SGA Fic
Well, I finally finished something, even if it's fairly pointless. It only took me months. A long road back to not hating everything that comes off my fingertips. A long, long road. Not quite there yet, but it's progress.
Title -- Thursday
Rating -- PG, Gen
Summary -- A long, quiet day.
Word Count -- 6500
Stargate: Atlantis and all related characters and elements are property of MGM and the SCI FI Channel, and are used here without permission.
Thanks to boofadil for her suggestion while I was stuck.
***
07:03 Atlantis Standard Time
"I don't know why they have to do that to the eggs. I just mash 'em up anyway," Ronon grumbled as he took his seat at the conference table.
"It was an omelet," Teyla explained patiently. "For variety."
Ronon shrugged and grunted and set about dismantling a pen. "I didn't like the green stuff."
"Then perhaps you should have had cereal instead. I do not think Chief Richards appreciated your commentary on his cooking."
"I told him the bacon was good," Ronon muttered with an edge of petulance.
Teyla sighed and flipped through one of the briefing folders that were placed carefully in front of each chair at the table.
"I'm late, am I late?" Elizabeth strode briskly into the room, clutching her computer pad and a sheaf of papers.
"We have only just arrived," Teyla assured her.
"Good, good. Wait, where's Colonel Sheppard? And Doctor McKay?"
"They were down at breakfast," Teyla offered, with a glance at the door, just as the duo in question clattered through the door, arguing as they arrived.
"I don't care what evidence you think you have--"
"Rodney, I've seen it a thou--"
"There is no way, not even for a minute, a second, a nanosecond that Luigi would win."
"He's a mean, lean, green, fighting machine, Rodney. The Princess is his."
"You are so full of crap."
"Gentlemen," Elizabeth called lightly, giving them a tight-lipped smile. It was entirely too early for this.
Sheppard ignored her. "Fine. When the Daedelus heads back to Earth, I'm putting in an order for a Nintendo, and then we can settle this like men."
"Whatever." Rodney rolled his eyes and took his seat.
"That's my chair, McKay," Sheppard groused, shoving lightly at the scientist's shoulders.
"Since when?"
Ronon looked up from his pen parts and smirked. "I think that's Sheppard's chair."
Rodney gave him a look of absolute disgust. "Oh, sure, side with him. Testosterone drenched he-men. Teyla?"
Teyla raised an eyebrow, decided she wanted no part in whatever mood her teammates had found themselves in, and turned to the suddenly weary looking Elizabeth. "Did you enjoy breakfast this morning? I found the croissants delightfully flaky."
***
09:42 AST
Low-tech, pre-industrial civilization, with a mysterious energy source near the village nearest the stargate, number seven hundred and eighty-nine. Or so.
"Most of the population lives below ground," Teyla informed them, waving a hand towards a low, unnaturally round hill.
"This isn't Genii part two, is it?" Sheppard asked, eyeing the place warily.
"Revenge of the Genii?" Rodney offered.
"They already did that one. Maybe Son of the Revenge of the Genii?"
"The sequels are never as good as the original."
Sheppard nodded in agreement and clapped his hands together. "Alright, so, secret hatch protocol in effect as of now."
Rodney squinted up into the bright and disgustingly cheery clear sky. "Is this protocol Alpha or Beta? Because, we never really manage Beta."
"You never manage Beta."
"Oh, that's pretty rich coming from you, Mr. 'Never Met a Secret Hatch He Didn't Love'", Mr. 'Hey! What's Behind This Locked and Heavily Barred Door?', Mr. 'Don't Mind My C4'."
"That's Colonel 'Don't Mind My C4'."
Ronon scanned the surrounding woods. "What's the secret hatch protocol? That wasn't in the briefing."
Teyla sighed. "Alpha instructs teams to investigate secret hatches. Beta instructs teams not to investigate secret hatches. It is not an official protocol." She cleared her throat and gave Sheppard and Rodney a somewhat stern look. "I assure you, this is not a repeat of the Genii."
"Still, always important to be prepared," Sheppard told her with a smile.
Rodney nodded his hearty agreement. "Remember that time with the zombie academy?"
"Yeah." Sheppard grimaced at the memory. "With the exploding skulls?"
"That's the one. I vote that when the people with the crazy eyes who live underground tell us not to look in their locked closets, we do as they say. Also, we should run."
"I'll bring it up with Elizabeth."
***
13:17 AST
"And lobsters! They're watching me! They're watching me, I can tell. I can feel their eyes. Their little beady eyes. On me! They're on me!"
McKay had been raving for the last hour and a half. An hour on the planet, an hour of stumbling, shrieking, and an hour of Sheppard trying to convince Ronon that hitting Rodney in the head as hard as he could was not a good option. Once through the stargate, they were all subjected to another twenty minutes of howling and thrashing. It had taken three marines to muscle the scientist down to the infirmary and into a bed, and an additional pair of burly corpsmen to get the restraints on him.
At least McKay's voice was finally starting to give out.
Dr. Beckett put a firm hand on Rodney's shoulder and reset the IV for the third time. "You're on Atlantis, Rodney. There aren't any lobsters on Atlantis."
"But ... but Atlantis is in the ocean. There could be lobsters all around us. In fact, I know there are. Don't lie to me! Don't you dare lie to me, you mentally deficient waste of carbon!"
Sheppard thought he should probably be more concerned than he was feeling, but, based on the knowing, yet sympathetic, laughter of the planet's natives, he was also pretty sure McKay was going to be alright. Plus, if he was entirely honest with himself, some of the delusions had actually been pretty funny. The one about the ninjas was classic, and was stored neatly away for future use. But, still and all, he did feel a little responsible.
It wasn't exactly his fault that Rodney was more insane than usual. He was pretty sure he remembered ordering him not to go down into that culvert, and it was hardly his fault that Rodney had a nasty case of selective hearing. But the fact remained, it was his scientist who was the lunatic, and so ultimately he was pretty sure it was his responsibility to get him to sit still long enough for treatment. He remembered reading something about that in the SGC field officers manual.
Pushing himself off the bed he'd been lounging against with Teyla and Ronon, Sheppard stepped up next to Beckett and absently tugged at a corner of blanket. "Rodney, settle down. Let the nice doctor do his job."
"Nice?" Rodney snorted. "Let this quack stick holes in me? Let him perform his twisted, deviant experiments on my body? He's probably in on it with them. I see a resemblance."
Teyla raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Beckett. "Rodney, I do not believe Carson bears any resemblance at all to a ... a lobster."
"Like you'd know."
Teyla fixed him with a steady stare and Sheppard jumped in again. Rodney didn't need a stick to the head in addition to his current condition. "Hey, look Rodney, did Elizabeth tell you about the ... uh ... dolphins?"
Rodney's eyes, bright with fever and madness, turned towards Sheppard. He looked confused, paranoid, and a little homicidal. "The ... the what? What? What is this?"
"Oh, I guess she hasn't had a chance yet," he said conversationally, hoping Rodney was delusional enough to not notice the extreme 'pulling this out of my ass' quality to the story. "Yeah, a survey team checking out the underside of the east pier saw a pod of dolphins. Well, sort of dolphins. Close enough. They're all around Atlantis, no lobster would dare come near us with the dolphins around. Right?"
"I ... I don't know."
"Dolphins are smart, right? You like smart things."
"Smart, but they don't have opposable thumbs," Rodney pointed out with the steady sensibly of the insane.
"Right. Anyway, and they're friendly, like to hang out with people, they'd never let a lobster near you, Rodney. You're perfectly safe here on Atlantis."
"Do dolphins eat lobsters?"
Sheppard looked at the others, none of whom were any help, but the marine who'd been trying to stop a Rodney-inflicted nosebleed looked incredibly skeptical. What did he know? He was a marine, not a marine biologist.
John put on his most serious face, and jabbed at the air in a resolved sort of way. "I'm absolutely, almost sure they do."
"Oh ..."
"So, let's let Dr. Beckett do his job and take care of that little allergic reaction you've got going on." Sheppard waved a hand vaguely at the scaly spots creeping up Rodney's arms and neck.
Rodney twisted his wrists against his restraints and grimaced. "It does sort of itch."
"Yeah, I bet."
"Stupid lobsters."
"Totally. We'll nuke the next one we see," John assured him with a friendly pat on the knee.
Mollified, Rodney settled back, giving only a small glare to Beckett as he moved to draw a vial of blood. "Okay."
"Awesome."
Sheppard made a quick escape, dodging around the curtain before Rodney could decide to explore plant-induced insanity some more. Ronon followed hard on his heels, and a brief moment later Teyla and Beckett escaped as well.
"It will take me some time to isolate the toxin," Carson reported wearily, "but with the sample you brought back, hopefully there won't be much of a difficulty. His vitals are stable, he doesn't appear to be in immediate danger. The hardest part will be keeping him quiet--"
A whining howl interrupted Beckett's report. "Oranges! The bastards had oranges! I told you!"
Beckett sighed, and darted a quick look over his shoulder. "Unfortunately he doesn't appear to be responding to the sedatives particularly well. I'd like to avoid it, but if he doesn't stay down, I may have to give him another dose."
Sheppard frowned at the curtain hiding Rodney. "It's not going to hurt him, is it?"
"I might, if the sedatives don't kick in soon," Beckett mumbled, then shook his head. "He'll be fine."
"Well, uh, good luck, then," Sheppard offered with a smile. "I'll give Elizabeth the update."
The trio left the infirmary, each letting out a little sigh of relief as Rodney's voice faded from hearing.
"What's a lobster?" Ronon asked.
***
14:31 AST
When she'd first arrived on Atlantis, Elizabeth Weir had tried to keep track, a mental count, of all the reports and meetings she had in a day. It was a way of charting progress, of feeling that things were getting done, even when yet another report followed a hundred others. At some point she lost track. Initially she'd felt unbalanced by it, a little overwhelmed at losing her mark, but then a mind-boggling string of near-death experiences trumped the weight of reports, and she found the experiences a more satisfying, if grim, way of tracking progress.
Today, however, it was reports. Lots and lots of reports.
"Hey."
Elizabeth looked up from an evaluation of the Atlantis sewage system and smiled gratefully at the savior who brought brief respite from her hell.
"How's Rodney?" she asked as Sheppard dropped into the chair across from her.
He waved a hand vaguely and smirked. "Beckett seems to think he'll be fine."
She raised an eyebrow and sat up in her chair, twisting her back slightly, wincing at each crack from her protesting spine. She had to get out of that damn chair more often. "That was an awful lot of shouting for 'fine'."
"Yeah, that was pretty good, actually. I'm almost positive I told him not to go down into that ditch, but, you know how he is." Sheppard gave and eloquent shrug and picked up a paperweight off her desk, turning it absently in his hands. "You should see him now," he chuckled. "He thinks Carson's a lobster."
Elizabeth gave a small, slightly helpless laugh and leaned forward, elbows on her desk. "You know, I sit in here, and sometimes I think my life has been entirely reduced to paperwork, and then you come in and tell me things like that."
John grinned broadly and tossed the paperweight up in the air, catching it neatly. "Makes it all worth it, doesn't it?"
She shook her head and tried not to laugh again. Her chief scientist delusional and shrieking wasn't funny. Not at all. And if she didn't look at Sheppard, she wouldn't laugh.
She had a mild panic attack every time any member of any of her teams came back home with even a slight limp -- to have one come through screaming at the top of his lungs was more than unsettling. She'd felt a great deal of relief when Sheppard had walked through the gate room looking more amused than worried, while arguing spiritedly with Ronon over ... something, as they carted the wildly thrashing McKay along between them.
"Anyway," Sheppard said after a moment, placing the paperweight back down on the desk. "Not much to report. The structure was abandoned probably around the same time as Atlantis. The energy readings were coming from some solar cells that were still beeping away. The Ancients built things to last. But, everything else had been stripped. You can probably send Zelenka and a team back to grab the cells. They're pretty big, though, so I'd recommend they go by jumper. Just tell 'em to stay away from the little bush with the pretty pink flowers."
"That's what did it?"
"Seems to be. The natives pointed it out as the likely culprit, plus it's the only thing he came in contact with that none of the rest of us did. We grabbed a sample, and some of the water from the ditch just in case."
"I'll wait for your full report and the lab results from Carson before sending anybody back."
"Good deal." John bounced up out of the chair and scratched at his jaw. "I'm gonna go take a shower, and then I'll get you that report. I'll be sure and put some good stuff in there; I mean, if you've got to have your life reduced to paperwork, better make sure it's entertaining paperwork. Rodney has great delusions."
Pressing her lips together firmly, she continued to refuse to laugh. "I'll look forward to it."
John grinned and headed out the door, and she turned back to her work.
"Oh, one thing." Sheppard stuck his head back into her office.
"Yes?"
"If you go down and see Rodney before he's, you know, sane again, I told him you told me about the dolphins. Oh, and they're near the east pier. They're keeping the lobsters away." He nodded resolutely and seemed to think that made sense, then he disappeared out the door again.
Elizabeth laughed.
***
16:09 AST
"What? What? What do you ... why do you do this now? Ne! Ne!"
The sounds of a scuffle rumbled out into the corridor and Ronon paused. Scratching his chin, he wondered if he really wanted to enter the lab to find out what was going on. On the one hand, he wouldn't mind some excercise; the prospect of being stuck in the city while McKay recovered was already chaffing. On the other hand, it was a science lab and the odds of a decent fight were pretty damned slim.
A body thudded against the door and Ronon sighed. This was part of that team stuff Sheppard was so big on, wasn't it? He glanced forlornely down the corridor, but nobody else magically appeared to step in where he didn't want to.
With a growl, he slapped his palm on the door controls. A pair of brawling scientists tumbled out onto his feet, knocking him back a few paces. Reaching down, he grabbed each man by the collar and gave a tug. The smaller of the two rolled down the hallway a few feet, and then, with remarkable agility for a man his age, bounced to his feet and gnashed his teeth like a vicious rodent. The tall, skinny, pale-haired man landed on his back and whooped for air. Ronon caught the small man as he tried to charge his opponent and held him out at arm's length as he struggled.
Doctor Zelenka appeared in the door, his wild hair looking even more frazzled, and his face pinched in anger. He was gesturing expansively and shouting. Ronon couldn't make out a word of it, but he got the general idea.
Zelenka finally paused to draw a breath and he looked up at Ronon. "Thank you for your assistance," he said with a cordial nod.
"No problem. Team stuff. Sheppard says I should do more." Ronon looked past him into the lab and raised an eyebrow at the equipment strewn across the room. "What's going on?"
"Well, Doctor Hibson," he glared at the small man, "has theory. And Doctor Lindborg," he directed the glare to the gasping, pale man," has theory. And both have decided other is lacking in intelligence God gave paramicium. By me there is theory that neither has brain cell between them and are wishing to make sure McKay comes back to find lab in chaos. Extension of this theory is that both are masochists who secretly enjoy McKay in frothing rage. Theory would have little meaning to me if my department was not forced to work with this department on project. And so, if loud theorizing had been allowed to continue, I would be forced to endure before mentioned frothing rage." He drew in a deep breath and nodded to Ronon again. "And so, once more, I thank you."
"Right. Sure. So what should I do with them?"
Zelenak shrugged. "Drop them off a pier, for all I care."
Ronon grinned down at Doctor Hibson, who'd finally stopped struggling and now looked up at Ronon with wide, startled eyes.
Zelenka sighed and shook his head. "On second thought, McKay having to fish these two out of the ocean would probably lead to similar but different frothing rage. Which I do not need."
With an unhappy frown, he pushed his glasses up his nose, and narrowed his eyes at the two scientists. "You," he pointed his finger at Hibson, "will finish test of power in sub-conduits near east pier. Take over for Captain Kim's team, they could use a rest." He turned and pointed the finger at Lindborg, who was finally getting slowly to his feet, "And you will clean jumpers until they sparkle."
Lindborg and Hibson began to sputter and Zelenka shouted back at them. Ronon was fairly certain that neither scientist understood Zelenka any better than he did, but the Doctor was more than capable of getting his point across.
As the ranting went on, Ronon began to chuckle. Maybe being stuck in the city wouldn't be as boring as it usually was. He didn't go down near the labs very often, but he was obviously missing out on good stuff.
Zelenka finished his diatribe and he glared at the chastised scientists. "Well? You are wasting time."
Ronon grinned as the pair sullenly went on their way. "I'll be happy to make sure they finish the work."
Zelenka's frown faded and he looked at Ronon thoughtfully. "You are very good. I like you."
"Thanks."
"Hm, yes. I need to go clear up this mess. They broke Ancient machine while they fought."
Ronon looked over at the remains of a large, rectangular box covered in wires. "What was it?"
"Now we may never know." Zelenka shook his head and stepped back into the lab, kicking a piece of metal back towards the ruined machine and muttering under his breath.
Ronon followed after. "So, uh, do you get a lot of fights down here?"
Zelenka sighed heavily and waved his hands around. "Is McKay's department, what do you think?"
"I think I should hang out down here more."
The scientist gave him a skeptical look over the rim of his glasses. "I think you might be hit in the head too often." Zelenka dropped his eyes down to the ancient machine. "But, since you are here, you can pick that up. Is very heavy."
***
16:40 AST
"They're just socks," Sheppard said carefully, giving young Lieutenant Reyes a skeptical look.
"Yes, sir."
"And ...?"
"And they've got holes in them. The whole shipment."
"Because?" he said slowly, wishing the kid would get to the point. Fresh out of the Academy, apparently sharp as a tack, but obviously greener than the greenest grass that ever greened, and he'd chosen to have his first offworld meltdown over socks. Takes all kinds.
"I don't know, sir," the kid said quietly, staring straight ahead, unblinking, his spine ramrod straight. John placed a bet with himself on how long that would last. This one was stiff, he'd last at least four months before he unbent. Something would have to be done about that, or he'd snap. Alongside his bet, he made a note to get Lorne to invite him to poker night, or surf day, or pick on the anthropologist afternoon, or something.
"Well, find out. And in the mean time, doesn't anybody know how to darn their own socks anymore?"
"No, sir."
"No, sir?" He asked with some disbelief. How could somebody go through life not knowing how to mend socks?
The young Lieutenant's eyes opened wider at Sheppard's tone, misreading it entirely. "I mean, no, sir, I don't know how to darn my own socks, sir. And yes, sir, I'll find the source of the problem, sir."
Sheppard struggled not to roll his eyes. "When I was eighteen my mother made me take a sewing class at the Y. Worst spring break ever. But, she said I was old enough to take care of my own damn laundry. And I'll tell you what, Lieutenant."
"Sir?"
"My socks sure as hell don't have holes in them. Why don't you contact the mainland, see if the Athosians have some socks for you, or if they could lend you a needle and thread. How's that sound?"
"Yes, sir. Very good, sir."
"Alright then," Sheppard pronounced with a smirk. "That it?"
"Yes, sir." The young officer gave him a crisp salute and marched out of his office.
Sheppard looked over at the patiently waiting Sergeant. "Far be it for me to corrupt the fine young officers of our country's excellent military, but the next time he's off duty, somebody should point him towards the still."
"I think maybe I can do something about that, Colonel."
"You're a god among men, Williams."
"S'what my wife says every time I take out the trash, sir."
"She's a wise woman."
"Don't I know it."
"So, tell me, the mysterious sock eating critters didn't get into the ammo, did they?"
"No, sir. It all looks good." The Sergeant stepped forward and dropped a sheet of paper on John's desk. "Inventory matched the requisition spot on."
"Small favors." John tapped his fingers on the paper and looked up at the bland faced man across from him. "You wouldn't happen to have any idea on the sock thing, would you?"
The bland face turned, suspiciously, even more bland. "Could be, sir."
"I don't suppose you mind letting me in on it?"
"It's possible, sir, that some of the SGC personnel may have lost a bet with some of our people here. It's possible that there may have been some resentment over the losing of the bet."
"Do I want to know the nature of the bet?"
"With all due respect, Colonel, I don't believe you do."
John laughed and rubbed at his ear. "Alright, but if I'm missing out on some action, I'm going to be very upset."
"We wouldn't dream of upsetting you, Colonel."
"You're really not going to tell me?"
"Is this an order, sir?"
John sighed and frowned, disappointed. "Nah. Just do something about the socks before Reyes has a complete nervous breakdown."
"Can do, sir." The Sergeant snapped him a quick salute and then John was left to his inventories and his assessments. He pondered the papers for a moment, and then wondered if Rodney was awake, and if he was still delusional.
With a grin, he pushed back his chair and left the room.
***
18:12 AST
Elizabeth's paperwork was making such a determined effort at completely crushing her spirit, that it was with an odd mix of weariness and gratefulness she finally put it aside when Doctors Hibson and Lindborg brought their battle to her office.
Briefly, she brought out her inner-diplomat to try and broker a peace deal, but when that fell through, and the resumption of hostilities reached a deafening pitch, she threw diplomacy over and ended the war by getting resolutely to her feet and suggesting that if neither man wanted to be treated like a child, they should perhaps cease behaving like children, and if they couldn't manage that, then each man would probably be best off carrying out Zelenka's orders, silently. Further, she reminded them, as they glared at her, looking mulish, that she had a large number of heavily-armed soldiers under her command.
Once she'd dispatched the sputtering scientists, she looked down at her waiting work and decided she just couldn't face getting straight back into it. She needed a walk, needed to get out and reconnect with her world after a day of near isolation. It would all be be waiting for her when she got back. Which was a thought that did nearly as thorough a job at spirit crushing as the work itself had been trying for.
Elizabeth slipped out the office door before something else could come up to keep her chained to the desk. And the chair. And the paperwork. And the internecine wars that cropped up daily.
Winding her way through the control room, and then down through the city, she greeted her people, commented on sunburns, asked after mothers, accepted an invite to poker night, and reminded herself why she did, in fact, truly love her job, and why she was exactly where she needed and wanted to be.
Eventually, her path wound its way to the infirmary, but her steps faltered at the entrance. She couldn't hear any shouting, shrieking, screaming, or agonized cries, but that wasn't necessarily a good sign. And while she was, of course, concerned about Rodney, she wasn't entirely sure she was up for psychosis.
Chiding herself for her lapse -- he was her chief scientist and a friend, wasn't he? -- she took a deep breath and pushed through the doors with as much leaderly confidence as she could muster.
She found Carson at his desk and put a friendly hand on his slumped shoulders. He gave her a weary half-smile that was only just a shade more peppy than a pained grimace.
"How is he?" she asked, nodding towards the only curtained off bed in the room.
Carson rubbed at his eyes and propped his elbow on the desk, settling his chin on his hand. "Considerably calmer. Finally. He says he's decided he's not actually here."
"Not here?" Elizabeth was nearly sure that didn't sound like a particularly good thing.
Carson, however, just shrugged, seemingly unworried. "Among other things, the plant secretes a fairly impressive hallucinogen. Until it works its way out of his system, if deciding nothing is real is what will keep him calm and happy, then that's a fine way to cope, as far as I'm concerned. If he has trouble coming out of it, well, we'll deal with that when we come to it. I prefer this alternative to giving him more sedatives, to be honest."
She glanced apprehensively over at the curtain. She was going to have to go over there. "Can I talk to him?"
"If you like. He's being somewhat responsive."
Raising an eyebrow, she gave voice to a very real fear, "And what are the odds that I'll say something that will set him off?"
"Please don't," Carson groaned softly.
"Carson?" His tone of voice was a little alarming, and she felt her stomach knot slightly.
"Oh, he's fine, just fine. And, if you keep it simple, he'll not react much. Just don't try to convince him of anything he doesn't want to believe. I'm begging."
She gave him a skeptical look but nodded her head. "I'll go with your judgment on that."
"Bless you."
After an uncertain pat on his shoulder, Elizabeth walked as softly as she could over to the curtain around Rodney's bed. Licking her lips nervously, she shifted the curtain to the side and stepped in.
"Rodney?"
He looked up at her with slightly glassy eyes. "Oh, Elizabeth. Hello," he said in a flat, distant tone.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, eyeing the angry rash covering his arms and creeping up his neck and jaw.
"Just peachy."
"Really? That's wonderful to hear. I was worried."
"No need. Have you ever had weetabix?"
Elizabeth blinked at the non sequitor. "I ... um, yes, I'm sure I have."
"It's disturbing," he said with shockingly little affect. Elizabeth was not used to a Rodney so ... so ... quiet and even.
"Weetabix?"
"Yes. You can put it in a bowl of milk, and it will absorb all the liquid without expanding or changing shape. It's unnatural. Its very existence is a mockery of science."
Crossing her arms, Elizabeth tapped her fingers on her elbows, and wondered what sort of McKay minefield she was wandering into. "We are talking about a breakfast cereal, right?"
"Mockery," he said loudly, making Elizabeth wince. "And everybody on the X-Files was named Bill," he continued absently.
"I never watched the X-Files."
"Lucky you. How many Bills do we have on Atlantis? I mean, assuming I was actually on Atlantis."
"Which you're not?" she asked cautiously, mindful of Carson's pleading.
"I've decided it doesn't matter," he informed her airily, settling back on his pillows and staring past her at the curtain.
"Okay," she agreed simply.
"So?" he demanded after moment, fixing an intense but unsteady gaze on her.
"What?"
"Bills. How many of them are there?"
"I don't know, Rodney. It's a fairly common name. I can check if you like."
"No point. Atlantis." He laughed. "As if."
At a loss, she chewed on her lower lip and decided on an exit strategy. "Is there anything I can get for you?"
"Like what? None of this is real. What are you going to get me? Worthless ephemera? The tattered remnants of faded memories? Hollow shells of long-forgotten dreams?"
Her eyes widened as his voice grew in volume. Carson was going to use the dull needles next time she was in for a vaccination. "I ... I was thinking of a book, maybe, or a computer?"
He settled back again, face going blank, and told her, with a surprising amount of pleasentness, "No, thank you. I'm fine."
"Okay, well, I'll check in on you later."
"If you like."
Hesitantly, she reached out and touched his knee. "I'm glad you're feeling better."
He didn't respond and she slipped around the curtain with a relieved sigh.
"So?"
She jumped at the sudden voice in her ear and turned a frosty glare on the speaker. Sheppard just smiled his insufferable smile and nudged her away from the curtain with his shoulder.
"Weird, isn't it?"
"What?" she asked tightly. She really hated when he snuck up on her. He didn't do it to anybody else, as far as she knew, and she suspected he only did it to her because she wasn't armed.
"McKay. It's like talking to a bizarro Rodneybot."
Elizabeth gave him another small glare, this time for insensitivity, even if 'bizarro Rodneybot' was exceptionally accurate. He pouted and scrubbed a hand through his hair.
They walked back over to Carson, joining Teyla who'd brought in a large pot of fragrant tea and some small cakes.
"How is Doctor McKay?" Teyla asked, pouring Carson a cup of tea which he took gratefully.
"Fine, I guess," Elizabeth told her with a small frown. "That rash of his, Carson?"
"Some blistering, but overall a relatively minor skin irritation. If we can keep him from scratching at it, I think it will clear up nicely." Carson took a sip of his drink and gave a tired sigh. "Thank you, lass."
Teyla patted his hand and poured herself a cup. "Elizabeth, John, would either of you care for some tea?"
John leaned forward and sniffed at the pot. "That's not that mossy fungus tea, is it?"
Teyla raised an eyebrow and pointedly set the pot back down on the desk.
"Don't pay him any mind. Americans don't understand the comfort of a good cup of tea," Carson told her loftily.
John shrugged and grinned. "Sure we do, we just call it meatloaf." The grin faltered when Teyla slid the plate of cakes out of his reach.
Elizabeth pressed her lips together and tried not to laugh. She was tired, that was it. That was all it was. Putting a firm hand on John's shoulder, she smiled at Teyla and shook her head. "Another time, Teyla. I think Colonel Sheppard and I both have reports we should be getting back to."
Teyla gave Elizabeth a wide smile, with only the slightest of wicked glints in her eye when she glanced over at Sheppard. "Of course, Doctor Weir, I would not wish to keep either of you from your duties."
"Evil," Sheppard muttered. "Call us if you need anything, Doc."
Carson waved a hand at him and reached for a cake. "Of course."
John darted a quick look back over his shoulder when he and Elizabeth got to the doors. He paused, frowned, and then opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it with a click a second later.
"What?" Elizabeth asked, looking back, trying to spot what was catching his attention. The infirmary was quiet but for the clack of a keyboard as Carson worked on something while he sipped at his tea. Next to him, Teyla shuffled through some papers on the desk.
"Is there something going on there?" John asked with bemused suspicion.
"Where?"
"Teyla and Beckett."
"They're having tea."
Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Yes ... and?"
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and cocked her head. "I don't think they're plotting to take over the city."
"No, that's not what I meant, I mean ... never mind. I don't think I want to think about it."
"I find I use that philosophy more and more the longer we're out here," Elizabeth informed him with a resigned smile.
He blinked at her, looking slightly confused. Clearing his expression with a shake of his head, he followed her out the door. "We're out of socks, by the way."
***
20:54 AST
"No more. I give. Uncle." John put one foot on the leg of the desk and shoved his chair away. He stretched his arms up over his head and groaned.
"Elizabeth?" he forced her name out through a yawn. She hummed absently at him, but didn't look up. He narrowed his eyes. "Elizabeth," he called more loudly.
"What?", she mumbled, half there, half lost in scrolling words on a computer screen.
"It's 21:00. Give it up."
"I'm almost done."
"No, you're not."
She finally looked up at him, frowning as she did. "And you'd know that exactly how?"
He raised an eyebrow and leaned forward slowly, bracing one elbow on the edge of her desk. With a smile, his hand darted out and he snatched the tablet from her hand.
"Hey." Her frown deepened, and he quickly gauged her look against his inner Elizabeth-o-meter. She was bemused, annoyed, and exhausted, but not angry. Which meant he was perfectly safe in keeping hold of her pad, and so he did, sitting back well out of her reach.
"I know that because I am a trained observer of people," he told her loftily.
She rolled her eyes and sat back. "Really?"
"Really," he confirmed. "I'm also a trained observer of desks, and I know that if I leave before you do, I'll find you in exactly the same position come morning." She snorted and he gave her a mild glare. "I'm also military commander of this expedition and it's my job to gauge the readiness of the staff to respond to threats. Right now, my assessment of your readiness is that I'd give Rodney slightly better than even odds at taking you. You're done for the night."
"Is that an order, Colonel," she asked him somewhat frostily.
He pursed his lips and thought about it. "Yes, I think it might be."
Elizabeth looked like she might argue, her lips were thinning in just that way they did right before she really laid into a person, but after a moment the mask cracked and she folded her arms on her desk and dropped her head down onto them. "You're right."
Sheppard smiled, triumphant. That didn't always work, and when it backfired, things could turn messy for days.
"Should we go check on Rodney one more time?" she muttered.
"No, he's probably asleep. Or counting nutrinos jumping over a fence, or whatever it is he does. He'll be fine, Elizabeth." She may have nodded, it was a little hard to tell.
After a moment, she spoke again, quietly, almost subdued, but that could have been the mumbling into her arms. "I hate it when one of you comes through the 'gate like that."
"Crazy and raving?"
"Yes, or injured, or anything that requires an extended infirmary visit." She raised her head and propped her chin on a fist. "It makes even a relatively quiet day a long one."
"I know."
"It's the worst part of this job."
"I know," he said again, simply but with quiet intensity. "But today, we're all here, and everybody's okay, and McKay'll be fine, if actually amusing for a while."
"It's not funny, John," she said rather sharply.
"It is, Elizabeth," he told her firmly, sitting forward to prop his own elbows on the edge of her desk. "It's funny because he's okay. Carson's not worried, so you shouldn't be."
She stared at him for a moment and then looked down at her desk. "I'm trying. This never gets easier."
"Would you want it to?"
"No. I just wish you'd stop coming back in pieces."
"I'm whole and hearty."
"For now."
"You're a barrel of laughs tonight," he chided gently.
"I'm sorry," she said, and rubbed wearily at her eyes.
"Hey, don't be. You worry about us, you burn the midnight oil when things get rough. You know I understand. But, my readiness assessment stands, Elizabeth."
She gave him a nearly petulant look and sighed. "I could totally take Rodney."
He smirked and tossed her pad on the desk, then stood and yawned again. "Come on, I know a great little place with some really questionable fungus tea."
"Okay, this round to you, Colonel Sheppard."
She followed him out of her office and into the sleeping city. The lights were dimmed for evening, the corridors mostly empty, and only the small graveyard crew moved about in command area.
It was as peaceful as the city ever got, which was actually pretty peaceful for a forward base. John tucked his hands in his pockets and smiled. "All in all, not a horrible day."
"No, I guess not."
"Could have been worse," he said philosophically.
"Don't even start."
"Has been worse."
"I'm serious, John," her voice dipped into icy warning.
"Remember that time Lorne and--"
"John! Enough, your point has been more than made," she growled, throwing up her hands in exasperation.
He grinned cheerily and, wisely, resisted the urge to whistle.
***
23:39 AST
"... and I don't care what anybody says -- new series my ass -- the man's twelve hundred years old, if he's a day."
Carson groaned and dropped McKay's chart back onto the end of the bed. "Rodney, you've been going on for hours, would you shut up?"
"You can't tell me to shut up, I'm not really here," Rodney snarled.
"If you're not really here, then why would you be hallucinating about me?"
"Because my subconscious and I have a contentious relationship."
"So much is explained." Carson stood up and rubbed at his eyes. "Can you do me a favor, Rodney, and stop hallucinating about me for a time, so I can get some rest? Here, why don't you hallucinate about Lieutenant Dashkov, and we can resume this delusion in the morning?"
"Sure, fine, whatever. Like it makes a difference. One witchdoctor is the same as any other."
"Well then, go to sleep. Maybe you'll dream about wee little fluffy bunnies instead."
"I hate rabbits. I'm allergic. My sister had one when she was seven. Destructive, spiteful little rodent."
"Your sister or the rabbit?"
"Both. Either. Whatever. Go, if you're going."
"Good night, Rodney."
McKay's only acknowledgement was a twitch under one eye. His steady, if somewhat distant gaze settled briefly on curtains that waved gently after the doctor's passage.
"Atlantis," Rodney huffed quietly, "... as if."
##
Title -- Thursday
Rating -- PG, Gen
Summary -- A long, quiet day.
Word Count -- 6500
Stargate: Atlantis and all related characters and elements are property of MGM and the SCI FI Channel, and are used here without permission.
Thanks to boofadil for her suggestion while I was stuck.
***
07:03 Atlantis Standard Time
"I don't know why they have to do that to the eggs. I just mash 'em up anyway," Ronon grumbled as he took his seat at the conference table.
"It was an omelet," Teyla explained patiently. "For variety."
Ronon shrugged and grunted and set about dismantling a pen. "I didn't like the green stuff."
"Then perhaps you should have had cereal instead. I do not think Chief Richards appreciated your commentary on his cooking."
"I told him the bacon was good," Ronon muttered with an edge of petulance.
Teyla sighed and flipped through one of the briefing folders that were placed carefully in front of each chair at the table.
"I'm late, am I late?" Elizabeth strode briskly into the room, clutching her computer pad and a sheaf of papers.
"We have only just arrived," Teyla assured her.
"Good, good. Wait, where's Colonel Sheppard? And Doctor McKay?"
"They were down at breakfast," Teyla offered, with a glance at the door, just as the duo in question clattered through the door, arguing as they arrived.
"I don't care what evidence you think you have--"
"Rodney, I've seen it a thou--"
"There is no way, not even for a minute, a second, a nanosecond that Luigi would win."
"He's a mean, lean, green, fighting machine, Rodney. The Princess is his."
"You are so full of crap."
"Gentlemen," Elizabeth called lightly, giving them a tight-lipped smile. It was entirely too early for this.
Sheppard ignored her. "Fine. When the Daedelus heads back to Earth, I'm putting in an order for a Nintendo, and then we can settle this like men."
"Whatever." Rodney rolled his eyes and took his seat.
"That's my chair, McKay," Sheppard groused, shoving lightly at the scientist's shoulders.
"Since when?"
Ronon looked up from his pen parts and smirked. "I think that's Sheppard's chair."
Rodney gave him a look of absolute disgust. "Oh, sure, side with him. Testosterone drenched he-men. Teyla?"
Teyla raised an eyebrow, decided she wanted no part in whatever mood her teammates had found themselves in, and turned to the suddenly weary looking Elizabeth. "Did you enjoy breakfast this morning? I found the croissants delightfully flaky."
***
09:42 AST
Low-tech, pre-industrial civilization, with a mysterious energy source near the village nearest the stargate, number seven hundred and eighty-nine. Or so.
"Most of the population lives below ground," Teyla informed them, waving a hand towards a low, unnaturally round hill.
"This isn't Genii part two, is it?" Sheppard asked, eyeing the place warily.
"Revenge of the Genii?" Rodney offered.
"They already did that one. Maybe Son of the Revenge of the Genii?"
"The sequels are never as good as the original."
Sheppard nodded in agreement and clapped his hands together. "Alright, so, secret hatch protocol in effect as of now."
Rodney squinted up into the bright and disgustingly cheery clear sky. "Is this protocol Alpha or Beta? Because, we never really manage Beta."
"You never manage Beta."
"Oh, that's pretty rich coming from you, Mr. 'Never Met a Secret Hatch He Didn't Love'", Mr. 'Hey! What's Behind This Locked and Heavily Barred Door?', Mr. 'Don't Mind My C4'."
"That's Colonel 'Don't Mind My C4'."
Ronon scanned the surrounding woods. "What's the secret hatch protocol? That wasn't in the briefing."
Teyla sighed. "Alpha instructs teams to investigate secret hatches. Beta instructs teams not to investigate secret hatches. It is not an official protocol." She cleared her throat and gave Sheppard and Rodney a somewhat stern look. "I assure you, this is not a repeat of the Genii."
"Still, always important to be prepared," Sheppard told her with a smile.
Rodney nodded his hearty agreement. "Remember that time with the zombie academy?"
"Yeah." Sheppard grimaced at the memory. "With the exploding skulls?"
"That's the one. I vote that when the people with the crazy eyes who live underground tell us not to look in their locked closets, we do as they say. Also, we should run."
"I'll bring it up with Elizabeth."
***
13:17 AST
"And lobsters! They're watching me! They're watching me, I can tell. I can feel their eyes. Their little beady eyes. On me! They're on me!"
McKay had been raving for the last hour and a half. An hour on the planet, an hour of stumbling, shrieking, and an hour of Sheppard trying to convince Ronon that hitting Rodney in the head as hard as he could was not a good option. Once through the stargate, they were all subjected to another twenty minutes of howling and thrashing. It had taken three marines to muscle the scientist down to the infirmary and into a bed, and an additional pair of burly corpsmen to get the restraints on him.
At least McKay's voice was finally starting to give out.
Dr. Beckett put a firm hand on Rodney's shoulder and reset the IV for the third time. "You're on Atlantis, Rodney. There aren't any lobsters on Atlantis."
"But ... but Atlantis is in the ocean. There could be lobsters all around us. In fact, I know there are. Don't lie to me! Don't you dare lie to me, you mentally deficient waste of carbon!"
Sheppard thought he should probably be more concerned than he was feeling, but, based on the knowing, yet sympathetic, laughter of the planet's natives, he was also pretty sure McKay was going to be alright. Plus, if he was entirely honest with himself, some of the delusions had actually been pretty funny. The one about the ninjas was classic, and was stored neatly away for future use. But, still and all, he did feel a little responsible.
It wasn't exactly his fault that Rodney was more insane than usual. He was pretty sure he remembered ordering him not to go down into that culvert, and it was hardly his fault that Rodney had a nasty case of selective hearing. But the fact remained, it was his scientist who was the lunatic, and so ultimately he was pretty sure it was his responsibility to get him to sit still long enough for treatment. He remembered reading something about that in the SGC field officers manual.
Pushing himself off the bed he'd been lounging against with Teyla and Ronon, Sheppard stepped up next to Beckett and absently tugged at a corner of blanket. "Rodney, settle down. Let the nice doctor do his job."
"Nice?" Rodney snorted. "Let this quack stick holes in me? Let him perform his twisted, deviant experiments on my body? He's probably in on it with them. I see a resemblance."
Teyla raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Beckett. "Rodney, I do not believe Carson bears any resemblance at all to a ... a lobster."
"Like you'd know."
Teyla fixed him with a steady stare and Sheppard jumped in again. Rodney didn't need a stick to the head in addition to his current condition. "Hey, look Rodney, did Elizabeth tell you about the ... uh ... dolphins?"
Rodney's eyes, bright with fever and madness, turned towards Sheppard. He looked confused, paranoid, and a little homicidal. "The ... the what? What? What is this?"
"Oh, I guess she hasn't had a chance yet," he said conversationally, hoping Rodney was delusional enough to not notice the extreme 'pulling this out of my ass' quality to the story. "Yeah, a survey team checking out the underside of the east pier saw a pod of dolphins. Well, sort of dolphins. Close enough. They're all around Atlantis, no lobster would dare come near us with the dolphins around. Right?"
"I ... I don't know."
"Dolphins are smart, right? You like smart things."
"Smart, but they don't have opposable thumbs," Rodney pointed out with the steady sensibly of the insane.
"Right. Anyway, and they're friendly, like to hang out with people, they'd never let a lobster near you, Rodney. You're perfectly safe here on Atlantis."
"Do dolphins eat lobsters?"
Sheppard looked at the others, none of whom were any help, but the marine who'd been trying to stop a Rodney-inflicted nosebleed looked incredibly skeptical. What did he know? He was a marine, not a marine biologist.
John put on his most serious face, and jabbed at the air in a resolved sort of way. "I'm absolutely, almost sure they do."
"Oh ..."
"So, let's let Dr. Beckett do his job and take care of that little allergic reaction you've got going on." Sheppard waved a hand vaguely at the scaly spots creeping up Rodney's arms and neck.
Rodney twisted his wrists against his restraints and grimaced. "It does sort of itch."
"Yeah, I bet."
"Stupid lobsters."
"Totally. We'll nuke the next one we see," John assured him with a friendly pat on the knee.
Mollified, Rodney settled back, giving only a small glare to Beckett as he moved to draw a vial of blood. "Okay."
"Awesome."
Sheppard made a quick escape, dodging around the curtain before Rodney could decide to explore plant-induced insanity some more. Ronon followed hard on his heels, and a brief moment later Teyla and Beckett escaped as well.
"It will take me some time to isolate the toxin," Carson reported wearily, "but with the sample you brought back, hopefully there won't be much of a difficulty. His vitals are stable, he doesn't appear to be in immediate danger. The hardest part will be keeping him quiet--"
A whining howl interrupted Beckett's report. "Oranges! The bastards had oranges! I told you!"
Beckett sighed, and darted a quick look over his shoulder. "Unfortunately he doesn't appear to be responding to the sedatives particularly well. I'd like to avoid it, but if he doesn't stay down, I may have to give him another dose."
Sheppard frowned at the curtain hiding Rodney. "It's not going to hurt him, is it?"
"I might, if the sedatives don't kick in soon," Beckett mumbled, then shook his head. "He'll be fine."
"Well, uh, good luck, then," Sheppard offered with a smile. "I'll give Elizabeth the update."
The trio left the infirmary, each letting out a little sigh of relief as Rodney's voice faded from hearing.
"What's a lobster?" Ronon asked.
***
14:31 AST
When she'd first arrived on Atlantis, Elizabeth Weir had tried to keep track, a mental count, of all the reports and meetings she had in a day. It was a way of charting progress, of feeling that things were getting done, even when yet another report followed a hundred others. At some point she lost track. Initially she'd felt unbalanced by it, a little overwhelmed at losing her mark, but then a mind-boggling string of near-death experiences trumped the weight of reports, and she found the experiences a more satisfying, if grim, way of tracking progress.
Today, however, it was reports. Lots and lots of reports.
"Hey."
Elizabeth looked up from an evaluation of the Atlantis sewage system and smiled gratefully at the savior who brought brief respite from her hell.
"How's Rodney?" she asked as Sheppard dropped into the chair across from her.
He waved a hand vaguely and smirked. "Beckett seems to think he'll be fine."
She raised an eyebrow and sat up in her chair, twisting her back slightly, wincing at each crack from her protesting spine. She had to get out of that damn chair more often. "That was an awful lot of shouting for 'fine'."
"Yeah, that was pretty good, actually. I'm almost positive I told him not to go down into that ditch, but, you know how he is." Sheppard gave and eloquent shrug and picked up a paperweight off her desk, turning it absently in his hands. "You should see him now," he chuckled. "He thinks Carson's a lobster."
Elizabeth gave a small, slightly helpless laugh and leaned forward, elbows on her desk. "You know, I sit in here, and sometimes I think my life has been entirely reduced to paperwork, and then you come in and tell me things like that."
John grinned broadly and tossed the paperweight up in the air, catching it neatly. "Makes it all worth it, doesn't it?"
She shook her head and tried not to laugh again. Her chief scientist delusional and shrieking wasn't funny. Not at all. And if she didn't look at Sheppard, she wouldn't laugh.
She had a mild panic attack every time any member of any of her teams came back home with even a slight limp -- to have one come through screaming at the top of his lungs was more than unsettling. She'd felt a great deal of relief when Sheppard had walked through the gate room looking more amused than worried, while arguing spiritedly with Ronon over ... something, as they carted the wildly thrashing McKay along between them.
"Anyway," Sheppard said after a moment, placing the paperweight back down on the desk. "Not much to report. The structure was abandoned probably around the same time as Atlantis. The energy readings were coming from some solar cells that were still beeping away. The Ancients built things to last. But, everything else had been stripped. You can probably send Zelenka and a team back to grab the cells. They're pretty big, though, so I'd recommend they go by jumper. Just tell 'em to stay away from the little bush with the pretty pink flowers."
"That's what did it?"
"Seems to be. The natives pointed it out as the likely culprit, plus it's the only thing he came in contact with that none of the rest of us did. We grabbed a sample, and some of the water from the ditch just in case."
"I'll wait for your full report and the lab results from Carson before sending anybody back."
"Good deal." John bounced up out of the chair and scratched at his jaw. "I'm gonna go take a shower, and then I'll get you that report. I'll be sure and put some good stuff in there; I mean, if you've got to have your life reduced to paperwork, better make sure it's entertaining paperwork. Rodney has great delusions."
Pressing her lips together firmly, she continued to refuse to laugh. "I'll look forward to it."
John grinned and headed out the door, and she turned back to her work.
"Oh, one thing." Sheppard stuck his head back into her office.
"Yes?"
"If you go down and see Rodney before he's, you know, sane again, I told him you told me about the dolphins. Oh, and they're near the east pier. They're keeping the lobsters away." He nodded resolutely and seemed to think that made sense, then he disappeared out the door again.
Elizabeth laughed.
***
16:09 AST
"What? What? What do you ... why do you do this now? Ne! Ne!"
The sounds of a scuffle rumbled out into the corridor and Ronon paused. Scratching his chin, he wondered if he really wanted to enter the lab to find out what was going on. On the one hand, he wouldn't mind some excercise; the prospect of being stuck in the city while McKay recovered was already chaffing. On the other hand, it was a science lab and the odds of a decent fight were pretty damned slim.
A body thudded against the door and Ronon sighed. This was part of that team stuff Sheppard was so big on, wasn't it? He glanced forlornely down the corridor, but nobody else magically appeared to step in where he didn't want to.
With a growl, he slapped his palm on the door controls. A pair of brawling scientists tumbled out onto his feet, knocking him back a few paces. Reaching down, he grabbed each man by the collar and gave a tug. The smaller of the two rolled down the hallway a few feet, and then, with remarkable agility for a man his age, bounced to his feet and gnashed his teeth like a vicious rodent. The tall, skinny, pale-haired man landed on his back and whooped for air. Ronon caught the small man as he tried to charge his opponent and held him out at arm's length as he struggled.
Doctor Zelenka appeared in the door, his wild hair looking even more frazzled, and his face pinched in anger. He was gesturing expansively and shouting. Ronon couldn't make out a word of it, but he got the general idea.
Zelenka finally paused to draw a breath and he looked up at Ronon. "Thank you for your assistance," he said with a cordial nod.
"No problem. Team stuff. Sheppard says I should do more." Ronon looked past him into the lab and raised an eyebrow at the equipment strewn across the room. "What's going on?"
"Well, Doctor Hibson," he glared at the small man, "has theory. And Doctor Lindborg," he directed the glare to the gasping, pale man," has theory. And both have decided other is lacking in intelligence God gave paramicium. By me there is theory that neither has brain cell between them and are wishing to make sure McKay comes back to find lab in chaos. Extension of this theory is that both are masochists who secretly enjoy McKay in frothing rage. Theory would have little meaning to me if my department was not forced to work with this department on project. And so, if loud theorizing had been allowed to continue, I would be forced to endure before mentioned frothing rage." He drew in a deep breath and nodded to Ronon again. "And so, once more, I thank you."
"Right. Sure. So what should I do with them?"
Zelenak shrugged. "Drop them off a pier, for all I care."
Ronon grinned down at Doctor Hibson, who'd finally stopped struggling and now looked up at Ronon with wide, startled eyes.
Zelenka sighed and shook his head. "On second thought, McKay having to fish these two out of the ocean would probably lead to similar but different frothing rage. Which I do not need."
With an unhappy frown, he pushed his glasses up his nose, and narrowed his eyes at the two scientists. "You," he pointed his finger at Hibson, "will finish test of power in sub-conduits near east pier. Take over for Captain Kim's team, they could use a rest." He turned and pointed the finger at Lindborg, who was finally getting slowly to his feet, "And you will clean jumpers until they sparkle."
Lindborg and Hibson began to sputter and Zelenka shouted back at them. Ronon was fairly certain that neither scientist understood Zelenka any better than he did, but the Doctor was more than capable of getting his point across.
As the ranting went on, Ronon began to chuckle. Maybe being stuck in the city wouldn't be as boring as it usually was. He didn't go down near the labs very often, but he was obviously missing out on good stuff.
Zelenka finished his diatribe and he glared at the chastised scientists. "Well? You are wasting time."
Ronon grinned as the pair sullenly went on their way. "I'll be happy to make sure they finish the work."
Zelenka's frown faded and he looked at Ronon thoughtfully. "You are very good. I like you."
"Thanks."
"Hm, yes. I need to go clear up this mess. They broke Ancient machine while they fought."
Ronon looked over at the remains of a large, rectangular box covered in wires. "What was it?"
"Now we may never know." Zelenka shook his head and stepped back into the lab, kicking a piece of metal back towards the ruined machine and muttering under his breath.
Ronon followed after. "So, uh, do you get a lot of fights down here?"
Zelenka sighed heavily and waved his hands around. "Is McKay's department, what do you think?"
"I think I should hang out down here more."
The scientist gave him a skeptical look over the rim of his glasses. "I think you might be hit in the head too often." Zelenka dropped his eyes down to the ancient machine. "But, since you are here, you can pick that up. Is very heavy."
***
16:40 AST
"They're just socks," Sheppard said carefully, giving young Lieutenant Reyes a skeptical look.
"Yes, sir."
"And ...?"
"And they've got holes in them. The whole shipment."
"Because?" he said slowly, wishing the kid would get to the point. Fresh out of the Academy, apparently sharp as a tack, but obviously greener than the greenest grass that ever greened, and he'd chosen to have his first offworld meltdown over socks. Takes all kinds.
"I don't know, sir," the kid said quietly, staring straight ahead, unblinking, his spine ramrod straight. John placed a bet with himself on how long that would last. This one was stiff, he'd last at least four months before he unbent. Something would have to be done about that, or he'd snap. Alongside his bet, he made a note to get Lorne to invite him to poker night, or surf day, or pick on the anthropologist afternoon, or something.
"Well, find out. And in the mean time, doesn't anybody know how to darn their own socks anymore?"
"No, sir."
"No, sir?" He asked with some disbelief. How could somebody go through life not knowing how to mend socks?
The young Lieutenant's eyes opened wider at Sheppard's tone, misreading it entirely. "I mean, no, sir, I don't know how to darn my own socks, sir. And yes, sir, I'll find the source of the problem, sir."
Sheppard struggled not to roll his eyes. "When I was eighteen my mother made me take a sewing class at the Y. Worst spring break ever. But, she said I was old enough to take care of my own damn laundry. And I'll tell you what, Lieutenant."
"Sir?"
"My socks sure as hell don't have holes in them. Why don't you contact the mainland, see if the Athosians have some socks for you, or if they could lend you a needle and thread. How's that sound?"
"Yes, sir. Very good, sir."
"Alright then," Sheppard pronounced with a smirk. "That it?"
"Yes, sir." The young officer gave him a crisp salute and marched out of his office.
Sheppard looked over at the patiently waiting Sergeant. "Far be it for me to corrupt the fine young officers of our country's excellent military, but the next time he's off duty, somebody should point him towards the still."
"I think maybe I can do something about that, Colonel."
"You're a god among men, Williams."
"S'what my wife says every time I take out the trash, sir."
"She's a wise woman."
"Don't I know it."
"So, tell me, the mysterious sock eating critters didn't get into the ammo, did they?"
"No, sir. It all looks good." The Sergeant stepped forward and dropped a sheet of paper on John's desk. "Inventory matched the requisition spot on."
"Small favors." John tapped his fingers on the paper and looked up at the bland faced man across from him. "You wouldn't happen to have any idea on the sock thing, would you?"
The bland face turned, suspiciously, even more bland. "Could be, sir."
"I don't suppose you mind letting me in on it?"
"It's possible, sir, that some of the SGC personnel may have lost a bet with some of our people here. It's possible that there may have been some resentment over the losing of the bet."
"Do I want to know the nature of the bet?"
"With all due respect, Colonel, I don't believe you do."
John laughed and rubbed at his ear. "Alright, but if I'm missing out on some action, I'm going to be very upset."
"We wouldn't dream of upsetting you, Colonel."
"You're really not going to tell me?"
"Is this an order, sir?"
John sighed and frowned, disappointed. "Nah. Just do something about the socks before Reyes has a complete nervous breakdown."
"Can do, sir." The Sergeant snapped him a quick salute and then John was left to his inventories and his assessments. He pondered the papers for a moment, and then wondered if Rodney was awake, and if he was still delusional.
With a grin, he pushed back his chair and left the room.
***
18:12 AST
Elizabeth's paperwork was making such a determined effort at completely crushing her spirit, that it was with an odd mix of weariness and gratefulness she finally put it aside when Doctors Hibson and Lindborg brought their battle to her office.
Briefly, she brought out her inner-diplomat to try and broker a peace deal, but when that fell through, and the resumption of hostilities reached a deafening pitch, she threw diplomacy over and ended the war by getting resolutely to her feet and suggesting that if neither man wanted to be treated like a child, they should perhaps cease behaving like children, and if they couldn't manage that, then each man would probably be best off carrying out Zelenka's orders, silently. Further, she reminded them, as they glared at her, looking mulish, that she had a large number of heavily-armed soldiers under her command.
Once she'd dispatched the sputtering scientists, she looked down at her waiting work and decided she just couldn't face getting straight back into it. She needed a walk, needed to get out and reconnect with her world after a day of near isolation. It would all be be waiting for her when she got back. Which was a thought that did nearly as thorough a job at spirit crushing as the work itself had been trying for.
Elizabeth slipped out the office door before something else could come up to keep her chained to the desk. And the chair. And the paperwork. And the internecine wars that cropped up daily.
Winding her way through the control room, and then down through the city, she greeted her people, commented on sunburns, asked after mothers, accepted an invite to poker night, and reminded herself why she did, in fact, truly love her job, and why she was exactly where she needed and wanted to be.
Eventually, her path wound its way to the infirmary, but her steps faltered at the entrance. She couldn't hear any shouting, shrieking, screaming, or agonized cries, but that wasn't necessarily a good sign. And while she was, of course, concerned about Rodney, she wasn't entirely sure she was up for psychosis.
Chiding herself for her lapse -- he was her chief scientist and a friend, wasn't he? -- she took a deep breath and pushed through the doors with as much leaderly confidence as she could muster.
She found Carson at his desk and put a friendly hand on his slumped shoulders. He gave her a weary half-smile that was only just a shade more peppy than a pained grimace.
"How is he?" she asked, nodding towards the only curtained off bed in the room.
Carson rubbed at his eyes and propped his elbow on the desk, settling his chin on his hand. "Considerably calmer. Finally. He says he's decided he's not actually here."
"Not here?" Elizabeth was nearly sure that didn't sound like a particularly good thing.
Carson, however, just shrugged, seemingly unworried. "Among other things, the plant secretes a fairly impressive hallucinogen. Until it works its way out of his system, if deciding nothing is real is what will keep him calm and happy, then that's a fine way to cope, as far as I'm concerned. If he has trouble coming out of it, well, we'll deal with that when we come to it. I prefer this alternative to giving him more sedatives, to be honest."
She glanced apprehensively over at the curtain. She was going to have to go over there. "Can I talk to him?"
"If you like. He's being somewhat responsive."
Raising an eyebrow, she gave voice to a very real fear, "And what are the odds that I'll say something that will set him off?"
"Please don't," Carson groaned softly.
"Carson?" His tone of voice was a little alarming, and she felt her stomach knot slightly.
"Oh, he's fine, just fine. And, if you keep it simple, he'll not react much. Just don't try to convince him of anything he doesn't want to believe. I'm begging."
She gave him a skeptical look but nodded her head. "I'll go with your judgment on that."
"Bless you."
After an uncertain pat on his shoulder, Elizabeth walked as softly as she could over to the curtain around Rodney's bed. Licking her lips nervously, she shifted the curtain to the side and stepped in.
"Rodney?"
He looked up at her with slightly glassy eyes. "Oh, Elizabeth. Hello," he said in a flat, distant tone.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, eyeing the angry rash covering his arms and creeping up his neck and jaw.
"Just peachy."
"Really? That's wonderful to hear. I was worried."
"No need. Have you ever had weetabix?"
Elizabeth blinked at the non sequitor. "I ... um, yes, I'm sure I have."
"It's disturbing," he said with shockingly little affect. Elizabeth was not used to a Rodney so ... so ... quiet and even.
"Weetabix?"
"Yes. You can put it in a bowl of milk, and it will absorb all the liquid without expanding or changing shape. It's unnatural. Its very existence is a mockery of science."
Crossing her arms, Elizabeth tapped her fingers on her elbows, and wondered what sort of McKay minefield she was wandering into. "We are talking about a breakfast cereal, right?"
"Mockery," he said loudly, making Elizabeth wince. "And everybody on the X-Files was named Bill," he continued absently.
"I never watched the X-Files."
"Lucky you. How many Bills do we have on Atlantis? I mean, assuming I was actually on Atlantis."
"Which you're not?" she asked cautiously, mindful of Carson's pleading.
"I've decided it doesn't matter," he informed her airily, settling back on his pillows and staring past her at the curtain.
"Okay," she agreed simply.
"So?" he demanded after moment, fixing an intense but unsteady gaze on her.
"What?"
"Bills. How many of them are there?"
"I don't know, Rodney. It's a fairly common name. I can check if you like."
"No point. Atlantis." He laughed. "As if."
At a loss, she chewed on her lower lip and decided on an exit strategy. "Is there anything I can get for you?"
"Like what? None of this is real. What are you going to get me? Worthless ephemera? The tattered remnants of faded memories? Hollow shells of long-forgotten dreams?"
Her eyes widened as his voice grew in volume. Carson was going to use the dull needles next time she was in for a vaccination. "I ... I was thinking of a book, maybe, or a computer?"
He settled back again, face going blank, and told her, with a surprising amount of pleasentness, "No, thank you. I'm fine."
"Okay, well, I'll check in on you later."
"If you like."
Hesitantly, she reached out and touched his knee. "I'm glad you're feeling better."
He didn't respond and she slipped around the curtain with a relieved sigh.
"So?"
She jumped at the sudden voice in her ear and turned a frosty glare on the speaker. Sheppard just smiled his insufferable smile and nudged her away from the curtain with his shoulder.
"Weird, isn't it?"
"What?" she asked tightly. She really hated when he snuck up on her. He didn't do it to anybody else, as far as she knew, and she suspected he only did it to her because she wasn't armed.
"McKay. It's like talking to a bizarro Rodneybot."
Elizabeth gave him another small glare, this time for insensitivity, even if 'bizarro Rodneybot' was exceptionally accurate. He pouted and scrubbed a hand through his hair.
They walked back over to Carson, joining Teyla who'd brought in a large pot of fragrant tea and some small cakes.
"How is Doctor McKay?" Teyla asked, pouring Carson a cup of tea which he took gratefully.
"Fine, I guess," Elizabeth told her with a small frown. "That rash of his, Carson?"
"Some blistering, but overall a relatively minor skin irritation. If we can keep him from scratching at it, I think it will clear up nicely." Carson took a sip of his drink and gave a tired sigh. "Thank you, lass."
Teyla patted his hand and poured herself a cup. "Elizabeth, John, would either of you care for some tea?"
John leaned forward and sniffed at the pot. "That's not that mossy fungus tea, is it?"
Teyla raised an eyebrow and pointedly set the pot back down on the desk.
"Don't pay him any mind. Americans don't understand the comfort of a good cup of tea," Carson told her loftily.
John shrugged and grinned. "Sure we do, we just call it meatloaf." The grin faltered when Teyla slid the plate of cakes out of his reach.
Elizabeth pressed her lips together and tried not to laugh. She was tired, that was it. That was all it was. Putting a firm hand on John's shoulder, she smiled at Teyla and shook her head. "Another time, Teyla. I think Colonel Sheppard and I both have reports we should be getting back to."
Teyla gave Elizabeth a wide smile, with only the slightest of wicked glints in her eye when she glanced over at Sheppard. "Of course, Doctor Weir, I would not wish to keep either of you from your duties."
"Evil," Sheppard muttered. "Call us if you need anything, Doc."
Carson waved a hand at him and reached for a cake. "Of course."
John darted a quick look back over his shoulder when he and Elizabeth got to the doors. He paused, frowned, and then opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it with a click a second later.
"What?" Elizabeth asked, looking back, trying to spot what was catching his attention. The infirmary was quiet but for the clack of a keyboard as Carson worked on something while he sipped at his tea. Next to him, Teyla shuffled through some papers on the desk.
"Is there something going on there?" John asked with bemused suspicion.
"Where?"
"Teyla and Beckett."
"They're having tea."
Sheppard rolled his eyes. "Yes ... and?"
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and cocked her head. "I don't think they're plotting to take over the city."
"No, that's not what I meant, I mean ... never mind. I don't think I want to think about it."
"I find I use that philosophy more and more the longer we're out here," Elizabeth informed him with a resigned smile.
He blinked at her, looking slightly confused. Clearing his expression with a shake of his head, he followed her out the door. "We're out of socks, by the way."
***
20:54 AST
"No more. I give. Uncle." John put one foot on the leg of the desk and shoved his chair away. He stretched his arms up over his head and groaned.
"Elizabeth?" he forced her name out through a yawn. She hummed absently at him, but didn't look up. He narrowed his eyes. "Elizabeth," he called more loudly.
"What?", she mumbled, half there, half lost in scrolling words on a computer screen.
"It's 21:00. Give it up."
"I'm almost done."
"No, you're not."
She finally looked up at him, frowning as she did. "And you'd know that exactly how?"
He raised an eyebrow and leaned forward slowly, bracing one elbow on the edge of her desk. With a smile, his hand darted out and he snatched the tablet from her hand.
"Hey." Her frown deepened, and he quickly gauged her look against his inner Elizabeth-o-meter. She was bemused, annoyed, and exhausted, but not angry. Which meant he was perfectly safe in keeping hold of her pad, and so he did, sitting back well out of her reach.
"I know that because I am a trained observer of people," he told her loftily.
She rolled her eyes and sat back. "Really?"
"Really," he confirmed. "I'm also a trained observer of desks, and I know that if I leave before you do, I'll find you in exactly the same position come morning." She snorted and he gave her a mild glare. "I'm also military commander of this expedition and it's my job to gauge the readiness of the staff to respond to threats. Right now, my assessment of your readiness is that I'd give Rodney slightly better than even odds at taking you. You're done for the night."
"Is that an order, Colonel," she asked him somewhat frostily.
He pursed his lips and thought about it. "Yes, I think it might be."
Elizabeth looked like she might argue, her lips were thinning in just that way they did right before she really laid into a person, but after a moment the mask cracked and she folded her arms on her desk and dropped her head down onto them. "You're right."
Sheppard smiled, triumphant. That didn't always work, and when it backfired, things could turn messy for days.
"Should we go check on Rodney one more time?" she muttered.
"No, he's probably asleep. Or counting nutrinos jumping over a fence, or whatever it is he does. He'll be fine, Elizabeth." She may have nodded, it was a little hard to tell.
After a moment, she spoke again, quietly, almost subdued, but that could have been the mumbling into her arms. "I hate it when one of you comes through the 'gate like that."
"Crazy and raving?"
"Yes, or injured, or anything that requires an extended infirmary visit." She raised her head and propped her chin on a fist. "It makes even a relatively quiet day a long one."
"I know."
"It's the worst part of this job."
"I know," he said again, simply but with quiet intensity. "But today, we're all here, and everybody's okay, and McKay'll be fine, if actually amusing for a while."
"It's not funny, John," she said rather sharply.
"It is, Elizabeth," he told her firmly, sitting forward to prop his own elbows on the edge of her desk. "It's funny because he's okay. Carson's not worried, so you shouldn't be."
She stared at him for a moment and then looked down at her desk. "I'm trying. This never gets easier."
"Would you want it to?"
"No. I just wish you'd stop coming back in pieces."
"I'm whole and hearty."
"For now."
"You're a barrel of laughs tonight," he chided gently.
"I'm sorry," she said, and rubbed wearily at her eyes.
"Hey, don't be. You worry about us, you burn the midnight oil when things get rough. You know I understand. But, my readiness assessment stands, Elizabeth."
She gave him a nearly petulant look and sighed. "I could totally take Rodney."
He smirked and tossed her pad on the desk, then stood and yawned again. "Come on, I know a great little place with some really questionable fungus tea."
"Okay, this round to you, Colonel Sheppard."
She followed him out of her office and into the sleeping city. The lights were dimmed for evening, the corridors mostly empty, and only the small graveyard crew moved about in command area.
It was as peaceful as the city ever got, which was actually pretty peaceful for a forward base. John tucked his hands in his pockets and smiled. "All in all, not a horrible day."
"No, I guess not."
"Could have been worse," he said philosophically.
"Don't even start."
"Has been worse."
"I'm serious, John," her voice dipped into icy warning.
"Remember that time Lorne and--"
"John! Enough, your point has been more than made," she growled, throwing up her hands in exasperation.
He grinned cheerily and, wisely, resisted the urge to whistle.
***
23:39 AST
"... and I don't care what anybody says -- new series my ass -- the man's twelve hundred years old, if he's a day."
Carson groaned and dropped McKay's chart back onto the end of the bed. "Rodney, you've been going on for hours, would you shut up?"
"You can't tell me to shut up, I'm not really here," Rodney snarled.
"If you're not really here, then why would you be hallucinating about me?"
"Because my subconscious and I have a contentious relationship."
"So much is explained." Carson stood up and rubbed at his eyes. "Can you do me a favor, Rodney, and stop hallucinating about me for a time, so I can get some rest? Here, why don't you hallucinate about Lieutenant Dashkov, and we can resume this delusion in the morning?"
"Sure, fine, whatever. Like it makes a difference. One witchdoctor is the same as any other."
"Well then, go to sleep. Maybe you'll dream about wee little fluffy bunnies instead."
"I hate rabbits. I'm allergic. My sister had one when she was seven. Destructive, spiteful little rodent."
"Your sister or the rabbit?"
"Both. Either. Whatever. Go, if you're going."
"Good night, Rodney."
McKay's only acknowledgement was a twitch under one eye. His steady, if somewhat distant gaze settled briefly on curtains that waved gently after the doctor's passage.
"Atlantis," Rodney huffed quietly, "... as if."
##