices?”
Sheppard smiled, “Yeah; I think we can do that; we’re almost in Modesto. There’s water in the cooler right behind your seat, if you want.”
They drove on for a mile or so when Sheppard spotted a strip mall, “Juice coming up, Carson.”
“Thanks.”
“I want coffee, Sheppard.” Rodney uttered in a gravely voice.
“No more coffee, it’ll just dehydrate you more…you need water or juice. Here.” Carson retrieved another bottle from the cooler and handed it to Rodney.
“How ya feeling, buddy?” Sheppard asked.
Rodney groaned, and Ronon turned to look at him. He looked back at Sheppard, “They look pretty green.” He was grinning.
Sheppard pulled off Highway 99, onto a busy commercial street on the fringes of Modesto. He parked and went inside a grocery store, grabbing bottles of apple and cranberry juice, along with some cookies from the bakery. He took those back to the car, then walked across the parking lot to a Starbucks for coffee. Returned to the SUV with two tall cups, he handed one to Ronon, and then passed out the cookies.
“Here’s a cookie to tide you over; Brad told me about a diner on the other side of Modesto. It’s supposed to serve the best hamburgers in California; nothing like a greasy hamburger when you’ve got a hangover.”
He waited for an answer and when he didn’t get one, Sheppard looked at Ronon. “No snarky or cheeky comments from the back seat? Ummm…they are in bad shape.”
Ronon was staring at the paper cup in his hand. It was filled with frothy foam, “What’s this?”
“I don’t know, some kind of mocha caramel latte thing, since you aren’t overly fond of coffee, thought you might like that. It’s sweet.”
Ronon took a drink, then nodded in approval, taking an even bigger sip. When he looked back at Sheppard, his upper lip was covered in white foam and he was grinning, “That’s good.”
Sheppard laughed. “OK, next stop, lunch.”
Reaching over to flip on the GPS, he punched Meg’s Diner into the GPS, and a female voice came on giving directions. He wasn’t surprised when Rodney commented.
“Finally decide that you needed help finding your way around?”
“Well, since my unofficial navigator took himself out by drinking too much, I decided I would use the GPS. I want to make certain that we find the diner quickly; I think you two need some food.”
“Yeah…whatever. I want that coffee and some aspirin.”
Carson sniped back, “I told you no, drink your water and juice…all of it. No aspirin for you right now…all you need is fluid.”
After passing through Modesto, they followed the GPS directions off of Highway 99 and soon Meg’s Diner loomed into view. Sheppard pulled in, finding a parking place near the door.
“Colonel, can you open the boot?” Beckett asked.
Sheppard popped the rear hatch door and got out of the car, opening Rodney’s door.
“Come on, time to start moving around; it’ll be good for you.” Rodney frowned, but got out of the car.
Carson reached for his medical kit, and pulled out a bottle of dark red pills. He downed a couple, then called to Rodney, “Here, take these, super strong vitamins; they’ll help.”
Rodney took the pills from Carson, “If it helps my head, anything.”
It was shortly after 1:00 PM, and the diner was crowded. They waited for booth being cleaned about half-way down the aisle along the counter. When the bus boy finished, Rodney started to slide along the bench seat first, until Carson stopped him.
“I think it would be better if we sat on the outside; not sure if I’m ready for lunch or not.”
Sheppard grimaced, “Sounds like a good idea.”
Grabbing a menu, Sheppard remarked, as he looked at the offerings, “Man, been a long time since I have seen a menu like this. Look at this, ‘Fried Chili Fries’; French fries, smothered in chili and cheese with a fried egg on top…yummy.”
“That’s good?” Ronon asked.
“Yeah, Chewie, it’s good; it’s not good for you, but it’s good.”
A woman, dressed in a waitress outfit right out of the fifties, walked up. “Hi, boys. What can I get for ya.”
Sheppard grinned, “Put this on one tab, please. I’d like a Big Burger with cheese and fries. For the big guy here, bring him the same and an order of the Fried Chili Fries. Water for me and Mountain Dew for him. Carson, Rodney?”
Carson quietly said, “ A cheeseburger, and water.” Rodney mumbled the same.
As Carson reached in his pocket for his sunglasses, the waitress asked Sheppard, “Looks like your buddies must have had a good time last night.”
Sheppard laughed, “Yeah, they did.”
Carson dropped his head into his hands, “What the hell was I thinking?”
“Yeah, well, you were the one who said kept saying how great the wine was, and your buddy just kept bringing more bottles out. Just another taste, you kept saying. You weren’t thinking. I should have been.” Rodney sighed deeply, laying his head back against the high back of the booth seat.
“Hey, don’t beat yourselves up, guys. You’re on vacation. You should relax and let your hair down, enjoy life.” Sheppard said.
“I am not enjoying this.” Rodney replied.
“I am,” Ronon quipped, eliciting a glare from Sheppard. “What? They’re funny; like you’ve never been hung over, Sheppard.”
“Yeah, I have; that’s why it’s not funny.” As he looked at Carson sitting next to him and Rodney across the table, both looking miserable, he added, “Well, not too funny.”
The waitress brought their food, and as they ate, Rodney and Carson became more and more alert. Fluids and food in their stomachs seemed to chase the cobwebs away. Sheppard knew that the telltale sign they were feeling better was when the bickering began.
“Rodney; stop complaining. I didn’t force ya to drink.”
“No, you just insisted that we try every type of wine they made. You were having way too much fun with your Scottish buddy.”
“You; you kept asking Douglas all those technical details about the chemistry of making wine. He was bringing out bottles to show ya how doing this or that changed the flavors.”
“I was just tasting, but you…you were chugging back the wine like it was water.”
“That wine didn’t drink itself. I…”
“OK, boys, enough; you both drank too much, and you only have yourself to blame. I told you to stop beating yourselves up over it. You’re supposed to be relaxing, and for once, it’s nice to be able to do so without worrying about what’s over our shoulder. Now hush.”
Carson stared at Sheppard for a moment, “It was fun, despite getting trashed. Your friends are good people, col…John. It was a good day; if it didn’t end well, that’s our own fault.”
“Come on, let’s get on the road; we have another four hours or so before we reach Bakersfield.” Sheppard paid the bill, and they piled back into the car. After stopping to fill the SUV with gas, Sheppard headed south down Highway 99.
~~ooOoo~~
“Hey, Sheppard, is this all you do on this planet…eat?”
Sheppard looked over at Ronon, who was devouring an extra-large, chocolate-dipped, soft serve ice cream cone. About three times bigger than the cone he and Beckett had gotten. They had just exited the drive-through at a Dairy Queen, and were back on Highway 99, about an hour from Bakersfield.
“No, we do other things, but I guess when cooped up in a car with nothing better to do, food is a way to pass the time.”
“This is good.” Ronon mumbled.
“Sheppard, why are we staying in Bakersfield? I figured you be pushing to reach Vegas.” He was sucking on a straw stuck in a large strawberry milkshake.
“You in a hurry, McKay?”
“It’s Bakersfield, what the hell is there in Bakersfield?”
“I don’t want to rush this trip. We have no reason to push; we have a month before we have to return to Atlantis. Let’s just kick back and enjoy ourselves. We haven’t been able to do that in a long time.”
“Bakersfield…they sing country music there.” Rodney whined.
“Watch it, McKay…”
“Oh, yeah, I forgot; the great Johnny Cash is a country singer,” Rodney snarked.
Sheppard was about to snark back when he noticed the eighteen-wheeler behind him was beginning to swerve into the left lane. The large truck nearly hit a car that was speeding past in the left lane. The car sped by them so fast that the Rover shuddered in the concussion of wind.
“What the hell?” McKay yelled.
Sheppard didn’t answer; he was busy watching the truck that was still weaving erratically behind him. In the rear view mirror, he could see the driver’s face, but couldn’t tell if the driver’s expression was one of anger or panic. He pressed the gas pedal down to put some distance between the Range Rover and the truck.
“Sheppard, watch out!” Ronon had turned around to see what was behind them, noticing movement along the shoulder of the road. First, one large motorcycle emerged from beside the truck, then two more; they were racing toward the Rover.
As Ronon was warning him about the motorcycles coming up on his right, he saw the front of another pulling around the truck. Within seconds, at least seven bikes were surrounding them, weaving back and forth around their vehicle.
Sheppard had two concerns, other than keeping his friends safe; one, whether the truck behind him was going to remain in control, and the other was the fact that they were coming up on a group of slower moving cars and produce trucks. The car that had sped past them earlier was now caught at the back of the pack, trying to force his way through.
“Guys, tell me you have your seat belts on; this could get ugly.” Sheppard didn’t look around; he didn’t dare take his eyes off the road. “Ronon; now might be a good time to get those guns from the glove compartment.”
A huge, powerful motorcycle pulled up next to him, and Sheppard made eye contact with the large, goateed man sitting astride it. The guy appeared as big as Ronon and clearly had the intention of running them off the road. He kept nudging the big cycle toward the SUV, eventually starting to ram into the drivers’ door and front fender. Sheppard quickly jerked the wheel to the left and caught the cycle’s front wheel, sending it careening toward the median. The bike wobbled wildly, but the rider got it back under control.
“Crap, I think I only made him mad.”
A bump from behind and he saw two bikes pushing up against the bumper. Through the roar from the motorcycles, he could hear Rodney calling 911. He seriously considered slamming on the brakes, but those motorcycles were powerful. Together they might have enough force to push the Range Rover out of control. At the speeds they were traveling, it was a chance he couldn’t take.
“Guys, we are going to have some problems in a couple of minutes, once we catch up with those cars and trucks. These guys are having fun, scaring everyone; they’re gonna want to cause as much havoc as they can. They won’t care if they cause a wreck; I think they’d like it.”
“Sheppard, I called 911. They’re dispatching CHP and local units.”
Sheppard only nodded as they caught up with the traffic in front of them. The cycles, he now counted at least twelve of them, began to weave in and out of the cars and trucks. A couple of cars tried to pull off the road, but were cut off by several bikes. One car recovered and got back onto the road, but the other lost control. His front tires caught the guardrail, jumped the barricade, and rolled down the embankment.
Beckett called out, “Colonel, we need to stop. They could be injured.”
“We can’t, not yet, Carson. Rodney let 911 know…”
They were bumped from behind, then from the right rear corner, sending the Range Rover into the left lane. Sheppard struggled with the wheel, but managed to straighten the vehicle, keeping it on the road. He heard the sound of hydraulic brakes and the squealing of tires behind him. Glancing into the rearview mirror, he saw the eighteen-wheeler careening out of control. The truck slid off the road, slamming into the center median guardrail, which was not tall enough to slow the momentum of the large truck. It toppled onto its side and continued to slide along the metal railing. From behind the truck, at least five more bikes appeared and quickly joined their fellow riders who were beginning to torment the pack of vehicles in front of them.
It didn’t take long for what Sheppard feared would happen, to happen. A car, driven by a young driver, lost control, and slammed nto a produce truck that ran off the road, spilling its load of cantaloupes. The hard fruit began bouncing across the highway; two more cars struck each other and the melee began. Only luck and skill kept Sheppard from wrecking the SUV. He slid to a stop along the edge of the road, only feet from a paneled van that had struck one of the motorcycles.
“Ronon, with me. You two, stay in the car until I tell you it’s OK.”
Ronon handed Sheppard his weapon, and they exited the car, hurrying toward the van, to check on its occupants. Sheppard had just reached the van when Ronon yelled, “Behind you.’
Most of the motorcycles had continued on, harassing the pack of cars and trucks, but two of them stayed back, apparently targeting Sheppard and Ronon. Both bikes were heading toward them at a high rate of speed.
Tires, hit the tires,” Sheppard yelled. He and Ronon took aim and within seconds, the bikes were on their sides, sliding along the roadway, riders tumbling along beside them.
As the dust and noise settled, Sheppard heard sirens in the background and spotted the red and blue lights of the police and EMT units heading their way.
Carson and Rodney had jumped from the Rover, Carson grabbing his med kit. Sheppard and Ronon checked on the motorcyclists; both were alive but injured.
Two CHP motorcycle officers skidded to a stop, along with an ambulance. Sheppard told Ronon, “Put your gun on the ground and step away from it.” When Ronon hesitated, Sheppard growled, “Do it, they’ll ask questions after they shoot us, if you don’t. Keep your hands away from your body.”
The CHP’s approached, guns drawn but not raised; one asked, “Who are you?”
“Colonel John Sheppard, US Air Force; this is Ronon Dex, civilian contractor.” He pointed to Carson and Rodney, “That’s Dr. Carson Beckett, medical doctor, and Dr. Rodney McKay, scientist. They’re also civilian contractors with the Air Force.”
“Those weapons, yours?”
Sheppard nodded, “The permits are in the car; can I get my ID out?” The officer nodded and Sheppard handed over his ID to the officer, while the other officer retrieved the weapons.
The CHP officer relaxed, “Seems to be in order, but we’ll just keep the weapons for a minute. I’m Sergeant Harper; out here on Air Force business, colonel?”
“No, sergeant, we’re on leave, headed for Vegas; wasn’t expecting this.”
“We’ve been getting reports all day about this gang. The bikes all have Montana and Idaho tags. I think they are some kind of militia group, not just a regular motorcycle gang or club, most of them are non-violent. These bastards have been damn good about eluding us; this is the first time that any of them have been caught. Tell me what happened.”
As Sheppard recounted the events, more police and ambulances arrived. Carson began to assist with triage, while the CHP took statements from Ronon and Rodney. It was an hour later, before the CHP officer released them.
“We were lucky, got some badly injured civilians but no deaths. However, we only caught five of them; the rest are still out there roaming around.” He shook Sheppard’s hand, “Colonel, there’s another accident scene about a mile and a half down the road, be careful. I’ve radioed ahead, so they’ll let you through. Keep on the lookout, the rest of them got away again.”
As Sheppard and the others headed for the SUV, the officer added, “Colonel, Dex, that was some damn good shooting to take those bikes down. Thanks for helping us get those guys off the roads.” Sheppard threw up his hand in reply, and they got into the SUV.
Ronon secured the weapons in the glove compartment, and Sheppard pulled back on to the road. None of them spoke until they had cleared the second accident scene. There were still several ambulances, fire and police units working the site, at least seven cars had been involved in the crash and one bike.
As they resumed normal speed, the road in front of them was deserted with all the traffic blocked behind them. Sheppard glanced in the rearview mirror to see Carson still looking behind them at the fading lights.
“Carson, those people are in good hands; you did all you could.”
“Well, I don’t feel that way. I should have stayed and helped.”
Rodney glanced at his friend, “Sheppard’s right; you did enough. Those guys will take care of the injured.”
“Well, I know I could use a drink.” Carson muttered.
Sheppard chuckled, “Hair of the dog?”
“Something like that, my nerves are shattered.”
Sheppard shook his head, “You don’t flinch when the Wraith come knocking, but a gang of bikers sets you off. Well, don’t feel like the lone ranger, I could use a drink, too. Let’s get through Bakersfield, find a hotel, then go get some steaks or ribs and relax.”
“More food…” Ronon pondered, then grinned, “Yeah; I can do that.”
Sheppard wanted to make a straight run to Vegas the next morning, so they drove through
Bakersfield before finding a hotel. They checked into a nice hotel off the main road. Retiring to their respective rooms, they agreed to meet in the lobby in thirty minutes. As usual, they were all on time, except for Rodney.
Sheppard, who was sprawled across a small couch, sighed and started to get up. “I’ll go get him.”
Ronon, however, was quicker. “No, I’ll get him,” and he headed for the elevator. About five minutes later, he came down with a pissed off Rodney in tow.
“You,” he pointed to Sheppard, “had to send Conon for me. He damn near broke my door down.”
Sheppard was still sprawled on the couch, “I don’t know about you, Carson, but I think McKay could have used more time.”
Carson smiled, “Yes, John. I believe you are right. I think he needed more time to dress. Rodney, where the hell do you get those shirts?”
“Har de har har, like you look like some kind of fashion plate. That goes double for ‘Mr. Rumpled Shirt’ over there; he certainly looks like he stepped off the pages of GQ, not. Come on, let’s go get something to eat, I’m starved.”
Rodney stalked out of the entrance, Carson right behind him. As Sheppard walked out with Ronon, he remarked, “What the hell’s wrong with my shirt?” Ronon just slapped him on the shoulder, and headed for the Range Rover.
Sheppard had asked at the front desk for a good steakhouse, and was given directions to a roadhouse that the desk clerk said had the best steaks in Bakersfield. About twenty minutes later, and one wrong turn, which Rodney snarked about, they pulled into a crowded parking lot surrounding a large rough wood building sporting a large bright neon sign that said ‘Roadhouse’.
“See, the food must be great, let’s go in.”
“Sheppard, that place has to be full of cowboys. We are so gonna get killed.”
“McKay, shut up,” Ronon grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the Rover.
They walked into a lively, crowded restaurant with a stage and a dance floor. To Rodney’s surprise, the patrons were young and old, some in suits, some in blue jeans, several families having dinner. There were screens everywhere showing sports, old movies, and cartoons; beer was flowing, but the atmosphere had a fun vibe about it.
“See, not so bad, Rodney; not bad at all.” Sheppard grinned as a hostess led them to an oversized booth toward the back of the room. They ordered a couple of pitchers of beer from their server, whose name was Chris.
When Chris returned with the beer and four frosty mugs, Beckett asked, “Laddie, do ya have live music here at night?”
“Yes, sir; we have a band that plays starting at 10, most of the families have left by then but sometimes, some with older kids stay and let their kids dance. It’s a fun place but still OK for kids to hang around. We don’t even have security here. Now, guys, made up your mind what you want?”
After Chris took their orders, Sheppard poured beer for everyone. He laughed as he saw Rodney pick up the mug, gazing at the frothy beer with suspicion. “That beer isn’t going to attack you, Rodney.”
Rodney looked over at Sheppard, “I…I…that’s what I thought about the wine last night. I’m not so sure about this…”
“You don’t have to drink it, Rodney.” Beckett quipped, then downed a big gulp from his mug.
“Carson’s right, you don’t have to drink. But if you do, just take it slow.”
As they waited for their food, they ate from the large popcorn bowl on the table and talked about the last twenty-four hours. They agreed that their wine country visit, sans the over imbibing, had been a lot of fun.
“Well, this afternoon wasn’t fun; those bikers were a piece of work.” Beckett remarked.
Ronon was on his second mug of beer, “Somebody acting like that on…” he caught himself before he said Sateda, “at home, would be severely dealt with.”
Sheppard answered, “We are a nation of laws, and there was certainly more than enough evidence to put the guys they captured in jail for a long time. I would imagine the local police departments and California Highway Patrol are looking for the others.”
“The reason you had to send Conon after me was that I was watching a local news update on the accidents. Good news, there were some serious injuries but no one was killed. Bad news, they only caught five of them, the rest are still out there roaming around.”
“Well, I imagine they high-tailed it out of this area since the cops are searching. So at least, we won’t have to deal with them again.” Sheppard leaned back in the curve of the booth, beer in hand. He was beginning to feel the events of the afternoon fade away.
“I’m thankful no one died because of those buggers.” Beckett replied.
Sheppard nodded, “It was hairy there for a few minutes, but the good thing is that we got through it, and we are having a nice dinner in a nice place, far away from those bastards.”
“Speaking of food,” Ronon grinned and pointed to two servers carrying large trays of food, heading their way. He punched Sheppard in the arm, “I’m beginning to like it here.” Ronon’s enthusiasm, a rarity for him, set off laughter by his teammates.
They ate, drank more beer, and laughed as Beckett regaled them with stories of his college days, and his nights at the local pubs. They had just finished their meal when the band took the stage. The music was classic Bakersfield country, but even Rodney seemed to be enjoying the band.
Sheppard had stretched his long legs out underneath the large table. He felt relaxed for the first time in a very long time. On Atlantis, even in those rare times when events were mundane, he could never completely unwind. There were simply too many souls he was responsible for to allow himself to relax, even a bit. Here, however, he finally felt he could just kick-back and enjoy the evening. He had been scanning the crowd, which had thinned out considerably. It was a Tuesday night, so probably not the busiest night for the roadhouse. He was content to watch the few patrons that were dancing, and listen to the music. What he was enjoying the most, however, was hearing his teammates laugh.
At least, he was enjoying himself until the little hairs on the back of his neck began to stand-up. His spidy sense was kicking into high gear. Any thoughts of relaxation went out the door, as he noticed a group of rough looking characters walk into the main dining hall. He felt the adrenaline begin to flow, as he realized the new arrivals appeared to be bikers.
Carson was sitting on the outside of the booth across from Ronon. Sheppard sat up and reached over to tap Carson’s arm. When the doctor looked around at him, his expression changed from happy to concern as he saw the look on Sheppard’s face.
“John, what’s wrong?”
“Carson, Chris is over at that table near the stage, Go tell him to call the police and let the manager know there’s about to be trouble. Then get behind the stage, out of the way.”
“Trouble, what kind of trouble, colonel?” Carson whispered as he slipped out of the booth.
Sheppard took a deep breath, “The biker kind.”
He silently cursed; their guns were locked in the car. He was beginning to think that he should have let Ronon bring his blaster. Ronon...he smiled slightly, Ronon was bound to have a few knives on his person.
“Chewie, got a spare knife or two?”
Ronon turned toward him, “What do you think, Sheppard?” He slipped a fairly large knife into Sheppard’s hand. He then slipped another, smaller knife to Rodney.
Rodney stared at the knife, then picked it up, tucking it under his jacket. “You think there’s going to be trouble?”
“Yeah, I thi…,” that was as far as he got before the first scream erupted.
Sheppard counted about twelve bikers; five of them had entered and headed directly for the center of the room. The others were drifting around the perimeter. They were picking up beer mugs and pitchers, and grabbing food from plates. They were also beginning to harass the women at the tables. One very large biker, jerked a teenager from her chair, sat down in it himself, then pulled her into his lap. Sheppard could sense Ronon tense like a coiled spring. He reached out, placing his hand on Ronon’s forearm.
“Not yet, let’s see what they have planned, the longer they go without noticing us, the sooner we’ll have backup from the cops.”
“Sheppard, I’m not going to let them hurt those girls.” Ronon’s voice was full of barely controlled rage.
“Neither am I, just be patient. If they look like they are going to harm anyone, we make ourselves known.”
Glancing over at Rodney, he was pleased to see that his friend didn’t look frightened.
Rodney was tense, but composed. It amazed Sheppard how much he now trusted Rodney to watch his back. He was about to tell Rodney to stay in the background, when the father of the teenager loudly demanded the biker let his daughter go.
Their vantage point didn’t give them a straight visual line to the young girl, but from what he could tell, the biker had decided to nibble on the girl’s neck. When the father interceded, the biker stood up, dropping the girl to the floor, and backhanded the father sending him spinning to the floor. The girl’s mother had grabbed her daughter, attempting to pull her away. Sheppard didn’t have time to react, before Ronon was out of the booth.
“Let her go!” The Satedan rushed toward the table, but two of the large bikers attacked him, slamming Ronon to the floor. Sheppard jumped up and Rodney followed.
“Hey come on, let’s just take it easy here. No need for anyone to get hurt.”
Sheppard slowly approached the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rodney nudge closer to where the two bikers were pining Ronon to the floor. He was pretty certain that Rodney was planning something. He just didn’t know what.
One of the bikers, a tall, rough looking guy, covered in tattoos, walked over to Sheppard.
“So, pretty boy, you and this…this…funny-haired fag over here, think you’re going to stop us? I don’t think so. We came to Southern California to have some fun, and we are going to have some fun.”
“Why don’t you let these people go, then you can have the place and all the beer for yourself.”
“Really, you think we’re just gonna allow these fine people to leave. Fuck, no; we want to party with them.” He grabbed a server around the neck, “Go get us pitchers of beer, now,” he pulled a large knife from underneath his vest, “or I’ll have to mark you.” He pushed the young man away from him.
Another of the bikers had walked up to them, eyeing Sheppard closely. “Son of a bitch, Rich. This is the asshole that ran me off the road this afternoon. I remember him. He had on shades, but I’d know that sissy hair any day. You nearly caused me to wreck my ride, you son of a bitch.” He took a swing at Sheppard and although Sheppard reacted quickly, the man’s huge fist made contact with his left jaw. He was propelled into a table and slid across the top, plates, glasses and silverware scattering in all directions. He rolled his body as he dropped off the table, managing to get to his knees in time to see Rodney put his plan in action.
Rodney had snuck behind the two men holding onto Ronon. Along the way, he had picked up two of the heavy metal water pictures from the server station nearby. As Sheppard pulled himself to his feet, Rodney struck the two bikers over the head with the pitchers, sending both to the floor, allowing Ronon to escape their grasp.
Sheppard skirted the table, motioning for the people at the surrounding tables to move away. His eyes were fixed on the biker that had struck him. The bastard had his foot on the back of the teenager’s mother, pinning her to the floor.
“Some, big brave guy you are. What a conquest, pinning a 100 pound woman to the floor.” He scoffed, “Why don’t you take on someone your own size, or are you chicken?”
The rough biker was pissed, “You little sissy; I’ll kill you.” He rushed Sheppard, slamming into him and they both fell to the floor. Sheppard was smaller than the biker, who was about Ronon’s size, but he was more agile. The biker’s momentum caused him to roll a bit when he hit the floor, and Sheppard managed to slip from under the heavier man. He jumped up and quickly spun around, kicking the man in the stomach. He hoped to knock the air out of him and keep him down for a few moments.
Ronon had tackled two other bikers, who rushed him when their comrades fell. He took one down with a blow to the face, and had the other’s arm pinned behind him. He whispered to the biker. “How do you like picking on someone your size? He squeezed the man’s throat until he passed out. Ronon dropped him to the floor and turned in time to see Sheppard kick the goateed biker, then get struck from behind with a large serving tray wielded by another biker. He moved to help Sheppard when he heard a cry behind him. He whipped around to see Rodney take a punch to the stomach and double over.
Jumping over a chair, Ronon body slammed the biker who hit Rodney, and they went careening into the stage. Pulling the guy up, Ronon threw a hard punch into the guy’s face. Blood began flowing from the guy’s nose and Ronon loosened his grip on the biker letting him fall to the floor.
Sheppard was stunned momentarily; the tray had struck him in the back of the head causing him to black out for a second. He was lying on the floor when his attacker grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him up.
“So, sissy boy, think you can take me on, now.” He twisted Sheppard’s arm behind him.
“Y-yeah, I do.” Sheppard jerked his body down and spun, gaining just enough leverage to swing the biker over his shoulder and to the floor. The biker hit his head on the edge of a table as he went down, knocking him unconscious.
As he straightened up, Sheppard could hear the faint sound of sirens in the background. It wouldn’t be long until help arrived. As he tried to take a deep breath, he felt pain in his right side. He had hit a chair when he fell, bruising his ribs. He paused for a second to get oriented.
All around Sheppard, the patrons had begun to take on the bikers. Near the entrance, three men, two servers and a diner had one of the bikers pinned to the floor; another biker lay unconscious next to them. The mother of the teenage girl, who had been accosted, broke a glass pitcher of beer over the head of one of the bikers, who was punching on her husband. He continued to gaze around the room until he spotted the biker he thought was the leader. The bastard was standing in the center of the dance floor, his arm around one of the female servers, a knife to her throat.
The rest of the room faded from Sheppard’s perception. The biker could hear the sirens as well as he could, and realized that things were quickly going south. The out-of-control bikers had been looking for a fight all day, now they had one. Sheppard took a step toward the man.
“Let her go.”
The biker laughed, “Nah…I like this one. I think I’ll take her with me; she’s hot.” He ran his free hand along her chest. The young woman was staring at Sheppard; fear frozen on her face.
“She’s not going with you; I’m not going let that happen. Let her go.”
Ronon was about to head to Sheppard’s side when he saw Rodney, who had gotten to his feet, was about to be hit from behind again. He yelled for McKay to look out, knowing he probably couldn’t get to the scientist in time. He braced for the blow that the biker was about to deliver when the biker was stopped suddenly by a large metal trash can coming down on his head. The biker fell, unconscious, knocking Rodney over. Ronon grinned, as an angry Carson Beckett, holding the trash can, looked over at him. Carson dropped the can and helped Rodney to his feet.
Ronon turned toward Sheppard, but he didn’t get very far before he felt the sharp edge of a blade slide across his upper right arm. Warm blood began to trickle down his arm from a deep slice along his bicep. He slipped a large knife from its sheath on his belt, and wheeled around, the knife sinking into the biker’s side. He tried to keep from hitting anything vital, knowing Sheppard would prefer they didn’t kill anyone. The biker stumbled backward. A couple of the band members jumped down from the stage, holding the biker down. Ronon concentrated on Sheppard, as Carson began to administer aid to the stabbed biker.
Sheppard took a step toward the biker and his hostage. “Come on, you don’t want to hurt her, you want to hurt me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, asshole. I want to do both.”
The sirens were so close that Sheppard was certain the police would burst through the doors any minute. He could tell the biker knew that as well, the resolve in the man’s eyes was clear. He was going to go down fighting. Sheppard wasn’t going to let him take the girl with him.
Noticing Ronon slowly entering his vision periphery, he formulated a plan; hoping that Ronon would catch on. He started slowly edging toward the biker.
“Come on, let’s finish this. Let her go. I’ll fight you. You’re bigger than me; guess you must outweigh me by fifty pounds. You can take me. Well, you can try. Let her go.”
It was working. Sheppard saw the biker’s grip on the girl loosen. The knife was no longer pressed against the girl’s throat. If he, and Ronon, timed it right, they could end this.
Sheppard’s hand drifted toward the knife tucked in his belt, all the while keeping the biker’s eyes locked on his. When he thought that Ronon was close enough, he smiled at the biker.
“I gave you a chance; you didn’t take it. Sorry….”
With that, he whipped the knife up and lunged at the biker. The biker instinctively raised his knife in Sheppard’s direction, releasing the young woman. Ronon quickly snatched her away to safety. Sheppard continued to rush forward, intending to knock the biker to the floor. He was focused and had suppressed the din of noise around him. He could hear the welcoming sound of the police bursting into the room. It was over, just take this bastard down, and it was over.
However, the biker had other ideas. He lunged at Sheppard; holding his knife in front of him. Sheppard attempted to block the knife with his left arm, but the biker’s weight hit him, and they went down. He felt the knife that he was holding sink into the biker’s abdomen before he lost his grip on the handle. He was pinned to the floor until Ronon pulled the biker off of him, and pulled him to his feet.
“Sheppard, you OK?”
Ronon’s voice sounded far away. He tried to focus on the Satedan, but was having difficulty doing so. He had a sensation of warm fluid trickling down his side and he gingerly touched the area. Pulling his hand back, it was covered with blood. He raised his head toward Ronon, as the room began to fade to black, and he started to sink to the floor again. He uttered one word, “Crap.”
~~ooOoo~~
The familiar soft cadence of the monitors surrounding him was the first sound he recognized. Slowly opening his eyes, he expected to see the deep aqua-green walls of the Atlantis infirmary; instead, he was looking at a white ceiling and deep tan colored walls. The lights were subdued, a fact that he was grateful for since his head was throbbing. He raised his head a bit and saw two figures sitting in chairs at the foot of the bed.
“H-hey…”
Beckett was on his feet in flash, barely beating Rodney to Sheppard’s bedside. “How’re you feeling, laddie”
“Normal…”
McKay scoffed, “Normal…I wouldn’t call a stab wound, bruised ribs, and a minor concussion normal.”
“S-seems normal to me, McKay,” he motioned that he wanted to sit up. Beckett adjusted the bed, raising the head up a bit.
“Could I have some w-water? How b-bad’s the s-stab wound?”
Carson gave him a sip of water, “Not too much at once, colonel; you can have more. As for the stab wound, it’s not as bad as it looked. It bled a lot, but it’s not very deep. It’s more like a slice across your left side. A child doctor finished sewing you up a few minutes ago, took seventeen stitches.” He gave Sheppard another sip of water.
“Child doctor, you mean a kid’s doctor? Where are we, Sesame Street?”
Chuckling Carson said, “No, your doctor is a full-fledged emergency room doctor, he’s just young.”
“Well, C-Carson, they begin to look that way when we get older.”
“Hush, you cheeky bastard; you need to rest. We were concerned about the head injury; you hit your head a second time when you fainted.”
“Passed out, doc; not fainted,” McKay chuckled, and Sheppard grinned slightly at his friend.
“Head’s too hard to hurt very badly, Carson,” but if Sheppard had to admit it, his head was throbbing.
“Well, you were lucky that it’s only a minor concussion.”
Sheppard’s mind cleared enough to realize that Ronon wasn’t in the room. “Where’s Ronon?”
Carson glanced at the monitor, noticing that Sheppard’s heart rate had picked up as he asked about Ronon. ‘Calm down, John. Ronon’s fine, he’s getting stitches in his arm. He got cut, as well, but he’ll be fine. I don’t think he’ll need as many stitches as you did. Now just rest, I’m gonna go let the nurse know you’re awake. The doctor will be back in a bit to check you over, and then we can leave, once they’ve finished with Ronon.”
Carson was about to open the door, when a man in a suit entered. “Gentlemen, I’m Detective Elliot of the Bakersfield Police.” He shook Carson and Rodney’s hands, glancing over at Sheppard. “Colonel, good to see you are awake. We’ve gotten statements from your friends, but I wanted to ask you a couple of questions.”
“Sure, come in.” Sheppard waved his hand.
I won’t keep you long; Dr. McKay said you would be staying at least another day for you to recuperate a bit before you head on to Vegas. We can talk more tomorrow. Mostly, I just wanted to pass on a message from Sergeant Harper of the CHP. He got word about what went down at the Roadhouse, and that you were involved. He said you helped stop some of these guys this afternoon, and he wanted me to pass on his thanks. These guys have been wreaking havoc all over. We think they’ve been in the area for nearly two weeks, but working in pairs, robbing convenient stores and houses. We think they are responsible for two deaths and about seven rapes. Bunch of bad dudes, giving bikers a bad name; hell, I’m afraid to take my bike out for a while until this all settles down.”
“Not the friendliest group I’ve been around, detective.”
The young doctor walked in, followed by Ronon, whose bicep was wrapped in sticky purple gauze. McKay giggled, “Purple becomes you, Conan.”
Ronon glared at the scientist, but asked Sheppard, “You OK, buddy?” Sheppard nodded.
The detective took his leave, after making arrangement to talk with them at 10 am at the hotel. The doctor discharged both Sheppard and Ronon into Beckett’s care.
“I need a shirt.” Sheppard said, after he pulled on his boots, with Carson’s assistance.
“Here,” he handed Sheppard one of Appell Lane Vineyards t-shirts that the colonel had purchased in the vineyard gift shop. “I drove the car here from the Roadhouse, and noticed the bag with the shirts, figured you’d need this.” Sheppard muttered thanks and, with a grimace, pulled the dark green shirt over his head. The bruised ribs and stitches were tender and sore.
“Come on, John,” Carson said gently. “Let’s get you back to the hotel, so you can get some rest.”
~~ooOoo~~
About thirty hours later, they were ready to leave Bakersfield. They met with the police to give their full statements the day before and had turned down a request by the local media for interviews. Carson had insisted that they all rest during the afternoon, sending
Rodney out to pick up burgers for dinner, which they ate in Sheppard’s room. They spent the rest of the evening watching a marathon of the television show, Dirty Jobs. Ronon was fascinated by all the different jobs the host attempted.
Thursday morning was bright and sunny as they checked out of the hotel. Rodney had insisted on taking care of the hotel bill, and was settling up. The other three walked to the newly delivered and undamaged Range Rover. The rental car agency had picked up the damaged vehicle, replacing it with an identical Rover.
Sheppard automatically opened the driver’s door to get in when a sharp ‘no’ from Carson stopped him.
“You are not driving. Rodney’s driving.”
“Rodney? Hell, it’ll be next week before we get to Vegas. He drives like my uncle Francis, slow and steady. I’ll drive.”
“No, and don’t make me sic Ronon on you, laddie. Now, get in the back seat with me.
Ronon’s riding up front. You’re still recuperating and I want to keep an eye on you.” Sheppard frowned, and reluctantly got in the backseat.
Rodney emerged from the hotel, taking the driver’s seat. “OK, we’re out of Bakersfield, and I am so glad to be leaving here.’
“You forget something, Rodney; seatbelts, maybe?”
“Bite me, Sheppard; who put you in charge?”
“Rodney,” Sheppard was exasperated; mostly, because he didn’t like not driving.
“OK, everyone, ‘Colonel I Have to Run Everything’ wants us to all buckle-up.”
“It’s the law, Rodney,” Ronon remarked quietly.
“You can bite me, too, Conan.” Rodney snarked, while Sheppard and Beckett laughed.
Once he was on the main road toward Vegas, Rodney remarked, “You guys realized that we left Atlantis about 48 hours ago and so far we’ve been hung over…”
Sheppard interrupted, “You’ve been hung over.”
Rodney glared over his shoulder at Sheppard, and continued, “Hung over, nearly wrecked, attacked by madmen on motorcycles, then beaten and stabbed by those same madmen.”
“Your point is, McKay,” Sheppard drawled, “all sounds normal to me.”
Rodney sighed deeply, “Yeah. I know, and it’s only day three of a thirty day vacation. We’ll be lucky if we survive.”
Sheppard grinned, “You worry too much. On to Vegas, what could possibly go wrong?”
Rodney groaned.