Fic: A Major's Guide to Dining in the Pegasus Galaxy
Title: A Major's Guide to Dining in the Pegasus Galaxy
Author: brighidestone
Spoilers: Includes season 2 characters.
Rating: PG (a wee bit of cussing)
Fandom: SGA, with a wee homage to ST:TNG
Notes: I like Lorne.
A Major's Guide to Dining in the Pegasus Galaxy
I. Ask About Ingredients
Michael Lorne regarded his tray with resignation. Over the years he’d found that there were some things that were truly universal. One of those was the base mess. Apparently, whether it came from the Milky Way or Pegasus, mystery meat was somehow appallingly the same: stringy, dry and almost, but never quite, like chicken. He poked at it a few more times and decided that he didn’t care anymore if Sergeant Anders did make fun of him; next time requisitions were out he was making sure ketchup was on order.
A second mouthful and he was pretty sure his team should have stayed a little longer for the feast of grubs and fungus. It had to have been better than this.
"Aren’t you going to eat that?" McKay said to the Colonel, who doing his own poking at his plate beside Michael. Not waiting for an answer McKay sat down across from him, digging into his casserole with apparent relish. "So. Are you going to support me with the proposal for P3P-241 to Elizabeth today? Because we’d be stupid not to explore it further. Admittedly it’s not Ancient, per se but it’s obviously derivative and that could be instrumental in helping us hybridize our own technology to better mesh with Atlantis." Michael watched with morbid fascination as McKay managed to get through the whole spiel, eat half his casserole and pull up schematics on his laptop. He couldn’t quite figure out when McKay found the time to breathe.
"Relax, McKay, I’ve already given her my recommendation in writing. Air and ground surveys say that place is long abandoned ... and did I say you could take that?" Sheppard sputtered as McKay scooped up the last few mouthfuls of dinner from Sheppard’s plate. "Jesus. Who the hell raised you? Wolves?"
McKay smiled around a mouthful. "Not a bad analogy, actually, since with wolves the alpha eats before the beta." He stood up, didn’t say goodbye, and grabbed a coffee to go as he headed back to his labs. Michael shot a sideways look at Sheppard.
"How come you haven’t killed him yet, sir?" he asked conversationally.
"Like I wouldn’t be the first suspect on the list," Sheppard replied.
"But it’d be a long list, Colonel," Michael said earnestly. He took a bite of his own casserole, and shuddered slightly. "I don’t care if Sergeant Anders does make fun of me, sir, we really need to get ..."
"Ketchup," Sheppard agreed. "Already on it. Don’t breathe through your nose, or chew, and it’s not so bad." He moved onto the pudding and swore when he noticed that it was rice today. Michael felt his pain; after mystery meat casserole, a man deserved some chocolate, or at least a nice butterscotch. No wonder McKay had left it. Obviously giving up on dessert, Sheppard got up, sketched a wave at Michael, and deposited his tray.
And then the bottom dropped out of the universe.
***
II. Ketchup Is Everyone's Best Friend
Michael Lorne regarded his tray with resignation. Over the years he’d found that there were some things that were truly universal. One of those was the base mess. Apparently, whether it came from the Milky Way or Pegasus, mystery meat was still, somehow appallingly the same: stringy, dry and almost, but never quite, like chicken. He poked at it a few more times and decided that the thing he missed the most from home had to be ketchup.
A second mouthful and he was pretty sure his team should have stayed a little longer for the feast of grubs and fungus. It had to have been better than this.
"Just how many times do you have to scan P3P-241 before we get to mount a mission?" McKay stormed in and all but yelled at the Colonel, who doing his own poking at his plate beside Michael. Not waiting for an answer he sat down across from them and started digging into his casserole, biting each piece off his fork like he was picturing it was the Colonel’s head. "I can’t believe you refuse to support the proposal for P3P-241 to Governor Weir today. Because we, meaning you, would have to be stupid not to explore it further. Admittedly it’s not Ancient, per se but it’s obviously derivative and that could be instrumental in helping us hybridize our own technology to better mesh with Atlantis." Michael watched with morbid fascination as McKay managed to get through the whole spiel, eat half his casserole and pull up schematics on his laptop. He couldn’t quite figure out when McKay found the time to breathe.
"Regardless, Doctor, there’s still been Genii activity reported in neighbouring systems, and I will not endorse risking the men under my command for research purposes. We’re one of the few surviving colonies of Earth after the Orii cleansing. Off world missions are for necessary supplies, and for tactical purposes only. You need to remember, Doctor, that Sheppard isn’t in command here anymore."
"No, he was back at the SGC." McKay’s jaw worked tightly. "If I could show you that there was evidence of sophisticated weapon’s research?"
Caldwell leaned back in his chair, and looked long and hard at McKay. "Then that might be deemed tactical," he said finally.
McKay’s lips slanted downwards, and his eyes narrowed. "You’ll have the report in three hours."
Caldwell nodded. "I look forward to reading it.
McKay took his tray and left.
"How come you haven’t strangled him yet, sir?" he asked conversationally.
"Like I wouldn’t be the first suspect on the list," Caldwell replied, watching as McKay stalked stiffly from the room.
"But it’d be a long list, Colonel," Michael said earnestly. He took a bite of his own casserole, and shuddered slightly.
"Don’t breathe through your nose, or chew, and it’s not so bad," Caldwell offered. Michael decided to give up instead, and moved onto the pudding. He swore when he noticed that it was bread. He dug his fork in and sighed.
And then the bottom dropped out of the universe.
***
III. Ask About The Specials
Michael Lorne regarded his tray with resignation. Over the years he’d found that there were some things that were truly universal. One of those was the base mess. Apparently, whether it came from the Milky Way or Pegasus, mystery meat was somehow appallingly the same: stringy, dry and almost, but never quite, like chicken. He poked at it a few more times and decided that he didn’t care anymore if Sergeant Anders did make fun of him; next time requisitions were out he was making sure ketchup was on order.
A second mouthful and he was pretty sure his team should have stayed a little longer for the feast of grubs and fungus. It had to have been better than this.
"You’re not actually going to eat that?" Sheppard said to the Colonel, who was sitting beside Michael and somehow practically inhaling the mystery meat, peas and cheese sauce. Not waiting for an answer, Sheppard sat down across from them and started pulling apart the sandwich he’d somehow finagled the mess crew to make for him. "So. Are you going to support me with the proposal for P3P-241 to General O’Neill today? I realize it’s not Ancient, per se but it’s obviously derivative and that could he instrumental in helping us hybridize our own technology to better mesh with Atlantis. They also have some pretty interesting engineering innovations in their files, from what Zhang has been able to translate." Michael watched with amusement as Sheppard managed to get mayonnaise fingerprints on his monitor from pointing everything out to the Colonel.
"Relax, John, I’ve already given her my recommendation in writing. Air and ground surveys say that place is long abandoned ... and did I say you could take that?" McKay barked as Sheppard scooped up his pudding cup. "Jesus. It’s chocolate. Like I’m letting you have that!" he said, snatching it back.
John grinned at him. "Can’t blame a guy for trying." He stood up, sketched a lazy, not to mention technically inaccurate salute goodbye, and grabbed a coffee to go as he headed back to his labs. Michael shot a sideways look at the Colonel.
"How come you haven’t killed him yet, sir?" he asked conversationally.
"Because he’s too well liked," McKay said dourly.
"But it’d be a long list, Colonel," Michael said earnestly, and then paused. McKay shot him a searching look.
"You okay there, Major?" McKay asked finally.
Michael swallowed, hard. "Uh ... I guess the cuisine must be getting to me. If you’ll excuse me?"
Only the room started swimming before he even stood up.
And then the bottom dropped out of the universe.
***
IV. Check Out the Bathrooms Before Ordering
When Michael came around he was leaning over the side of a diagnostic bed, barfing into a bedpan.
"What the fuck?" he said finally, sitting up and wiping fiercely at his mouth. He suddenly realized Weir was standing there. "Pardon, me, ma’am," he apologized. And then he noticed her uniform and felt his jaw just about literally drop.
"It’s quite all right, Lieutenant. Apparently you’ve been on an adventure. But perhaps it’s better if Doctors Sheppard and Carter fill you in?"
"You’re, uh, from a parallel reality. A different quantum universe," Sheppard said. "The rest of your team are in the same position, and from what we can tell you’re all from the same quantum reality. Somehow you’ve been spontaneously sliding into parallel universes. Apparently you’ve been repeating the same small cycle of time, as well, though that seems to be changing as whatever’s causing it seems to be ... degrading."
"I want to see my team," Michael said.
"They’re being interviewed separately. You can all speak to one another as soon as we’re through here," Colonel Weir said, not unkindly.
"Did you come in contact with any Ancient technology on your last mission? Reports here indicate that your team met with a pre-industrial society, but there might have been remnants from an earlier civilization. Though truthfully, whatever’s happening might have been started by an event experienced by one team, and their displacement is nudging the others along," Carter offered. "Whatever it is, it’s extraordinary; we’ve never heard of anyone doing this without a quantum gate before!"
Michael shook his head. "Nope, pre-industrial, nothing to indicate any previous higher level civilization. We just met the locals, got to know them a bit, took some basic scans and set up a meeting for our trading team to come back and open negotiations for textiles. Then we sealed our new relationship by taking a drink from the God River and headed home. Nothing more advanced then medieval agriculture, and barely that."
"Perhaps we should go to Murisk and check things out ourselves," Sheppard offered. "It’s possible that they were hiding something that we could scan for. We’d just take a cloaked jumper ..."
Michael felt a wave of nausea.
And then the bottom dropped out of the universe.
***
V.) Take A Taxi
He managed to hit the bedpan, just barely, and then sat up and staggered off the bed. "We don’t have a lot of time here," he said. "We need to go back to Murisk. Now."
McKay, a medical doctor this time around by the looks of things, had a hand under his elbow. "Yes, yes. Sheppard ran down to the jumper bay as soon as you started to fold out." Michael saw other scientists and a couple of the nurses helping his team stagger down to the transport and up to the shuttle bay where four marines were waiting for them.
Zelenka and one of the nurses got them belted in even as Sheppard dropped down into the gate room and cleared the ring. They went so fast that Zelenka’s knuckles were white on his armrest. "You realize, once we get this thing figured out McKay will wire you up in his medical lab like a rat until he figures this out, yes?" he said conversationally, almost kindly.
"Well, I’ll be in a different universe by then, so I guess that doesn’t exactly apply to me," Michael said.
"Is there a Rodney McKay in your universe?" He smiled when Michael nodded. "You’ll be spending a week in his lab, trust me. Some things? Are constant."
***
VI. Always Tip Your Waiter
Halfway between the puddle jumper and the village Michael went down and this time he could see the world flicker and twist and go searingly blue, like an event horizon turned inside-out, and then the jar of dislocation as he was shunted back into another reality. He retched emptily, got to his feet, this time supported by McKay and Sheppard.
"You with us?" McKay asked, pale eyes sharp with under his cap. When Michael nodded he looked to Sheppard and they started running again.
The whole village was waiting for them when they got there.
"What did you do to them?" McKay asked, moving forward, getting right up into the face of Urau, who had come forward to meet them.
"Apologies. We are the People of the God, we have always lived so, in the All. We did not know that you lived in one world only; we did not know that the River would hurt them so. But ... it will wear off, soon. I promise. Once it has all been passed. We’ve prepared a sweating for them, to help."
"That’s not good enough. They belong to their reality, not this one, and we want our own people back," McKay said.
Urau nodded. "When the River passes through, then they will go back. All things return to the beginning." He gestured for several of his people to come forward and help the Atlantis team to an outbuilding beside his own home. He himself came and took Michael’s arm. "We are most sorry for this, Lorne," he said. "I trust that when all things are as they should be, we can still trade?"
"That’s not up to me, Urau, but if you fix this?" Michael said, "I promise to put in a good word for you."
***
VII. Nothing Beats Home Cooking
The heat was dizzyingly oppressive, and Parrish had already keeled over and was half out of it when Michael felt the familiar drop and drag.
This time it seemed to go on for-fucking-ever, the whole universe and a dozen others trying to squeeze out through his ears until suddenly they weren’t, it was over. He fell forward onto his knees retching helplessly, but only managed to bring up a mouthful of raw bile.
"Please, God, is it over?" Cadman said weakly, barely holding her head up. She hadn’t puked, but she was shaking and miserable and drooling. Michael crawled over to Parrish, who was unconscious, but his pulse was strong and steady so Michael just sank down beside him while Cadman checked out Martinez.
A minute later the door opened, and McKay was there with his little Ancient palm pilot doohickey. "Ah. Well. Welcome back, Major Lorne," he said finally, after a few moments of careful scrutiny.
"There’s no place like home," Michael gasped.
"Can we go back to Kansas, now?" Cadman piped up querulously.
"I think," the Colonel said from the doorway, "that Atlantis is more like the Emerald City. And yeah, we’ve got a second shuttle with stretchers and more medical personnel." He came over, sat down next to Michael, carefully avoiding the little mess he’d made. "Good to have you back, Major."
"Good to be back, Colonel," Michael said, his eyes drifting closed.
***
VII.) Stick To The Beer
Eight hours and zero quantum shifts later, Michael rolled over and woke up to see Sheppard sitting beside his bed.
He handed over the smallest bottle of ketchup Michael had ever seen, with all the gravity of someone handling a rare vintage. "You belong, body and soul, to McKay, for as long as he deems necessary. Your team is on stand down. However, he did cough this up along with the little tidbit that he has ways of getting more should you co-operate fully."
"Sweet," Michael said.
"McKay’s all heart," Sheppard agreed. "And he has the pipeline on all the good shit. Corn chips, fresh fruit, Dijon mustard. He’s like the Godfather of the Pegasus black market."
"That’s why you keep him around, sir?" Michael asked.
"That and he comes in useful, sometimes," Sheppard agreed. "Now get some more sleep. I saw him building a giant maze and wheel in some of the empty labs for you guys. I don’t anticipate much peace and quiet for you once you get released."
"Thanks, sir," Michael said.
"You’re welcome, Major. Just, next time? Don’t drink the water." With that he slipped out into the dark infirmary.
Michael put his ketchup bottle under his pillow, and dozed off with one hand clasping it gently.
***
End
Author: brighidestone
Spoilers: Includes season 2 characters.
Rating: PG (a wee bit of cussing)
Fandom: SGA, with a wee homage to ST:TNG
Notes: I like Lorne.
A Major's Guide to Dining in the Pegasus Galaxy
I. Ask About Ingredients
Michael Lorne regarded his tray with resignation. Over the years he’d found that there were some things that were truly universal. One of those was the base mess. Apparently, whether it came from the Milky Way or Pegasus, mystery meat was somehow appallingly the same: stringy, dry and almost, but never quite, like chicken. He poked at it a few more times and decided that he didn’t care anymore if Sergeant Anders did make fun of him; next time requisitions were out he was making sure ketchup was on order.
A second mouthful and he was pretty sure his team should have stayed a little longer for the feast of grubs and fungus. It had to have been better than this.
"Aren’t you going to eat that?" McKay said to the Colonel, who doing his own poking at his plate beside Michael. Not waiting for an answer McKay sat down across from him, digging into his casserole with apparent relish. "So. Are you going to support me with the proposal for P3P-241 to Elizabeth today? Because we’d be stupid not to explore it further. Admittedly it’s not Ancient, per se but it’s obviously derivative and that could be instrumental in helping us hybridize our own technology to better mesh with Atlantis." Michael watched with morbid fascination as McKay managed to get through the whole spiel, eat half his casserole and pull up schematics on his laptop. He couldn’t quite figure out when McKay found the time to breathe.
"Relax, McKay, I’ve already given her my recommendation in writing. Air and ground surveys say that place is long abandoned ... and did I say you could take that?" Sheppard sputtered as McKay scooped up the last few mouthfuls of dinner from Sheppard’s plate. "Jesus. Who the hell raised you? Wolves?"
McKay smiled around a mouthful. "Not a bad analogy, actually, since with wolves the alpha eats before the beta." He stood up, didn’t say goodbye, and grabbed a coffee to go as he headed back to his labs. Michael shot a sideways look at Sheppard.
"How come you haven’t killed him yet, sir?" he asked conversationally.
"Like I wouldn’t be the first suspect on the list," Sheppard replied.
"But it’d be a long list, Colonel," Michael said earnestly. He took a bite of his own casserole, and shuddered slightly. "I don’t care if Sergeant Anders does make fun of me, sir, we really need to get ..."
"Ketchup," Sheppard agreed. "Already on it. Don’t breathe through your nose, or chew, and it’s not so bad." He moved onto the pudding and swore when he noticed that it was rice today. Michael felt his pain; after mystery meat casserole, a man deserved some chocolate, or at least a nice butterscotch. No wonder McKay had left it. Obviously giving up on dessert, Sheppard got up, sketched a wave at Michael, and deposited his tray.
And then the bottom dropped out of the universe.
***
II. Ketchup Is Everyone's Best Friend
Michael Lorne regarded his tray with resignation. Over the years he’d found that there were some things that were truly universal. One of those was the base mess. Apparently, whether it came from the Milky Way or Pegasus, mystery meat was still, somehow appallingly the same: stringy, dry and almost, but never quite, like chicken. He poked at it a few more times and decided that the thing he missed the most from home had to be ketchup.
A second mouthful and he was pretty sure his team should have stayed a little longer for the feast of grubs and fungus. It had to have been better than this.
"Just how many times do you have to scan P3P-241 before we get to mount a mission?" McKay stormed in and all but yelled at the Colonel, who doing his own poking at his plate beside Michael. Not waiting for an answer he sat down across from them and started digging into his casserole, biting each piece off his fork like he was picturing it was the Colonel’s head. "I can’t believe you refuse to support the proposal for P3P-241 to Governor Weir today. Because we, meaning you, would have to be stupid not to explore it further. Admittedly it’s not Ancient, per se but it’s obviously derivative and that could be instrumental in helping us hybridize our own technology to better mesh with Atlantis." Michael watched with morbid fascination as McKay managed to get through the whole spiel, eat half his casserole and pull up schematics on his laptop. He couldn’t quite figure out when McKay found the time to breathe.
"Regardless, Doctor, there’s still been Genii activity reported in neighbouring systems, and I will not endorse risking the men under my command for research purposes. We’re one of the few surviving colonies of Earth after the Orii cleansing. Off world missions are for necessary supplies, and for tactical purposes only. You need to remember, Doctor, that Sheppard isn’t in command here anymore."
"No, he was back at the SGC." McKay’s jaw worked tightly. "If I could show you that there was evidence of sophisticated weapon’s research?"
Caldwell leaned back in his chair, and looked long and hard at McKay. "Then that might be deemed tactical," he said finally.
McKay’s lips slanted downwards, and his eyes narrowed. "You’ll have the report in three hours."
Caldwell nodded. "I look forward to reading it.
McKay took his tray and left.
"How come you haven’t strangled him yet, sir?" he asked conversationally.
"Like I wouldn’t be the first suspect on the list," Caldwell replied, watching as McKay stalked stiffly from the room.
"But it’d be a long list, Colonel," Michael said earnestly. He took a bite of his own casserole, and shuddered slightly.
"Don’t breathe through your nose, or chew, and it’s not so bad," Caldwell offered. Michael decided to give up instead, and moved onto the pudding. He swore when he noticed that it was bread. He dug his fork in and sighed.
And then the bottom dropped out of the universe.
***
III. Ask About The Specials
Michael Lorne regarded his tray with resignation. Over the years he’d found that there were some things that were truly universal. One of those was the base mess. Apparently, whether it came from the Milky Way or Pegasus, mystery meat was somehow appallingly the same: stringy, dry and almost, but never quite, like chicken. He poked at it a few more times and decided that he didn’t care anymore if Sergeant Anders did make fun of him; next time requisitions were out he was making sure ketchup was on order.
A second mouthful and he was pretty sure his team should have stayed a little longer for the feast of grubs and fungus. It had to have been better than this.
"You’re not actually going to eat that?" Sheppard said to the Colonel, who was sitting beside Michael and somehow practically inhaling the mystery meat, peas and cheese sauce. Not waiting for an answer, Sheppard sat down across from them and started pulling apart the sandwich he’d somehow finagled the mess crew to make for him. "So. Are you going to support me with the proposal for P3P-241 to General O’Neill today? I realize it’s not Ancient, per se but it’s obviously derivative and that could he instrumental in helping us hybridize our own technology to better mesh with Atlantis. They also have some pretty interesting engineering innovations in their files, from what Zhang has been able to translate." Michael watched with amusement as Sheppard managed to get mayonnaise fingerprints on his monitor from pointing everything out to the Colonel.
"Relax, John, I’ve already given her my recommendation in writing. Air and ground surveys say that place is long abandoned ... and did I say you could take that?" McKay barked as Sheppard scooped up his pudding cup. "Jesus. It’s chocolate. Like I’m letting you have that!" he said, snatching it back.
John grinned at him. "Can’t blame a guy for trying." He stood up, sketched a lazy, not to mention technically inaccurate salute goodbye, and grabbed a coffee to go as he headed back to his labs. Michael shot a sideways look at the Colonel.
"How come you haven’t killed him yet, sir?" he asked conversationally.
"Because he’s too well liked," McKay said dourly.
"But it’d be a long list, Colonel," Michael said earnestly, and then paused. McKay shot him a searching look.
"You okay there, Major?" McKay asked finally.
Michael swallowed, hard. "Uh ... I guess the cuisine must be getting to me. If you’ll excuse me?"
Only the room started swimming before he even stood up.
And then the bottom dropped out of the universe.
***
IV. Check Out the Bathrooms Before Ordering
When Michael came around he was leaning over the side of a diagnostic bed, barfing into a bedpan.
"What the fuck?" he said finally, sitting up and wiping fiercely at his mouth. He suddenly realized Weir was standing there. "Pardon, me, ma’am," he apologized. And then he noticed her uniform and felt his jaw just about literally drop.
"It’s quite all right, Lieutenant. Apparently you’ve been on an adventure. But perhaps it’s better if Doctors Sheppard and Carter fill you in?"
"You’re, uh, from a parallel reality. A different quantum universe," Sheppard said. "The rest of your team are in the same position, and from what we can tell you’re all from the same quantum reality. Somehow you’ve been spontaneously sliding into parallel universes. Apparently you’ve been repeating the same small cycle of time, as well, though that seems to be changing as whatever’s causing it seems to be ... degrading."
"I want to see my team," Michael said.
"They’re being interviewed separately. You can all speak to one another as soon as we’re through here," Colonel Weir said, not unkindly.
"Did you come in contact with any Ancient technology on your last mission? Reports here indicate that your team met with a pre-industrial society, but there might have been remnants from an earlier civilization. Though truthfully, whatever’s happening might have been started by an event experienced by one team, and their displacement is nudging the others along," Carter offered. "Whatever it is, it’s extraordinary; we’ve never heard of anyone doing this without a quantum gate before!"
Michael shook his head. "Nope, pre-industrial, nothing to indicate any previous higher level civilization. We just met the locals, got to know them a bit, took some basic scans and set up a meeting for our trading team to come back and open negotiations for textiles. Then we sealed our new relationship by taking a drink from the God River and headed home. Nothing more advanced then medieval agriculture, and barely that."
"Perhaps we should go to Murisk and check things out ourselves," Sheppard offered. "It’s possible that they were hiding something that we could scan for. We’d just take a cloaked jumper ..."
Michael felt a wave of nausea.
And then the bottom dropped out of the universe.
***
V.) Take A Taxi
He managed to hit the bedpan, just barely, and then sat up and staggered off the bed. "We don’t have a lot of time here," he said. "We need to go back to Murisk. Now."
McKay, a medical doctor this time around by the looks of things, had a hand under his elbow. "Yes, yes. Sheppard ran down to the jumper bay as soon as you started to fold out." Michael saw other scientists and a couple of the nurses helping his team stagger down to the transport and up to the shuttle bay where four marines were waiting for them.
Zelenka and one of the nurses got them belted in even as Sheppard dropped down into the gate room and cleared the ring. They went so fast that Zelenka’s knuckles were white on his armrest. "You realize, once we get this thing figured out McKay will wire you up in his medical lab like a rat until he figures this out, yes?" he said conversationally, almost kindly.
"Well, I’ll be in a different universe by then, so I guess that doesn’t exactly apply to me," Michael said.
"Is there a Rodney McKay in your universe?" He smiled when Michael nodded. "You’ll be spending a week in his lab, trust me. Some things? Are constant."
***
VI. Always Tip Your Waiter
Halfway between the puddle jumper and the village Michael went down and this time he could see the world flicker and twist and go searingly blue, like an event horizon turned inside-out, and then the jar of dislocation as he was shunted back into another reality. He retched emptily, got to his feet, this time supported by McKay and Sheppard.
"You with us?" McKay asked, pale eyes sharp with under his cap. When Michael nodded he looked to Sheppard and they started running again.
The whole village was waiting for them when they got there.
"What did you do to them?" McKay asked, moving forward, getting right up into the face of Urau, who had come forward to meet them.
"Apologies. We are the People of the God, we have always lived so, in the All. We did not know that you lived in one world only; we did not know that the River would hurt them so. But ... it will wear off, soon. I promise. Once it has all been passed. We’ve prepared a sweating for them, to help."
"That’s not good enough. They belong to their reality, not this one, and we want our own people back," McKay said.
Urau nodded. "When the River passes through, then they will go back. All things return to the beginning." He gestured for several of his people to come forward and help the Atlantis team to an outbuilding beside his own home. He himself came and took Michael’s arm. "We are most sorry for this, Lorne," he said. "I trust that when all things are as they should be, we can still trade?"
"That’s not up to me, Urau, but if you fix this?" Michael said, "I promise to put in a good word for you."
***
VII. Nothing Beats Home Cooking
The heat was dizzyingly oppressive, and Parrish had already keeled over and was half out of it when Michael felt the familiar drop and drag.
This time it seemed to go on for-fucking-ever, the whole universe and a dozen others trying to squeeze out through his ears until suddenly they weren’t, it was over. He fell forward onto his knees retching helplessly, but only managed to bring up a mouthful of raw bile.
"Please, God, is it over?" Cadman said weakly, barely holding her head up. She hadn’t puked, but she was shaking and miserable and drooling. Michael crawled over to Parrish, who was unconscious, but his pulse was strong and steady so Michael just sank down beside him while Cadman checked out Martinez.
A minute later the door opened, and McKay was there with his little Ancient palm pilot doohickey. "Ah. Well. Welcome back, Major Lorne," he said finally, after a few moments of careful scrutiny.
"There’s no place like home," Michael gasped.
"Can we go back to Kansas, now?" Cadman piped up querulously.
"I think," the Colonel said from the doorway, "that Atlantis is more like the Emerald City. And yeah, we’ve got a second shuttle with stretchers and more medical personnel." He came over, sat down next to Michael, carefully avoiding the little mess he’d made. "Good to have you back, Major."
"Good to be back, Colonel," Michael said, his eyes drifting closed.
***
VII.) Stick To The Beer
Eight hours and zero quantum shifts later, Michael rolled over and woke up to see Sheppard sitting beside his bed.
He handed over the smallest bottle of ketchup Michael had ever seen, with all the gravity of someone handling a rare vintage. "You belong, body and soul, to McKay, for as long as he deems necessary. Your team is on stand down. However, he did cough this up along with the little tidbit that he has ways of getting more should you co-operate fully."
"Sweet," Michael said.
"McKay’s all heart," Sheppard agreed. "And he has the pipeline on all the good shit. Corn chips, fresh fruit, Dijon mustard. He’s like the Godfather of the Pegasus black market."
"That’s why you keep him around, sir?" Michael asked.
"That and he comes in useful, sometimes," Sheppard agreed. "Now get some more sleep. I saw him building a giant maze and wheel in some of the empty labs for you guys. I don’t anticipate much peace and quiet for you once you get released."
"Thanks, sir," Michael said.
"You’re welcome, Major. Just, next time? Don’t drink the water." With that he slipped out into the dark infirmary.
Michael put his ketchup bottle under his pillow, and dozed off with one hand clasping it gently.
***
End