SGA/Thoughtcrimes - Thinking of Home
Whoo hoo! Got it in just under the wire!
Alternative titles for this included "Earth Sucks" and "Rodney and Freya's Snarkfest"...
Title: Thinking of Home
Genre: SGA/Thoughtcrimes
Season/Spoilers: Set roughly Season 5 of SGA
Pairing: McShep
Length: ~ 9,000 words
Rating: R for language and violence
Synopsis: On Earth, Rodney is taken by the Trust, but he is not alone.
Author's Notes: For sg_prompts' Crossover Fest.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, people with a lot of money do. I'm just borrowing them to play and making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Rodney stretched luxuriously in the wonderfully soft hotel bed. It was not quite the same as the elite prescription mattress he had finally gotten delivered to his quarters back on Atlantis, but it was close and, more importantly, incredibly comfortable. Rolling over to look at the clock, some of that comfort faded. 0500. Five fucking o'clock in the morning. Again. By the time his body adjusted to Earth time, he'd be on his way back to Atlantis again.
Knowing that it was no use fighting it, when he was up he was up, he padded over to the bathroom to get ready for the day. To add insult to injury, it was one of the few days he didn't need to schlep back to some government office to oversee the morons reviewing some of the tech they brought back this time around. In fact, the General there had specifically requested he take the weekend off and enjoy his time on Earth before he needed to make his presentation to some Congressional Committee. He fully intended to do so. He had earned it after all, saving the city countless times. Okay, so Sheppard and Ronon and Teyla helped, but whatever. The look of relief on his minions faces when the announcement was made must have been due to the realization he would come back sharper than ever, ready to take on their stupidity once more.
Speaking of Sheppard, he peeked through to the adjoining room to check on his erstwhile teammate. The Colonel had insisted on rooms that connected, rambling on about how, this time, there was no way Rodney was going to get kidnapped while on Earth. The Brass believed it and here they were, two connected rooms in a swanky area of D.C., towering high above the streets below with 26 floors and something ridiculous like 14 security measures in place just to get there. The fact the two rooms were side by side with a private door in between that allowed ease of access for extracurricular activities was simply a bonus. He had already swept the rooms for bugs and toasted the findings with bottle of Chablis on the SGC's budget. Now they had privacy, and time.
He would take advantage of some of that time, but John was dead to the world. He had meetings, official and not, long past the time Rodney made it to his own room and had only crashed a few hours ago. Rodney decided to take pity on him, just this once, and let him be. He figured by the time he got breakfast at the little coffee shop he had spotted on the way in, got two cups to go, and made it back up to the rooms, John should be awake and ready to go do whatever they were doing today. He kind of hoped there was less “go” and more “doing” but he had to admit the freedom to choose was wonderful.
Leaving a note so Sheppard wouldn't freak upon finding an empty bed, he grabbed his wallet and slipped out the door. He thought of asking Teyla or Ronon, but they were still adjusting to Earth life, as temporary as it was, and besides, he shouldn't need body guards to go get coffee. He grunted at security guards one through four, ignored the rest, and offered a rough approximation of a smile at the concierge that claimed to understand the citrus allergy and assured him he would be at no risk from any foods delivered to his room. He crossed the street through the busy early morning D.C. Traffic, questioning the sanity of any government that insisted on making their employees rush around at this early hour, and opened the door into a small haven of pure caffeinated bliss.
He checked his watch as he stood in the rather quickly moving line, wondering if he had time for a cup here and then grabbing the two to go. An amused voice sounded from behind him, assuring, “This is the fastest coffee shop in the metro, you should have plenty of time to get where you're going.”
He turned around to find a young woman who reminded him of one of Teyla's Athosians with dark hair, tanned skin, and that exotic look about her that told him she could probably kick his ass just like Marta. Not blonde, but not bad, so he offered what he had been passing off as grin on this trip and guessed, “I take it you're a usual?”
“When I'm in the area,” she agreed, still keeping her just-shy-of-laughing-outright expression.
He stepped up one more in the queue. “You don't work in the area?”
“Let's just say my work takes me many places,” she smiled. He didn't press - working for top secret government agencies was old school for him at this point. You didn't press or prod for information people were not willing to give unless you knew for a fact it was something related to your own project.
It was his turn at the register and he ordered the largest coffee available and one of the muffins, figuring he could have a quick breakfast here and give Sheppard some time to get some actual sleep. He'd still bring back the coffee, and if John wanted a breakfast of his own, they could go out somewhere.
He got his cup, pleased that this was a place that understood large meant large, and immediately took a wonderfully scalding sip. It was dark, it was rich, and it was exactly what he needed. “Yeah, I'm getting more of you,” he told the steaming brew.
There was a stifled laugh behind him and he turned to see the woman enjoying her own cup before she even stepped away from the counter. “Got to get a hit of the good stuff right away,” she sighed happily, leading the way out to the little tables lining the sidewalk.
A brief thought of how he went without for several long days while they were waiting for the Daedalus crossed his mind, and he decided he most definitely was going to enjoy as much as he could on this trip and possibly fill an extra bag with nothing but bags of beans. The woman looked at him questioningly and he explained, “You would not believe how hard this is to get some days.”
She nodded, still keeping an eye on him like he was some sot of strange oddity. “I think I may have an idea,” she said. Before he could ask her what she meant, her eyes grew wide and she shouted, “Get down!”
Too many years of experience kicked in and he hit the deck. The squealing of tires almost drowned out the high-pitched whine he had come to recognize as a zat. People were running and screaming and a few distinct others were busy either texting frantically or speaking into their wrists. He reached for his cell and flipped it open, pressing the speed dial for the SGC. He gave his authorization code, barely noticing the woman beside him appearing to do something similar.
There was too much noise and too much residual energy crackling around the metal window frames, giving off too much interference. “This is Doctor Rodney McKay!” he repeated. “I'm... look, I don't know where I am. I'm across the street from the hotel you guys put me up in. I'm sure there's chip in the phone, track it...”
He never heard what response the peon on the other end gave him, looking up to see two men in wonderfully ominous black suits standing over him. “So nice of you to identify yourself, Doctor McKay,” the one on the left smiled, leveling the zat at him.
“No,” the woman beside yelled, throwing herself towards him.
Her words blended with his own and the last thing he remembered before a blinding blue-white light was muttering, “Shit.”
***
He woke up with his head pounding and his entire body tingling like the time they figured out Ancient crystals had the equivalent of AC/DC the hard way. He was laying flat out on the floor of a dimly lit room meaning his back would be adding in its own complaints shortly. He blinked several times to orientate himself before propping himself up on his elbows to repeat the action as he felt the blood rush mixed with the disorientation and had to actively fight the urge not to hurl.
The room, such as it was, was plain and simple and most likely made out of concrete. There was a mattress in the corner in front of him that his captors had apparently felt the need to ignore, with lumps of pillows and blankets tossed haphazardly about. His arm was starting to throb with something other than the pins and needles feeling and he looked down to find the sleeve of his shirt sliced up the side and a pristine gauze bandage around where his transmitter should have been. “Fuck,” he swore, pushing himself up into a full sitting position and trying to get an idea of the damage they had inflicted on him.
There was the noise of fabric on fabric in the otherwise silent room, and he looked over to see the pile of bedding move, tousled black hair peeking out behind some industrial bland fabric. His heart skipped for a moment, thinking he had gotten a break and the idiots had taken Sheppard too and they would be blasting their way out of this place shortly. Looking closer though, he realized it was too much hair and too small of body. His hope was crushed when he heard a distinctly female voice mutter, “Brendan?”
He crawled the few steps over to the bed, only partially surprised to find the woman from the coffee shop starting to stir. He figured she had gotten hit by the zat as well, but could think of no reason for anyone to grab them both. With a sigh he asked, “What the hell did they want with you?”
The dark head turned his way, brown eyes wide in what little light they had. And then of course, she had to scream.
Men came rushing into the room, answering his question as to whether or not there were guards posted. They were dressed in the same black suits, but he had no idea if they were the same as before, or new lackeys with the same wardrobe. Her screaming seemed to increase with their presence, which he figured was fair enough as she probably just figured out how screwed they were. They pushed him from her side, talking to themselves as much as each other. He only heard snippets of the conversation, something about “shielding” and “the energy from the zat shorting her out” and “getting a reading on everyone”. A third man came in holding a syringe that he really did not want to see shoved into her various body parts. A quick glance told him they were all preoccupied with her thrashing and he made a run for the door that was still left hanging open to the hallway.
He made it all of about three steps, just enough to see more concrete and more anonymous doorways, before he was spotted by another two lackeys. They leveled their zats at him and he put his hands in the air, rather not wanting to be the guinea pig to his own question of whether or not multiple shots from a zat had a cumulative effect even with a substantial pause in between the exposures.
He walked backwards into the room, ignoring the inter-thug jibes of “Lose something?” and “You just had to deal with the geek, we had to deal with the freak.” He wasn't sure he liked either description, but he was sure he didn't like it when he was manhandled back to the corner of the room and warned to stay there.
“For how long?” he sighed. He mentally calculated how long he had been gone versus just how pissed Sheppard was going to be versus how pleased he would be to see these assholes taken down.
“Until we need you,” the thug with the slightly less defined brow ridge told him before locking the door on the way out.
“Thank you, that was extremely unhelpful,” he snarked. He waited a beat to see if they would be returning before glancing over to the woman on the mattress. She was quiet now, and apparently drugged out of her gourd if her expression was anything to go by. He shuffled closer, keeping a wary eye on the door, and asked, “Are you okay?”
He wasn't really expecting an answer, at least not a coherent one, so he was a bit surprised when she replied, “I think they stoned the shit out of me...”
He chuffed out a laugh despite himself. “That's probably whatever was in those needles they jabbed in you.”
She nodded, eyes bobbling in her head. “Things are... sparkly,” she said, gravely serious.
He took a quick glance around the gray and grimy room, seeing only shadows and unidentifiable things that he would rather remain unidentifiable. “Give me some of what you're having,” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. This was so not his day. Kidnapped, zatted, had amateur surgery performed on, and locked away with someone higher than a kite. This was not the Pegasus galaxy; this was not supposed to happen here.
“Sorry, it doesn't work that way,” she said, and actually sounded apologetic. She cocked her head to the side, hair tangling beneath her. “What do you mean, 'Pegasus galaxy'?”
He was pretty positive he had not said anything out loud, at least not this time. There was no way for her to know about his work or where he had been. This was not good. This was so not good. She could be a spy, working with the people who took him to try to get his sympathy and trust. Then again, she would have just screwed that up. Maybe they dosed her too much and she screwed up her script? Possible. Definitely possible. Great, he was stuck in a dingy little room away from nowhere with a plant who was probably...
“Whoa!” she exclaimed, raising what he now saw to be slightly bruised hands to her head. “I'm not a plant, I'm simply a person who got screwed over in this life, okay? I don't know why they want me and I'd rather not find out.”
Now he knew he had not said anything. His mind whirled at the possibilities. Was she Goa'uld? Former Goa'uld? Tok'ra? Some new alien the SGC ran into in their gallivanting across the universe?
“Please stop,” she pleaded, both hands latched to her skull at this point. “Too much! I don't have control yet. Just... hush for a minute or two, okay?”
“I'm not talking,” he insisted. “This is me, sitting here, not talking, and you, laying there, freaking out.”
“Not freaking out,” she insisted. “And you are talking, just not verbally. I'm a bit hypersensitive right now and whatever the hell they pumped into me really is not helping.” Her breathing was speeding up, and little droplets of sweat broke out on her forehead. “Okay, so maybe I'm freaking out a little, but I think I earned it at this point,” she conceded.
Several things clicked into place and Rodney could not help but blurt out, “You're a telepath? Wow, that explains so much. Well, except for how it works because really, it sounds like a bunch of crap, and...”
“Talking while thinking, really not helping,” she cut him off.
“Well, I can't exactly stop my brain,” he protested.
“Just... go think something mindless and let me have a minute, okay?” she asked, rolling to her side and facing away from him.
It was kind of rude and kind of blunt, but it was something he could understand, so he went with it. He clamored to his feet and started pacing the short length of the other side of the room. He tried to fill his head with nice relaxing schematics, before he realized that thinking about classified projects around someone who could read your mind was probably not a good idea. He tried playing a game of Prime/Not Prime, but it was no fun when you were coming up with both the number and the answer yourself. He had turned to his old standby, reciting Fourier sequences, when he heard a light chuckle from the heap of blankets.
“You are really bad at this, you know?” the woman asked. She propped herself up on her elbows and seemed to both be looking at him and through him, which was rather disturbing. Also, eventually, he was going to have to ask her name so he didn't just refer to her as “her” or “the woman” or “you there” or some such thing.
“Sorry,” he shrugged, wandering back over to her. “It's not really in me to be quiet or stop thinking. Certified genius and all that.” He looked down at her and noticed she seemed to be doing better, not that he was an expert at such things, but she was no longer sweaty or looking insane, so that was a plus.
She offered out her hand with a smile. “Freya McAllister, NSA.”
His original impression had been correct, she was a government type. How much she knew and what side she was working for was still up in the air, though. He took her hand and gave it a rough approximation of a shake, and responded with, “Doctor Rodney McKay, and who I work for is even more classified than you.”
She had that odd look in her eyes again, and he really did not know her well enough to know if that was her permanent state, or just the drugs. “What's an 'SGC'?” she asked, lowering her hand.
His eyes grew wide. How did you stop a telepath from knowing what you were thinking when trying not to think about it was actually thinking about it? “Something you don't need to know about, and stay out of my head,” he snapped back.
She flopped back against the mattress, eyes going glassy for a moment before she blinked them back to awareness. “I'm trying to,” she insisted. “I don't know if it's the drugs, or whatever it is they did to me before the drugs, but my mind is everywhere and I can't block you out, not completely,” she explained. There was a pause, followed by, “You work with aliens and space ships? Or at least think you do? What the hell did they give you, or are you always this delusional?”
He sputtered, both wanting to defend himself and not lose his security clearance by letting her in on the truth. “I'll have you know that I know many things, many valuable things, that the people out there will want to know. You keep blabbing everything you hear, or think you hear from my mind, and they don't even have to ask and, oh my god, you really are working with them, aren't you?”
“For fuck's sake,” she sighed, pushing her hair out of her eyes to glare at him. She started patting herself down and digging through her pockets, holding up an ID card she found somewhere within the neatly tailored jacket she still wore. “Is this enough for you?” she asked.
He took the card and looked it over. It seemed authentic enough, but the Trust, and he was pretty sure that's who he was dealing with here, were good and would have been able to fake that no problem. He told her as much.
She held her hand out for her badge and tucked it back away with a huff. “Look, either you believe who I am or you don't, I don't care at this point. For all I know, you with your little dreams of aliens and crap are completely delusional and they have locked us in here together to see if you truly can drive me insane. We can either just assume we're each telling the truth and work together to get the hell out of here, or sit here and bicker until whoever is holding us does whatever it is they are going to do to us. I vote for the 'hell out' part, how about you?”
Rodney nodded sheepishly, offering out a muttered, “Fine.”
“Good,” she said, attempting to push herself upright again. “Now, you're the genius, or at least you think you are, how are we going to get out?”
He had been thinking about that, actually, but had not gotten very far on the chance she was working for whoever held him and relaying the plans so they could block them. Instead, he countered with, “You're the telepath, what are they thinking so we know what they've got planned?”
Her eyes narrowed at him for a moment, before admitting, “I haven't gotten a clear read on them yet. When they were in here, it was jumbled, and now I can't really tell.” She held out her arm and directed, “Help me up.”
He made the requisite comments about being a pack mule and such, put pulled her into a standing position, feeling her sway heavily in his arms. “You okay?” he asked, concerned as all the color drained from her face.
“No,” she said, swallowing heavily. She looked up at him and warned, “Doctor McKay, I think I'm going to puke.”
There had been a drain over in the far corner from whenever this room had been originally used for whatever purpose. He half steered, half dragged her there and dumped her unceremoniously to her knees, letting her ralph up her coffee and pastry from earlier. He didn't know which was more disgusting, the vomit, or the fact it reminded him how long it had been since he had anything sizable to eat and that he was due for a blood sugar crash shortly.
“That's gross,” she said, shifting over to lean up against the wall.
He wasn't sure if she meant the task she had just completed, or his current train of thought, but agreed with both anyway. “You need anything?” he asked, eying her critically. She looked like Teyla did around the fifth or sixth month of her pregnancy: pasty and glassy and like she was either going to pass out or let loose again.
“Because we have so much on offer here?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. She made a show of looking around the barren room before looking back up at him critically.
He rolled his eyes, desperately trying not to think of who she reminded him of, and wandered over to the door. He gazed out the little wire mesh window and pounded on the thick metal to try to catch the attention of the guard who had wandered a few steps down the hall. “Hey!” he called. “She's sick in here! Can we at least get some water? Some food wouldn't be missed either...”
“No food,” the woman, Freya, muttered, looking oddly green and like she was about to hit the drain again.
The guard had keyed his radio, listening to something Rodney could not hear. When he wandered closer, he caught bits of, “She stopped screaming... No, I don't know if she can be used yet... Water...”
“And food,” McKay reminded him. “Hypoglycemic here. Don't know what your nefarious plans are for me, but I bet they'll work better if I'm coherent and, you know, conscious.”
“He says he's hypoglycemic,” the guard dutifully reported. “Yeah, that will be taken care of later, but until they arrive, we've gotta keep 'em going... That should do it. Spencer out.” The newly named Spencer turned to look at him through the mesh. “Water's on its way, so's the food.”
Rodney nodded and wandered back to his current roommate. She scrubbed her lips with the sleeve of her jacket, looking at the mess and sighing, “Thank god for dry cleaning...” She looked up at him, dark eyes just a bit cleared than they had been when she first woke up. “So, what's the plan? Take them down when they come with the food?”
He looked at her like she was insane. Well, more insane than the whole reading minds thing. “You're barely functioning and I'm well, me. I'm not exactly Mr. Action Hero here,” he said, shaking his head. He had done plenty of action-y stuff during his time with Atlantis, but pretty much every time had involved at least one of his teammates and their ability to kick ass. “I was thinking more along the lines of being good little prisoners and getting fed and then seeing what trouble we can get into.”
“What kind of trouble, and does it involve getting out of here?” she asked, lolling her head back and forth against the concrete. “Because that whole 'barely functioning' thing is pretty accurate.”
He started pacing, glancing at the door and trying to figure out if they were tapping a glacier for the water, or were just that slow. “There's nothing useful in the room, they were careful about that. We've got a mattress, a drain, and a door. The door has no electronics, and the drain isn't big enough to escape through, not even for someone as small as you. This can't be our final destination or, if it is, they've got a set up somewhere else here. There's nothing in the room that can be used against us or that I can use to do anything which, let's face it, if they took me, they want my mind, but what for?”
He paused for a moment to find her holding her head again. “That mind of yours? Is going to make me puke again. Does it always go that fast? Because, really, ouch.”
He didn't think she was asking him to apologize, especially not for simply being who he was, so he didn't offer anything other than a shrug and, “Yeah, pretty much.”
There was the sound of people coming down the hallway, with Spencer stopping whoever it was to verify the contents of what sounded like a paper bag. McKay's mind spun, trying to come up with a plan, but Freya cut him off. “You, try to be quiet and not think too much, just for a minute,” she directed. “Let me try to get a read on them and see if I can figure out why we're here, okay?”
He nodded dumbly. “That whole not thinking thing though, harder than it looks.”
“If you're as smart as you seem, and smart enough for them to want you, I'm sure you'll figure out a way,” she assured him before turning her attention towards the door.
The guard came in, zat at the ready. He had another anonymous goon with him, equally as armed, and a third offering out two large bottles of water and a bag that was shiny with grease. The bag as set on the ground with the bottles and the trio slowly backed out, the one named Spencer eying the hunched woman warily. Rodney glanced over to find her playing her role quite nicely, looking near incoherent and like she was about to hurl again at any moment. Though the last part might have been from the overwhelming smell of fried fat filling the room.
The door closed and there was an unmistakable sound of a lock sliding back into place. Spencer patted the metal screen with a smirked, “Good boy.” He disappeared from view and booted footsteps echoed in the hallway. After a ten count, McKay dared to glance out the tiny window, finding him and the others having wandered back to their previous positions.
He grabbed the offerings and brought them over to his companion, plopping down on the floor next to her. He handed her one of the bottles of water, noting that it was both still sealed and had a little price tag on it from wherever it had been picked up. At least they didn't appear to be drugging them; well, any more than they already had.
He waited until Freya had a chance to rinse her mouth to ask, “So? What did you find out?”
He tore into the bag to find two paper-wrapped cheeseburgers, a bag of fries, and a handful of little ketchup packets. She made a face at the way he shoved the food into his mouth, but dutifully answered, “It was luck that they got us both at the same time. They wanted us, but had separate grabs planned and it looks like separate purposes.”
“Let me guess, me for building them something?” he asked, taking a swig of his own water.
She shook her head. “There's some programing issue they want you to work on. There's a set up somewhere in the building, but they're not ready to bring you there yet. They're waiting for someone else first, but I couldn't tell who.”
He thought that over for a moment, wondering just what the Trust was up to and who else was coming. He really hoped it was one of their own and not his sister, though felt reassured that Sheppard had convinced his vegetarian, peace-loving sister both the importance of an emergency transponder and gun safety, especially with little Maddy in the house. “Any thing else?” he asked, offering her a fry.
She made a face and pulled herself to her feet, clutching her water bottle like a lifeline. She stumbled over to the door and pressed her head against it, hair catching on the rough edges of the mesh as she gazed out at their captors. Her eyes narrowed and she turned back to him to ask, “What's a 'hok'taur'?”
He paused, greasy goodness halfway to his lips. “The reason they probably want you,” he non-answered. If she was telepathic, which was becoming more and more evident, it would make sense why the Trust would want her. She could spy on anyone at any time without the need for traceable electronics. Though the use of the Goa'uld terminology was both a bit disturbing and further proof the so-called defenders of Earth had truly fallen to the rogue alien elements.
“I won't work for them,” she assured him. “Not to mention their use of drugs and electroshock or whatever that was are far from ways to make me more effective.”
“They have ways,” he told her, imaging more than one being used against him as well.
She returned to looking out the window, her face a mask of concentration. He took advantage of the time to cram the remnants of his burger into his mouth. She caught his attention again by nearly dropping her water bottle and rolling away from the opening with a gasp. “Doctor McKay?” she swallowed. “Do the words 'implantation' and the image of some freaky looking lizard-like snake thing mean anything to you?”
His food suddenly sat heavily in his stomach. It made perfect sense; it was the one way they could guarantee control and cooperation and explained the earlier terminology. “Bad things,” he told her. “Very bad things.” The concrete walls suddenly felt much more confining, the long hallway that much more daunting. He had no idea where the hell they were, but the need to get the hell out just grew about tenfold.
Based on the look on his roommate's face, she was picking up on the myriad of graphic images playing through his mind. It was just as well, there was no way he could find the words to describe the process of being implanted with a Goa'uld symbiote sufficiently enough to get through how horrible the experience was right now. It was a nightmare of his, ranking right up there with being fed upon by a Wraith. Shit. He fought the urge to hyperventilate, but only barely. He needed to think. He needed a plan. He needed to get out and now was the preferred timetable.
A bottle of water was being forced into his hands and raised to his lips. He really hoped it was his and not the one recently used by someone who had recently puked. He took a few cautious sips, listening to soft words of calm and concern that were really doing nothing other than distracting him, but he guessed that was okay as he found himself slowly coming out of the “Oh, fuck” state and into a more familiar, “Let's take them down” train of thought.
“Getting out of here is good,” she agreed with a sigh. “Any ideas on how to do that?”
He shook his head. “Not yet, there's nothing here we can use,” he pointed out. “How about you? Can't you use your little psychic powers to contact your people at NSA and get them to come to a rescue.”
She chuffed out a humorless laugh. “Sorry, they don't work that way. I can't send anything, only receive, and even that varies,” she explained. “Not to mention that only a couple of the people I work with know I can even do that.”
“So you're a secret within a secret organization?” he asked.
“NSA is not a secret, not completely,” she pointed out. “Now you and your little SGC...” she baited.
“Will have lots of forms for you to sign if we get out of here,” he countered. He held out the bag with the remaining burger, taking the face she made as permission to go for it with that one as well. “Now,” he said around a mouthful of rapidly cooling unhealthy goodness. “Tell me as many details as you were able to glean, and let's see if we can come up with a plan.”
She pushed her dark hair out of her eyes and leaned up against the wall, crossing her feet in front of her. She closed her eyes as she started to list things off. “There's a room with computers and a bunch of other random equipment a few doors down from here. I don't recognize some of it and no, I'm not ready to admit it might be alien. There are the guards that we've seen, plus at least four others because they picked up lunch for everyone and complained about the cost and getting reimbursed. They are waiting for two more people who will be bringing those snake things, but every time they think of them they get all subservient and is there any reason they picture them with glowing eyes?”
Rodney finished his food and wiped his fingers on his pants as no napkins were provided. “The eyes mean they've already been implanted with what they want to give us. The snakes are what they want to implant us with. Can you tell me anything more about the computers or what they do?” he asked, trying not to think about being Goa'uld'ed. He'd heard stories from former victims and had read Caldwell's report about being trapped in his own mind. There was no way he was going to allow that if he could do anything about it.
“Not really,” she admitted, shaking her head. “Computers are really not my thing and the images of the random other things aren't that clear. I'd have no idea what to compare them to and don't think I could even guess at their purpose.”
He banged his head against the wall. Things were not looking good. Unless they could get to the room prior to being snaked and get a message out, they were screwed. On the up side, the Goa'uld were pompous and would most likely make a show of it, giving Sheppard more time to mount a rescue, if he could even find them. He'd hold on to that hope, remembering all the times he thought there was no way out only to have his team defy the odds and rush to the rescue, but with no transmitter and no way of knowing where it was they were being held, things did not look good. “Anything else?” he sighed, picturing elaborate Goa'uld torture devices. He had heard less than good things about what they called a ribbon device.
“Just one,” she said, taking another careful sip of her water and reminding him he was stuck with a sick stranger and not his teammates. “I think I know where we are,” she grinned.
That made him sit upright. “How?” he asked. “Or, more importantly, where?”
“Those greasy burgers you just ate? Look just like the ones my partner Brendan got me once. Smell like them too,” she explained. “We had a case in Maryland, about three hours outside of D.C. Found what we were looking for in some old warehouses, but had to stake them out for a bit first. He picked up dinner at a place called 'Zips' - truly awful burgers wrapped in plain paper served in a white bag with a little red logo.” She turned the bag to faced him, revealing a little red lightning bolt on a circle on the side.
“Could be,” he agreed. “But it could also be a chance.”
She looked at her watch and held it out to show him the time. He glanced at his own to verify it and the date and agreed, only about eighteen hours had passed. “Timing's about right, too,” she pointed out.
It was as good of a theory as any, so he went with it until they had further information to disprove it. “Okay, I'll go with that,” he relented. “So, when we escape, we have some idea of where we are...”
She grinned and he looked at her questioningly. “You just said 'when' which means you think you have a way out of here,” she smiled.
“I think I have an idea,” he corrected. “An idea based on the Goa'uld being full of themselves and incredibly stupid mixed with the fact this is not the first time I've been held hostage by morons so I have some experience with this.” He looked her over, taking in the still rather palish skin and too quick breathing and figuring she was far from his action hero boyfriend, but would have to do at this point. “How good are you at reading people on the fly? Because this will work a lot better if I don't have to spell everything out for you.”
“I'd be better if I didn't feel like crap,” she admitted. “The drugs are wearing off, but not fast enough and I barely know you, so there's that. If you let me practice getting a read on you now, before everything goes downhill, I'd be better.”
He nodded figuring it made as much sense as living in a world with life-sucking vampires and egotistical snakes with a flare for the dramatic. “What do you need me to do?” he asked.
“Just think,” she told him.
He made a face. “Nothing I think of is going to be used against me, right? Because, no offense, but sometimes my mind wanders and it's totally not my fault if I offend you. Also, nothing you pick up on is legally binding, right? Because I'd hate for Sheppard to get in trouble because...”
She held up her hand in what was becoming an increasingly familiar gesture. “I swear, I could care less who you sleep with or how and please, he looks enough like my partner that I'm starting to get disturbed, so keep it in the PG range, please?”
“I'll try?” he offered.
“I'll take what I can get,” she sighed, taking another sip of water and closing her eyes.
***
It was another three and a half hours by his watch before anything interesting happened. Three and a half long hours of playing guessing games, telling silent jokes that he wasn't sure if she just didn't get the reference or wasn't fully linked to his thoughts, and countless mentions of, “No seriously, that's disturbing.”
McKay knew he was radiating tension at that point, but really didn't care. He knew this was big. He knew this might be their only chance. He also knew that the oddly echoing voice made him want to throw up a little. “Bring them,” the man in the overpriced suit said, turning on his heel and leaving without waiting to see if his orders were followed.
The guards waved their zats and he waved his hands and hung his head and generally tried to make it seem like he was not a threat and that he was going along without a fight. Little Miss NSA threw a punch that was easily deflected and was then frogmarched to their new location with one hand twisted behind her back. He barely caught the little signal they had worked out to show she was receiving him loud and clear before he was unceremoniously shoved into room teeming with technology that he knew for a fact was not one hundred percent from Earth.
“What? You kept us in the storage closet?” he asked incredulously as he looked around at the shiny metal surfaces and the rows upon rows of both Ancient and Goa'uld crystals laid out on the tables in the corner. A large console stood in the middle, bring back memories of the place where they had held his sister, only his sister never had to deal with the added bonus of randomly carved hieroglyphics and gaudy decorations.
“It seemed a fitting place,” the man replied, self-righteous smirk fully in place. “Do not worry, soon you shall have accommodations far nicer than even this.”
“What do you want from us?” he asked, trying to sound both bored and afraid at the same time, which was not difficult given the circumstances. He just hoped they had not picked up on the fact he already knew the answer.
The Goa'uld, as expected, ignored him so he could continue with whatever soliloquy he had planned. “You have quite the way with technology, Doctor McKay. Your knowledge of Ancient systems is near unrivaled.” Rodney silently gave him credit for remembering the stroking the ego part of the proceedings. “Integrating this technology with existing Goa'uld systems is proving to be quite... problematic.”
“And you want me to do it for you,” he guessed, cutting him off. There was only so much posturing he could stand. “Yeah, not going to happen,” he shrugged, hoping he came across far more confident than he currently felt.
“I am certain we will be able to change your mind. You will find we can be quite persuasive when we want to,” the man said with just a bit too much sweetness for Rodney's liking. He turned to one of his lackeys and ordered, “Bring it.”
Freya, for her part, put on quite the believable show. Then again, he still didn't know her well enough to know if she was following some internal script she had come up with or if she had picked up on enough of the thoughts floating around the room to be sufficiently scared. “There's snakes, McKay! There's... they look like snakes, but aren't really and... oh my god, they want to put them in us. What the hell?”
That was his cue for the entirely ill-planned escape attempt. She swung out at the guy nearest to her while he spun on the guy next to him. His guard must have been more wary of her than him because it was relatively easy to wrestle the zat away from him and shoot him. McAllister had gotten a zat of her own and he mentally gave her instructions on how to work it. She took out her guy and aimed at the next, both of them ducking as shots were fired back in their direction. Several shots later and four guards lay on the floor unconscious and he was left wondering where Mr. Goa'uld had disappeared to.
He pulled her with him to the main console, directing her to cover the door while he started typing away in a vain attempt to hack the system. The code was straightforward, but in a language he barely knew. Ancient he could translate on the fly, Wraith he could do with a bit of time, but he hadn't even looked at Goa'uld systems in years.
He was pretty sure he had just cracked the first layer of encryption when there was a startled cry from the woman next to him, followed by her flying into the wall behind them with a crash and a faint golden glow of light. He whipped around, reaching for the zat he had placed beside him, only to have it smacked out of his hands. Too many years of too many missions gone wrong made his instincts decide that smacking back was a good idea, but he came up against the inhuman strength the symbiote provided. He winced in pain as his wrist was bent back at an unnatural angle, finally looking up into the glowing eyes of the Goa'uld.
He opened his mouth to make what he was certain was going to be a witty remark, but the Goa'uld brought up his other hand, letting him take in the golden capped fingers and large red jewel set in the center for just a moment before that jewel began to glow. His head snapped back as his brain screamed in agony, his vision blurring as white hot spokes drove deeper. The effects of the ribbon device were required reading at the SGC, but he never thought he would actually have to experience them for himself, especially not when he was based a galaxy away from the assholes who wielded it.
The pain stopped for a moment, and he took advantage of the ability to breathe easily once again, his head throbbing with each molecule of air he struggled for. He glared up at his captor, wanting to wipe that knowing smirk off his face even as he heard him say, “Bring the container, we'll implant him now.”
He began struggling in earnest, managing to get free for half a second before the Goa'uld simply shifted his grip from his wrist to the collar of his shirt, tightening it painfully with every flail. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw what looked to be a jar of some sort pulled out of a suitcase. The top was opened and hooded serpent came slithering out, tongue tasting the air, seeking out its victim.
“Fuck no,” he breathed, starting up with the flailing again even though part of him knew it did him no good. He'd faced down Wraith Queens, admittedly with help, he could take care of some legless alien freak that wanted to burrow into his brain.
No sooner had the thought solidified in his head than the pain returned, his entire body immobilized as he watched the proceedings in slow motion. Lackey offered the jar to the Goa'uld, who released his grip on McKay's shirt to take it in his hand. He willed himself to move, but found he could not, body fighting against mind fighting against pain. The snake was brought closer, the little fins around its head flexing back and forth even as it bared its fang-like teeth. And then he was free.
A blur of black threw itself into him and he crashed to the floor, out of the ribbon device's range. The Goa'uld howled in anger and Freya howled in frustration as it took her two more tries to get his feet knocked out from under him. He crashed to the floor and the symbiote went flying, slithering off into a corner that Rodney really and truly hoped was not near him as he could barely get his limbs to support him enough to clamor back to his knees and make a grab for the zat.
Freya beat him to it, shooting once at the lackey and taking him down and then again at the Goa'uld, exclaiming in frustration when it bounced off his personal shield. He raised his hand towards her, jewel already glowing red, and she flinched as he prepared herself for the blast.
Instead of the whoosh of energy he was expecting, the sound of bullets echoed through the room. They bounced off the shield as well, but were enough of a distraction for the Trust agent to turn his attention away from Freya and face the near platoon of black clad soldiers rushing into the room.
One black clad man in particular resolved himself into a far more familiar face before McKay's still blurry eyes. “Rodney, are you okay?” Sheppard demanded.
“Goa'uld,” he managed to form his mouth around the word.
“Yeah, we figured that out,” John said, eying him like he was either extremely stupid or extremely injured.
“He means your guns won't work,” Freya explained. They watched as another soldier fired, the bullet careening harmlessly off the shield.
A knife came sailing through the air, slicing neatly through the shield and into the host's chest, dropping him neatly to the floor.
“Huh, that seemed to work,” another voice, both unexpected and familiar, commented.
Rodney looked over to see Ronon towering above the other men, Teyla tucked neatly at his side, both wonderfully armed to the teeth. “Are you okay, Rodney?” she asked, approaching cautiously.
He noticed her gun was still raised about the same time he noticed the open symbiote jar next to him. “Brain fried, but not snaked,” he breathed. Stringing together even that many words seemed like far too much work right now.
“Rodney,” Sheppard called, turning his head to face him. “Where is the Goa'uld?”
He wanted to say that he was laying beside them, bleeding out slowly onto the floor, a phalanx of armed men circling around him, but the words just would not come out, the transfer of thought to muscle too much for his sluggish mind. He turned to the still armed woman beside him, hoping she could explain, but realizing too late that he was implying it was in her as several guns were suddenly pointed in her direction as well as his own.
“Not me!” she insisted. “It slithered off... there!” The last word was an exclamation, hand pointing at the thing currently launching itself from the shadows and towards where the three of them were still crouched on the ground.
Another knife came flying, sending the symbiote with it and pinning it to the garish wall. “That worked too,” Ronon shrugged, yet another blade already twirling in his fingers.
“Are there any more?” Sheppard demanded.
Rodney shook his aching head. “Only saw one.”
Freya carefully lowered her zat to the ground and raised her hands to show she was not a threat. “They were going to implant both of us, there might be another around here,” she warned.
“Simpson, take a team and look for it. Ryans, take a team of your own and round up the bad guys,” Sheppard directed, eyes never leaving McKay's. “Ronon?” he asked, listening for the heavy bootfalls that signaled his teammate. “Make sure these things are really dead, huh?”
Rodney didn't have to see the grin that broke out on the big guy's face to appreciate it. He found himself being manhandled to his feet instead, a surreptitious kiss being placed on his temple, a certain Lieutenant Colonel taking far more of his weight than either would admit right now. “I hurt,” he whined. He figured he deserved the right to at this point.
“I know,” John said consolingly, eyes darting between what he figured was a wonderfully red mark on his forehead and the sliced sleeve with the bandaged arm beneath it.
“Earth sucks,” he pouted.
“It really does,” John agreed with a chuckle.
Teyla was busy introducing herself to the other tiny, strong-willed woman in the room. “You must be Freya McAllister,” she was saying. “You have a very concerned partner waiting for you.”
“Brendan?” Freya asked, relief evident in her voice. This was followed, of course, by, “Are you two really aliens?”
“She's going to need to sign like a thousand nondisclosure agreements,” Rodney commented.
John's eyes were wide as he nodded. “You were gone for less than a day and you felt the need to share everything with her? What did they do to you?” he asked warily.
“Zatted, operated on, threatened, ribboned, and fed greasy food,” Rodney replied, just happy his speech was coming back. The words were still harder than normal to form, but at least they were there. “She's a telepathic government agent,” he explained.
“Uh-huh,” Sheppard said uncertainly, instinctively ducking at the sound of Ronon's gun blowing the crap out of the symbiote. “Why don't we get you back home and checked out?”
“Okay,” Rodney agreed readily. He felt like he was going to pass out from his still throbbing head at any moment and home sounded wonderful right about now. He let Sheppard shuffle him towards the door unsteadily, wondering if home was supposed to mean the hotel, the SGC, or the beautiful city currently sitting in an ocean a galaxy away. “I'm never going to get a real vacation, am I?” he sighed, already imagining the tests and exams waiting for him.
“Probably not,” Sheppard agreed. He leaned closer, breath tickling his ear as he offered, “But I can make it up to you.”
“Still disturbing!” Freya called from behind them.
Rodney simply smiled. “Deal.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.
Alternative titles for this included "Earth Sucks" and "Rodney and Freya's Snarkfest"...
Title: Thinking of Home
Genre: SGA/Thoughtcrimes
Season/Spoilers: Set roughly Season 5 of SGA
Pairing: McShep
Length: ~ 9,000 words
Rating: R for language and violence
Synopsis: On Earth, Rodney is taken by the Trust, but he is not alone.
Author's Notes: For sg_prompts' Crossover Fest.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, people with a lot of money do. I'm just borrowing them to play and making no profit from this.
~~~~~~~~~~
Rodney stretched luxuriously in the wonderfully soft hotel bed. It was not quite the same as the elite prescription mattress he had finally gotten delivered to his quarters back on Atlantis, but it was close and, more importantly, incredibly comfortable. Rolling over to look at the clock, some of that comfort faded. 0500. Five fucking o'clock in the morning. Again. By the time his body adjusted to Earth time, he'd be on his way back to Atlantis again.
Knowing that it was no use fighting it, when he was up he was up, he padded over to the bathroom to get ready for the day. To add insult to injury, it was one of the few days he didn't need to schlep back to some government office to oversee the morons reviewing some of the tech they brought back this time around. In fact, the General there had specifically requested he take the weekend off and enjoy his time on Earth before he needed to make his presentation to some Congressional Committee. He fully intended to do so. He had earned it after all, saving the city countless times. Okay, so Sheppard and Ronon and Teyla helped, but whatever. The look of relief on his minions faces when the announcement was made must have been due to the realization he would come back sharper than ever, ready to take on their stupidity once more.
Speaking of Sheppard, he peeked through to the adjoining room to check on his erstwhile teammate. The Colonel had insisted on rooms that connected, rambling on about how, this time, there was no way Rodney was going to get kidnapped while on Earth. The Brass believed it and here they were, two connected rooms in a swanky area of D.C., towering high above the streets below with 26 floors and something ridiculous like 14 security measures in place just to get there. The fact the two rooms were side by side with a private door in between that allowed ease of access for extracurricular activities was simply a bonus. He had already swept the rooms for bugs and toasted the findings with bottle of Chablis on the SGC's budget. Now they had privacy, and time.
He would take advantage of some of that time, but John was dead to the world. He had meetings, official and not, long past the time Rodney made it to his own room and had only crashed a few hours ago. Rodney decided to take pity on him, just this once, and let him be. He figured by the time he got breakfast at the little coffee shop he had spotted on the way in, got two cups to go, and made it back up to the rooms, John should be awake and ready to go do whatever they were doing today. He kind of hoped there was less “go” and more “doing” but he had to admit the freedom to choose was wonderful.
Leaving a note so Sheppard wouldn't freak upon finding an empty bed, he grabbed his wallet and slipped out the door. He thought of asking Teyla or Ronon, but they were still adjusting to Earth life, as temporary as it was, and besides, he shouldn't need body guards to go get coffee. He grunted at security guards one through four, ignored the rest, and offered a rough approximation of a smile at the concierge that claimed to understand the citrus allergy and assured him he would be at no risk from any foods delivered to his room. He crossed the street through the busy early morning D.C. Traffic, questioning the sanity of any government that insisted on making their employees rush around at this early hour, and opened the door into a small haven of pure caffeinated bliss.
He checked his watch as he stood in the rather quickly moving line, wondering if he had time for a cup here and then grabbing the two to go. An amused voice sounded from behind him, assuring, “This is the fastest coffee shop in the metro, you should have plenty of time to get where you're going.”
He turned around to find a young woman who reminded him of one of Teyla's Athosians with dark hair, tanned skin, and that exotic look about her that told him she could probably kick his ass just like Marta. Not blonde, but not bad, so he offered what he had been passing off as grin on this trip and guessed, “I take it you're a usual?”
“When I'm in the area,” she agreed, still keeping her just-shy-of-laughing-outright expression.
He stepped up one more in the queue. “You don't work in the area?”
“Let's just say my work takes me many places,” she smiled. He didn't press - working for top secret government agencies was old school for him at this point. You didn't press or prod for information people were not willing to give unless you knew for a fact it was something related to your own project.
It was his turn at the register and he ordered the largest coffee available and one of the muffins, figuring he could have a quick breakfast here and give Sheppard some time to get some actual sleep. He'd still bring back the coffee, and if John wanted a breakfast of his own, they could go out somewhere.
He got his cup, pleased that this was a place that understood large meant large, and immediately took a wonderfully scalding sip. It was dark, it was rich, and it was exactly what he needed. “Yeah, I'm getting more of you,” he told the steaming brew.
There was a stifled laugh behind him and he turned to see the woman enjoying her own cup before she even stepped away from the counter. “Got to get a hit of the good stuff right away,” she sighed happily, leading the way out to the little tables lining the sidewalk.
A brief thought of how he went without for several long days while they were waiting for the Daedalus crossed his mind, and he decided he most definitely was going to enjoy as much as he could on this trip and possibly fill an extra bag with nothing but bags of beans. The woman looked at him questioningly and he explained, “You would not believe how hard this is to get some days.”
She nodded, still keeping an eye on him like he was some sot of strange oddity. “I think I may have an idea,” she said. Before he could ask her what she meant, her eyes grew wide and she shouted, “Get down!”
Too many years of experience kicked in and he hit the deck. The squealing of tires almost drowned out the high-pitched whine he had come to recognize as a zat. People were running and screaming and a few distinct others were busy either texting frantically or speaking into their wrists. He reached for his cell and flipped it open, pressing the speed dial for the SGC. He gave his authorization code, barely noticing the woman beside him appearing to do something similar.
There was too much noise and too much residual energy crackling around the metal window frames, giving off too much interference. “This is Doctor Rodney McKay!” he repeated. “I'm... look, I don't know where I am. I'm across the street from the hotel you guys put me up in. I'm sure there's chip in the phone, track it...”
He never heard what response the peon on the other end gave him, looking up to see two men in wonderfully ominous black suits standing over him. “So nice of you to identify yourself, Doctor McKay,” the one on the left smiled, leveling the zat at him.
“No,” the woman beside yelled, throwing herself towards him.
Her words blended with his own and the last thing he remembered before a blinding blue-white light was muttering, “Shit.”
***
He woke up with his head pounding and his entire body tingling like the time they figured out Ancient crystals had the equivalent of AC/DC the hard way. He was laying flat out on the floor of a dimly lit room meaning his back would be adding in its own complaints shortly. He blinked several times to orientate himself before propping himself up on his elbows to repeat the action as he felt the blood rush mixed with the disorientation and had to actively fight the urge not to hurl.
The room, such as it was, was plain and simple and most likely made out of concrete. There was a mattress in the corner in front of him that his captors had apparently felt the need to ignore, with lumps of pillows and blankets tossed haphazardly about. His arm was starting to throb with something other than the pins and needles feeling and he looked down to find the sleeve of his shirt sliced up the side and a pristine gauze bandage around where his transmitter should have been. “Fuck,” he swore, pushing himself up into a full sitting position and trying to get an idea of the damage they had inflicted on him.
There was the noise of fabric on fabric in the otherwise silent room, and he looked over to see the pile of bedding move, tousled black hair peeking out behind some industrial bland fabric. His heart skipped for a moment, thinking he had gotten a break and the idiots had taken Sheppard too and they would be blasting their way out of this place shortly. Looking closer though, he realized it was too much hair and too small of body. His hope was crushed when he heard a distinctly female voice mutter, “Brendan?”
He crawled the few steps over to the bed, only partially surprised to find the woman from the coffee shop starting to stir. He figured she had gotten hit by the zat as well, but could think of no reason for anyone to grab them both. With a sigh he asked, “What the hell did they want with you?”
The dark head turned his way, brown eyes wide in what little light they had. And then of course, she had to scream.
Men came rushing into the room, answering his question as to whether or not there were guards posted. They were dressed in the same black suits, but he had no idea if they were the same as before, or new lackeys with the same wardrobe. Her screaming seemed to increase with their presence, which he figured was fair enough as she probably just figured out how screwed they were. They pushed him from her side, talking to themselves as much as each other. He only heard snippets of the conversation, something about “shielding” and “the energy from the zat shorting her out” and “getting a reading on everyone”. A third man came in holding a syringe that he really did not want to see shoved into her various body parts. A quick glance told him they were all preoccupied with her thrashing and he made a run for the door that was still left hanging open to the hallway.
He made it all of about three steps, just enough to see more concrete and more anonymous doorways, before he was spotted by another two lackeys. They leveled their zats at him and he put his hands in the air, rather not wanting to be the guinea pig to his own question of whether or not multiple shots from a zat had a cumulative effect even with a substantial pause in between the exposures.
He walked backwards into the room, ignoring the inter-thug jibes of “Lose something?” and “You just had to deal with the geek, we had to deal with the freak.” He wasn't sure he liked either description, but he was sure he didn't like it when he was manhandled back to the corner of the room and warned to stay there.
“For how long?” he sighed. He mentally calculated how long he had been gone versus just how pissed Sheppard was going to be versus how pleased he would be to see these assholes taken down.
“Until we need you,” the thug with the slightly less defined brow ridge told him before locking the door on the way out.
“Thank you, that was extremely unhelpful,” he snarked. He waited a beat to see if they would be returning before glancing over to the woman on the mattress. She was quiet now, and apparently drugged out of her gourd if her expression was anything to go by. He shuffled closer, keeping a wary eye on the door, and asked, “Are you okay?”
He wasn't really expecting an answer, at least not a coherent one, so he was a bit surprised when she replied, “I think they stoned the shit out of me...”
He chuffed out a laugh despite himself. “That's probably whatever was in those needles they jabbed in you.”
She nodded, eyes bobbling in her head. “Things are... sparkly,” she said, gravely serious.
He took a quick glance around the gray and grimy room, seeing only shadows and unidentifiable things that he would rather remain unidentifiable. “Give me some of what you're having,” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. This was so not his day. Kidnapped, zatted, had amateur surgery performed on, and locked away with someone higher than a kite. This was not the Pegasus galaxy; this was not supposed to happen here.
“Sorry, it doesn't work that way,” she said, and actually sounded apologetic. She cocked her head to the side, hair tangling beneath her. “What do you mean, 'Pegasus galaxy'?”
He was pretty positive he had not said anything out loud, at least not this time. There was no way for her to know about his work or where he had been. This was not good. This was so not good. She could be a spy, working with the people who took him to try to get his sympathy and trust. Then again, she would have just screwed that up. Maybe they dosed her too much and she screwed up her script? Possible. Definitely possible. Great, he was stuck in a dingy little room away from nowhere with a plant who was probably...
“Whoa!” she exclaimed, raising what he now saw to be slightly bruised hands to her head. “I'm not a plant, I'm simply a person who got screwed over in this life, okay? I don't know why they want me and I'd rather not find out.”
Now he knew he had not said anything. His mind whirled at the possibilities. Was she Goa'uld? Former Goa'uld? Tok'ra? Some new alien the SGC ran into in their gallivanting across the universe?
“Please stop,” she pleaded, both hands latched to her skull at this point. “Too much! I don't have control yet. Just... hush for a minute or two, okay?”
“I'm not talking,” he insisted. “This is me, sitting here, not talking, and you, laying there, freaking out.”
“Not freaking out,” she insisted. “And you are talking, just not verbally. I'm a bit hypersensitive right now and whatever the hell they pumped into me really is not helping.” Her breathing was speeding up, and little droplets of sweat broke out on her forehead. “Okay, so maybe I'm freaking out a little, but I think I earned it at this point,” she conceded.
Several things clicked into place and Rodney could not help but blurt out, “You're a telepath? Wow, that explains so much. Well, except for how it works because really, it sounds like a bunch of crap, and...”
“Talking while thinking, really not helping,” she cut him off.
“Well, I can't exactly stop my brain,” he protested.
“Just... go think something mindless and let me have a minute, okay?” she asked, rolling to her side and facing away from him.
It was kind of rude and kind of blunt, but it was something he could understand, so he went with it. He clamored to his feet and started pacing the short length of the other side of the room. He tried to fill his head with nice relaxing schematics, before he realized that thinking about classified projects around someone who could read your mind was probably not a good idea. He tried playing a game of Prime/Not Prime, but it was no fun when you were coming up with both the number and the answer yourself. He had turned to his old standby, reciting Fourier sequences, when he heard a light chuckle from the heap of blankets.
“You are really bad at this, you know?” the woman asked. She propped herself up on her elbows and seemed to both be looking at him and through him, which was rather disturbing. Also, eventually, he was going to have to ask her name so he didn't just refer to her as “her” or “the woman” or “you there” or some such thing.
“Sorry,” he shrugged, wandering back over to her. “It's not really in me to be quiet or stop thinking. Certified genius and all that.” He looked down at her and noticed she seemed to be doing better, not that he was an expert at such things, but she was no longer sweaty or looking insane, so that was a plus.
She offered out her hand with a smile. “Freya McAllister, NSA.”
His original impression had been correct, she was a government type. How much she knew and what side she was working for was still up in the air, though. He took her hand and gave it a rough approximation of a shake, and responded with, “Doctor Rodney McKay, and who I work for is even more classified than you.”
She had that odd look in her eyes again, and he really did not know her well enough to know if that was her permanent state, or just the drugs. “What's an 'SGC'?” she asked, lowering her hand.
His eyes grew wide. How did you stop a telepath from knowing what you were thinking when trying not to think about it was actually thinking about it? “Something you don't need to know about, and stay out of my head,” he snapped back.
She flopped back against the mattress, eyes going glassy for a moment before she blinked them back to awareness. “I'm trying to,” she insisted. “I don't know if it's the drugs, or whatever it is they did to me before the drugs, but my mind is everywhere and I can't block you out, not completely,” she explained. There was a pause, followed by, “You work with aliens and space ships? Or at least think you do? What the hell did they give you, or are you always this delusional?”
He sputtered, both wanting to defend himself and not lose his security clearance by letting her in on the truth. “I'll have you know that I know many things, many valuable things, that the people out there will want to know. You keep blabbing everything you hear, or think you hear from my mind, and they don't even have to ask and, oh my god, you really are working with them, aren't you?”
“For fuck's sake,” she sighed, pushing her hair out of her eyes to glare at him. She started patting herself down and digging through her pockets, holding up an ID card she found somewhere within the neatly tailored jacket she still wore. “Is this enough for you?” she asked.
He took the card and looked it over. It seemed authentic enough, but the Trust, and he was pretty sure that's who he was dealing with here, were good and would have been able to fake that no problem. He told her as much.
She held her hand out for her badge and tucked it back away with a huff. “Look, either you believe who I am or you don't, I don't care at this point. For all I know, you with your little dreams of aliens and crap are completely delusional and they have locked us in here together to see if you truly can drive me insane. We can either just assume we're each telling the truth and work together to get the hell out of here, or sit here and bicker until whoever is holding us does whatever it is they are going to do to us. I vote for the 'hell out' part, how about you?”
Rodney nodded sheepishly, offering out a muttered, “Fine.”
“Good,” she said, attempting to push herself upright again. “Now, you're the genius, or at least you think you are, how are we going to get out?”
He had been thinking about that, actually, but had not gotten very far on the chance she was working for whoever held him and relaying the plans so they could block them. Instead, he countered with, “You're the telepath, what are they thinking so we know what they've got planned?”
Her eyes narrowed at him for a moment, before admitting, “I haven't gotten a clear read on them yet. When they were in here, it was jumbled, and now I can't really tell.” She held out her arm and directed, “Help me up.”
He made the requisite comments about being a pack mule and such, put pulled her into a standing position, feeling her sway heavily in his arms. “You okay?” he asked, concerned as all the color drained from her face.
“No,” she said, swallowing heavily. She looked up at him and warned, “Doctor McKay, I think I'm going to puke.”
There had been a drain over in the far corner from whenever this room had been originally used for whatever purpose. He half steered, half dragged her there and dumped her unceremoniously to her knees, letting her ralph up her coffee and pastry from earlier. He didn't know which was more disgusting, the vomit, or the fact it reminded him how long it had been since he had anything sizable to eat and that he was due for a blood sugar crash shortly.
“That's gross,” she said, shifting over to lean up against the wall.
He wasn't sure if she meant the task she had just completed, or his current train of thought, but agreed with both anyway. “You need anything?” he asked, eying her critically. She looked like Teyla did around the fifth or sixth month of her pregnancy: pasty and glassy and like she was either going to pass out or let loose again.
“Because we have so much on offer here?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. She made a show of looking around the barren room before looking back up at him critically.
He rolled his eyes, desperately trying not to think of who she reminded him of, and wandered over to the door. He gazed out the little wire mesh window and pounded on the thick metal to try to catch the attention of the guard who had wandered a few steps down the hall. “Hey!” he called. “She's sick in here! Can we at least get some water? Some food wouldn't be missed either...”
“No food,” the woman, Freya, muttered, looking oddly green and like she was about to hit the drain again.
The guard had keyed his radio, listening to something Rodney could not hear. When he wandered closer, he caught bits of, “She stopped screaming... No, I don't know if she can be used yet... Water...”
“And food,” McKay reminded him. “Hypoglycemic here. Don't know what your nefarious plans are for me, but I bet they'll work better if I'm coherent and, you know, conscious.”
“He says he's hypoglycemic,” the guard dutifully reported. “Yeah, that will be taken care of later, but until they arrive, we've gotta keep 'em going... That should do it. Spencer out.” The newly named Spencer turned to look at him through the mesh. “Water's on its way, so's the food.”
Rodney nodded and wandered back to his current roommate. She scrubbed her lips with the sleeve of her jacket, looking at the mess and sighing, “Thank god for dry cleaning...” She looked up at him, dark eyes just a bit cleared than they had been when she first woke up. “So, what's the plan? Take them down when they come with the food?”
He looked at her like she was insane. Well, more insane than the whole reading minds thing. “You're barely functioning and I'm well, me. I'm not exactly Mr. Action Hero here,” he said, shaking his head. He had done plenty of action-y stuff during his time with Atlantis, but pretty much every time had involved at least one of his teammates and their ability to kick ass. “I was thinking more along the lines of being good little prisoners and getting fed and then seeing what trouble we can get into.”
“What kind of trouble, and does it involve getting out of here?” she asked, lolling her head back and forth against the concrete. “Because that whole 'barely functioning' thing is pretty accurate.”
He started pacing, glancing at the door and trying to figure out if they were tapping a glacier for the water, or were just that slow. “There's nothing useful in the room, they were careful about that. We've got a mattress, a drain, and a door. The door has no electronics, and the drain isn't big enough to escape through, not even for someone as small as you. This can't be our final destination or, if it is, they've got a set up somewhere else here. There's nothing in the room that can be used against us or that I can use to do anything which, let's face it, if they took me, they want my mind, but what for?”
He paused for a moment to find her holding her head again. “That mind of yours? Is going to make me puke again. Does it always go that fast? Because, really, ouch.”
He didn't think she was asking him to apologize, especially not for simply being who he was, so he didn't offer anything other than a shrug and, “Yeah, pretty much.”
There was the sound of people coming down the hallway, with Spencer stopping whoever it was to verify the contents of what sounded like a paper bag. McKay's mind spun, trying to come up with a plan, but Freya cut him off. “You, try to be quiet and not think too much, just for a minute,” she directed. “Let me try to get a read on them and see if I can figure out why we're here, okay?”
He nodded dumbly. “That whole not thinking thing though, harder than it looks.”
“If you're as smart as you seem, and smart enough for them to want you, I'm sure you'll figure out a way,” she assured him before turning her attention towards the door.
The guard came in, zat at the ready. He had another anonymous goon with him, equally as armed, and a third offering out two large bottles of water and a bag that was shiny with grease. The bag as set on the ground with the bottles and the trio slowly backed out, the one named Spencer eying the hunched woman warily. Rodney glanced over to find her playing her role quite nicely, looking near incoherent and like she was about to hurl again at any moment. Though the last part might have been from the overwhelming smell of fried fat filling the room.
The door closed and there was an unmistakable sound of a lock sliding back into place. Spencer patted the metal screen with a smirked, “Good boy.” He disappeared from view and booted footsteps echoed in the hallway. After a ten count, McKay dared to glance out the tiny window, finding him and the others having wandered back to their previous positions.
He grabbed the offerings and brought them over to his companion, plopping down on the floor next to her. He handed her one of the bottles of water, noting that it was both still sealed and had a little price tag on it from wherever it had been picked up. At least they didn't appear to be drugging them; well, any more than they already had.
He waited until Freya had a chance to rinse her mouth to ask, “So? What did you find out?”
He tore into the bag to find two paper-wrapped cheeseburgers, a bag of fries, and a handful of little ketchup packets. She made a face at the way he shoved the food into his mouth, but dutifully answered, “It was luck that they got us both at the same time. They wanted us, but had separate grabs planned and it looks like separate purposes.”
“Let me guess, me for building them something?” he asked, taking a swig of his own water.
She shook her head. “There's some programing issue they want you to work on. There's a set up somewhere in the building, but they're not ready to bring you there yet. They're waiting for someone else first, but I couldn't tell who.”
He thought that over for a moment, wondering just what the Trust was up to and who else was coming. He really hoped it was one of their own and not his sister, though felt reassured that Sheppard had convinced his vegetarian, peace-loving sister both the importance of an emergency transponder and gun safety, especially with little Maddy in the house. “Any thing else?” he asked, offering her a fry.
She made a face and pulled herself to her feet, clutching her water bottle like a lifeline. She stumbled over to the door and pressed her head against it, hair catching on the rough edges of the mesh as she gazed out at their captors. Her eyes narrowed and she turned back to him to ask, “What's a 'hok'taur'?”
He paused, greasy goodness halfway to his lips. “The reason they probably want you,” he non-answered. If she was telepathic, which was becoming more and more evident, it would make sense why the Trust would want her. She could spy on anyone at any time without the need for traceable electronics. Though the use of the Goa'uld terminology was both a bit disturbing and further proof the so-called defenders of Earth had truly fallen to the rogue alien elements.
“I won't work for them,” she assured him. “Not to mention their use of drugs and electroshock or whatever that was are far from ways to make me more effective.”
“They have ways,” he told her, imaging more than one being used against him as well.
She returned to looking out the window, her face a mask of concentration. He took advantage of the time to cram the remnants of his burger into his mouth. She caught his attention again by nearly dropping her water bottle and rolling away from the opening with a gasp. “Doctor McKay?” she swallowed. “Do the words 'implantation' and the image of some freaky looking lizard-like snake thing mean anything to you?”
His food suddenly sat heavily in his stomach. It made perfect sense; it was the one way they could guarantee control and cooperation and explained the earlier terminology. “Bad things,” he told her. “Very bad things.” The concrete walls suddenly felt much more confining, the long hallway that much more daunting. He had no idea where the hell they were, but the need to get the hell out just grew about tenfold.
Based on the look on his roommate's face, she was picking up on the myriad of graphic images playing through his mind. It was just as well, there was no way he could find the words to describe the process of being implanted with a Goa'uld symbiote sufficiently enough to get through how horrible the experience was right now. It was a nightmare of his, ranking right up there with being fed upon by a Wraith. Shit. He fought the urge to hyperventilate, but only barely. He needed to think. He needed a plan. He needed to get out and now was the preferred timetable.
A bottle of water was being forced into his hands and raised to his lips. He really hoped it was his and not the one recently used by someone who had recently puked. He took a few cautious sips, listening to soft words of calm and concern that were really doing nothing other than distracting him, but he guessed that was okay as he found himself slowly coming out of the “Oh, fuck” state and into a more familiar, “Let's take them down” train of thought.
“Getting out of here is good,” she agreed with a sigh. “Any ideas on how to do that?”
He shook his head. “Not yet, there's nothing here we can use,” he pointed out. “How about you? Can't you use your little psychic powers to contact your people at NSA and get them to come to a rescue.”
She chuffed out a humorless laugh. “Sorry, they don't work that way. I can't send anything, only receive, and even that varies,” she explained. “Not to mention that only a couple of the people I work with know I can even do that.”
“So you're a secret within a secret organization?” he asked.
“NSA is not a secret, not completely,” she pointed out. “Now you and your little SGC...” she baited.
“Will have lots of forms for you to sign if we get out of here,” he countered. He held out the bag with the remaining burger, taking the face she made as permission to go for it with that one as well. “Now,” he said around a mouthful of rapidly cooling unhealthy goodness. “Tell me as many details as you were able to glean, and let's see if we can come up with a plan.”
She pushed her dark hair out of her eyes and leaned up against the wall, crossing her feet in front of her. She closed her eyes as she started to list things off. “There's a room with computers and a bunch of other random equipment a few doors down from here. I don't recognize some of it and no, I'm not ready to admit it might be alien. There are the guards that we've seen, plus at least four others because they picked up lunch for everyone and complained about the cost and getting reimbursed. They are waiting for two more people who will be bringing those snake things, but every time they think of them they get all subservient and is there any reason they picture them with glowing eyes?”
Rodney finished his food and wiped his fingers on his pants as no napkins were provided. “The eyes mean they've already been implanted with what they want to give us. The snakes are what they want to implant us with. Can you tell me anything more about the computers or what they do?” he asked, trying not to think about being Goa'uld'ed. He'd heard stories from former victims and had read Caldwell's report about being trapped in his own mind. There was no way he was going to allow that if he could do anything about it.
“Not really,” she admitted, shaking her head. “Computers are really not my thing and the images of the random other things aren't that clear. I'd have no idea what to compare them to and don't think I could even guess at their purpose.”
He banged his head against the wall. Things were not looking good. Unless they could get to the room prior to being snaked and get a message out, they were screwed. On the up side, the Goa'uld were pompous and would most likely make a show of it, giving Sheppard more time to mount a rescue, if he could even find them. He'd hold on to that hope, remembering all the times he thought there was no way out only to have his team defy the odds and rush to the rescue, but with no transmitter and no way of knowing where it was they were being held, things did not look good. “Anything else?” he sighed, picturing elaborate Goa'uld torture devices. He had heard less than good things about what they called a ribbon device.
“Just one,” she said, taking another careful sip of her water and reminding him he was stuck with a sick stranger and not his teammates. “I think I know where we are,” she grinned.
That made him sit upright. “How?” he asked. “Or, more importantly, where?”
“Those greasy burgers you just ate? Look just like the ones my partner Brendan got me once. Smell like them too,” she explained. “We had a case in Maryland, about three hours outside of D.C. Found what we were looking for in some old warehouses, but had to stake them out for a bit first. He picked up dinner at a place called 'Zips' - truly awful burgers wrapped in plain paper served in a white bag with a little red logo.” She turned the bag to faced him, revealing a little red lightning bolt on a circle on the side.
“Could be,” he agreed. “But it could also be a chance.”
She looked at her watch and held it out to show him the time. He glanced at his own to verify it and the date and agreed, only about eighteen hours had passed. “Timing's about right, too,” she pointed out.
It was as good of a theory as any, so he went with it until they had further information to disprove it. “Okay, I'll go with that,” he relented. “So, when we escape, we have some idea of where we are...”
She grinned and he looked at her questioningly. “You just said 'when' which means you think you have a way out of here,” she smiled.
“I think I have an idea,” he corrected. “An idea based on the Goa'uld being full of themselves and incredibly stupid mixed with the fact this is not the first time I've been held hostage by morons so I have some experience with this.” He looked her over, taking in the still rather palish skin and too quick breathing and figuring she was far from his action hero boyfriend, but would have to do at this point. “How good are you at reading people on the fly? Because this will work a lot better if I don't have to spell everything out for you.”
“I'd be better if I didn't feel like crap,” she admitted. “The drugs are wearing off, but not fast enough and I barely know you, so there's that. If you let me practice getting a read on you now, before everything goes downhill, I'd be better.”
He nodded figuring it made as much sense as living in a world with life-sucking vampires and egotistical snakes with a flare for the dramatic. “What do you need me to do?” he asked.
“Just think,” she told him.
He made a face. “Nothing I think of is going to be used against me, right? Because, no offense, but sometimes my mind wanders and it's totally not my fault if I offend you. Also, nothing you pick up on is legally binding, right? Because I'd hate for Sheppard to get in trouble because...”
She held up her hand in what was becoming an increasingly familiar gesture. “I swear, I could care less who you sleep with or how and please, he looks enough like my partner that I'm starting to get disturbed, so keep it in the PG range, please?”
“I'll try?” he offered.
“I'll take what I can get,” she sighed, taking another sip of water and closing her eyes.
***
It was another three and a half hours by his watch before anything interesting happened. Three and a half long hours of playing guessing games, telling silent jokes that he wasn't sure if she just didn't get the reference or wasn't fully linked to his thoughts, and countless mentions of, “No seriously, that's disturbing.”
McKay knew he was radiating tension at that point, but really didn't care. He knew this was big. He knew this might be their only chance. He also knew that the oddly echoing voice made him want to throw up a little. “Bring them,” the man in the overpriced suit said, turning on his heel and leaving without waiting to see if his orders were followed.
The guards waved their zats and he waved his hands and hung his head and generally tried to make it seem like he was not a threat and that he was going along without a fight. Little Miss NSA threw a punch that was easily deflected and was then frogmarched to their new location with one hand twisted behind her back. He barely caught the little signal they had worked out to show she was receiving him loud and clear before he was unceremoniously shoved into room teeming with technology that he knew for a fact was not one hundred percent from Earth.
“What? You kept us in the storage closet?” he asked incredulously as he looked around at the shiny metal surfaces and the rows upon rows of both Ancient and Goa'uld crystals laid out on the tables in the corner. A large console stood in the middle, bring back memories of the place where they had held his sister, only his sister never had to deal with the added bonus of randomly carved hieroglyphics and gaudy decorations.
“It seemed a fitting place,” the man replied, self-righteous smirk fully in place. “Do not worry, soon you shall have accommodations far nicer than even this.”
“What do you want from us?” he asked, trying to sound both bored and afraid at the same time, which was not difficult given the circumstances. He just hoped they had not picked up on the fact he already knew the answer.
The Goa'uld, as expected, ignored him so he could continue with whatever soliloquy he had planned. “You have quite the way with technology, Doctor McKay. Your knowledge of Ancient systems is near unrivaled.” Rodney silently gave him credit for remembering the stroking the ego part of the proceedings. “Integrating this technology with existing Goa'uld systems is proving to be quite... problematic.”
“And you want me to do it for you,” he guessed, cutting him off. There was only so much posturing he could stand. “Yeah, not going to happen,” he shrugged, hoping he came across far more confident than he currently felt.
“I am certain we will be able to change your mind. You will find we can be quite persuasive when we want to,” the man said with just a bit too much sweetness for Rodney's liking. He turned to one of his lackeys and ordered, “Bring it.”
Freya, for her part, put on quite the believable show. Then again, he still didn't know her well enough to know if she was following some internal script she had come up with or if she had picked up on enough of the thoughts floating around the room to be sufficiently scared. “There's snakes, McKay! There's... they look like snakes, but aren't really and... oh my god, they want to put them in us. What the hell?”
That was his cue for the entirely ill-planned escape attempt. She swung out at the guy nearest to her while he spun on the guy next to him. His guard must have been more wary of her than him because it was relatively easy to wrestle the zat away from him and shoot him. McAllister had gotten a zat of her own and he mentally gave her instructions on how to work it. She took out her guy and aimed at the next, both of them ducking as shots were fired back in their direction. Several shots later and four guards lay on the floor unconscious and he was left wondering where Mr. Goa'uld had disappeared to.
He pulled her with him to the main console, directing her to cover the door while he started typing away in a vain attempt to hack the system. The code was straightforward, but in a language he barely knew. Ancient he could translate on the fly, Wraith he could do with a bit of time, but he hadn't even looked at Goa'uld systems in years.
He was pretty sure he had just cracked the first layer of encryption when there was a startled cry from the woman next to him, followed by her flying into the wall behind them with a crash and a faint golden glow of light. He whipped around, reaching for the zat he had placed beside him, only to have it smacked out of his hands. Too many years of too many missions gone wrong made his instincts decide that smacking back was a good idea, but he came up against the inhuman strength the symbiote provided. He winced in pain as his wrist was bent back at an unnatural angle, finally looking up into the glowing eyes of the Goa'uld.
He opened his mouth to make what he was certain was going to be a witty remark, but the Goa'uld brought up his other hand, letting him take in the golden capped fingers and large red jewel set in the center for just a moment before that jewel began to glow. His head snapped back as his brain screamed in agony, his vision blurring as white hot spokes drove deeper. The effects of the ribbon device were required reading at the SGC, but he never thought he would actually have to experience them for himself, especially not when he was based a galaxy away from the assholes who wielded it.
The pain stopped for a moment, and he took advantage of the ability to breathe easily once again, his head throbbing with each molecule of air he struggled for. He glared up at his captor, wanting to wipe that knowing smirk off his face even as he heard him say, “Bring the container, we'll implant him now.”
He began struggling in earnest, managing to get free for half a second before the Goa'uld simply shifted his grip from his wrist to the collar of his shirt, tightening it painfully with every flail. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw what looked to be a jar of some sort pulled out of a suitcase. The top was opened and hooded serpent came slithering out, tongue tasting the air, seeking out its victim.
“Fuck no,” he breathed, starting up with the flailing again even though part of him knew it did him no good. He'd faced down Wraith Queens, admittedly with help, he could take care of some legless alien freak that wanted to burrow into his brain.
No sooner had the thought solidified in his head than the pain returned, his entire body immobilized as he watched the proceedings in slow motion. Lackey offered the jar to the Goa'uld, who released his grip on McKay's shirt to take it in his hand. He willed himself to move, but found he could not, body fighting against mind fighting against pain. The snake was brought closer, the little fins around its head flexing back and forth even as it bared its fang-like teeth. And then he was free.
A blur of black threw itself into him and he crashed to the floor, out of the ribbon device's range. The Goa'uld howled in anger and Freya howled in frustration as it took her two more tries to get his feet knocked out from under him. He crashed to the floor and the symbiote went flying, slithering off into a corner that Rodney really and truly hoped was not near him as he could barely get his limbs to support him enough to clamor back to his knees and make a grab for the zat.
Freya beat him to it, shooting once at the lackey and taking him down and then again at the Goa'uld, exclaiming in frustration when it bounced off his personal shield. He raised his hand towards her, jewel already glowing red, and she flinched as he prepared herself for the blast.
Instead of the whoosh of energy he was expecting, the sound of bullets echoed through the room. They bounced off the shield as well, but were enough of a distraction for the Trust agent to turn his attention away from Freya and face the near platoon of black clad soldiers rushing into the room.
One black clad man in particular resolved himself into a far more familiar face before McKay's still blurry eyes. “Rodney, are you okay?” Sheppard demanded.
“Goa'uld,” he managed to form his mouth around the word.
“Yeah, we figured that out,” John said, eying him like he was either extremely stupid or extremely injured.
“He means your guns won't work,” Freya explained. They watched as another soldier fired, the bullet careening harmlessly off the shield.
A knife came sailing through the air, slicing neatly through the shield and into the host's chest, dropping him neatly to the floor.
“Huh, that seemed to work,” another voice, both unexpected and familiar, commented.
Rodney looked over to see Ronon towering above the other men, Teyla tucked neatly at his side, both wonderfully armed to the teeth. “Are you okay, Rodney?” she asked, approaching cautiously.
He noticed her gun was still raised about the same time he noticed the open symbiote jar next to him. “Brain fried, but not snaked,” he breathed. Stringing together even that many words seemed like far too much work right now.
“Rodney,” Sheppard called, turning his head to face him. “Where is the Goa'uld?”
He wanted to say that he was laying beside them, bleeding out slowly onto the floor, a phalanx of armed men circling around him, but the words just would not come out, the transfer of thought to muscle too much for his sluggish mind. He turned to the still armed woman beside him, hoping she could explain, but realizing too late that he was implying it was in her as several guns were suddenly pointed in her direction as well as his own.
“Not me!” she insisted. “It slithered off... there!” The last word was an exclamation, hand pointing at the thing currently launching itself from the shadows and towards where the three of them were still crouched on the ground.
Another knife came flying, sending the symbiote with it and pinning it to the garish wall. “That worked too,” Ronon shrugged, yet another blade already twirling in his fingers.
“Are there any more?” Sheppard demanded.
Rodney shook his aching head. “Only saw one.”
Freya carefully lowered her zat to the ground and raised her hands to show she was not a threat. “They were going to implant both of us, there might be another around here,” she warned.
“Simpson, take a team and look for it. Ryans, take a team of your own and round up the bad guys,” Sheppard directed, eyes never leaving McKay's. “Ronon?” he asked, listening for the heavy bootfalls that signaled his teammate. “Make sure these things are really dead, huh?”
Rodney didn't have to see the grin that broke out on the big guy's face to appreciate it. He found himself being manhandled to his feet instead, a surreptitious kiss being placed on his temple, a certain Lieutenant Colonel taking far more of his weight than either would admit right now. “I hurt,” he whined. He figured he deserved the right to at this point.
“I know,” John said consolingly, eyes darting between what he figured was a wonderfully red mark on his forehead and the sliced sleeve with the bandaged arm beneath it.
“Earth sucks,” he pouted.
“It really does,” John agreed with a chuckle.
Teyla was busy introducing herself to the other tiny, strong-willed woman in the room. “You must be Freya McAllister,” she was saying. “You have a very concerned partner waiting for you.”
“Brendan?” Freya asked, relief evident in her voice. This was followed, of course, by, “Are you two really aliens?”
“She's going to need to sign like a thousand nondisclosure agreements,” Rodney commented.
John's eyes were wide as he nodded. “You were gone for less than a day and you felt the need to share everything with her? What did they do to you?” he asked warily.
“Zatted, operated on, threatened, ribboned, and fed greasy food,” Rodney replied, just happy his speech was coming back. The words were still harder than normal to form, but at least they were there. “She's a telepathic government agent,” he explained.
“Uh-huh,” Sheppard said uncertainly, instinctively ducking at the sound of Ronon's gun blowing the crap out of the symbiote. “Why don't we get you back home and checked out?”
“Okay,” Rodney agreed readily. He felt like he was going to pass out from his still throbbing head at any moment and home sounded wonderful right about now. He let Sheppard shuffle him towards the door unsteadily, wondering if home was supposed to mean the hotel, the SGC, or the beautiful city currently sitting in an ocean a galaxy away. “I'm never going to get a real vacation, am I?” he sighed, already imagining the tests and exams waiting for him.
“Probably not,” Sheppard agreed. He leaned closer, breath tickling his ear as he offered, “But I can make it up to you.”
“Still disturbing!” Freya called from behind them.
Rodney simply smiled. “Deal.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback is always welcomed.