Spoilers for The Eye and Defiant One

Follow up to Scientist, Wraith Killer, Space Pilot

No money made, not mine, don't sue

Double O Geek

I’d played baseball in high school, a little basketball, too, but baseball was my game. I could hit. I was no Babe Ruth, but I could get it up there. My passion though was pitching. Putting that ball across the plate, I was all about that. It wasn’t the curve ball for me, it was the speed, it was the aim, it was nailing that catcher’s glove every damn time.

That sort of triumph of man over physics translated pretty well to guns. I loved to fly; hell, lived to fly. And I was good at it, the best actually…to show a little patented McKay modesty. But I was equally good with guns and I wasn’t so sure that was something to be as proud of. I’d killed a lot of people with that skill. Then again I’d killed fifty-five people last month with a stargate. Yeah, I was good at so many goddamn things….

Babysitting, however, wasn’t one of them.

“Why the long face, Major?” a snide voice said over my shoulder. Moving up to my side, McKay sucked in a breath before giving an entirely unsympathetic snicker. “I knew the day would come. I knew there was only so much hair gel you could smuggle through the gate under O’Neill’s nose.” Rocking on his heels, he framed me with his hands thumb to thumb. “I don’t know. This could be a positive change. Not that disreputable crow with a wingtip stuck in an electrical socket wasn’t a good look for you.”

I stopped the reflexive motion of my hand before it could rise up and smooth over my hair. It was plenty smooth enough already. “Hey, you brought a blow up Deanna Troi doll, I brought a crate of hair gel. Do you really want to discuss the pros and cons of either one right now?” I asked in a dangerously silky tone.

“How did you….” McKay flushed, scowled, and folded his arms defensively. “I did no such thing, wouldn’t dream of it. In fact, I have an allergy to latex, check my medical file. I’m sure Mr. Special Gene,” he gave the name an annoyed little sing-song and air quotes, “has access to all sorts of private, personal things such as that. You probably strut around Atlantis singing Open Sesame and all is revealed.”

I pursed my lips seriously for a moment then grinned, “As a matter of fact….”

“Oh, do shut up,” he huffed crossly. Plopping down in the grass, he pulled a pudding cup and spoon from his jacket pocket…a pudding cup, I shit you not…and dug in. Licking the spoon free of what looked to be butterscotch, he pointed it at the contingent below our hill. “I think Dr. Beckett is rather annoyed with you, difficult as that is to imagine.” He rolled his eyes and sucked down another spoonful, stingy bastard.

“He’ll get over it.” I crouched beside him and raided his other pocket. Success in the form of a handful of Oreo cookies was my reward. Ignoring his outraged bleat, I settled beside him and crunched contentedly. “Besides, it’s good for him.” I flashed chocolate-caked teeth ruthlessly. “And isn’t that what he always tells me right before a needle hits my ass?”

“Either way, I imagine he’ll be telling you that much more frequently in the future,” he snorted. “And I hope I’m there to see it every single time. I could sell tickets. It would be the first sell-out show in Atlantis. The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune puncture Major Sheppard’s conceited ass. Come one, come all.”

I swiped a tongue across my teeth then drawled, “It concerns me how much time you’re spending in contemplation of my ass, McKay.” Before he could reply, I pulled the P 90 off my lap, aimed below, and fired. I hit Beckett mid back and he went down. I notched a finger in the air. “I wonder how many points a Scot is worth? Five? Ten?”

Seeming relieved to get off the subject of my ass, Rodney rubbed his chin and pondered. “Seven point five I think. There’s no heather to hide in. He’s at a distinct disadvantage.”

“Seven point five it is,” I agreed amiably. On the field beneath us, Beckett rolled over and sat up, ripping off his goggles to wave them in the air with a howl.

“What was that for, you bloody bastard? You evil minded….” What followed was less clear. Buried in an ever-deepening Scottish brogue, it might’ve had something derogatory to do with my mother. Can’t say he’d get much argument from me there.

“A reminder, Doc,” I called down cheerfully. “Watch your six. The Genii aren’t going to wait for you to turn around to shoot you and neither are the Wraith.”

Loading another paint cartridge constructed by McKay’s own devious hands into the gun, I took stock of the training exercise. Ford was running it…technically. There was a little hand to hand involved and my ribs were still hinky after the Super-wraith fun-time adventure two weeks ago. Not to mention some rumored internal injuries that I was still firmly denying. Did that keep McKay from gloating on a near daily basis that he’d saved my life? Hell no. Hell no.

Regardless of the debated existence of said internal injuries, Beckett refused to sign me off on anything other than light duty. And in my book, pulling a trigger was as light as you could get. I gave the sputtering Beckett a mock salute and an encouraging thumbs up, and watched as Ford restrained him from coming up the hill after me. He didn’t seem too happy. As a matter of fact, none of the scientists seemed exactly overjoyed. Unless the middle finger doubled as an arcane academic gesture for ‘good show, old man.’

Well, too damn bad for them.

It had been my idea to come to the mainland and run all the nonmilitary staff through a makeshift bootcamp. Teyla and her people didn’t need it; they were warriors bred and born, but Beckett, Kavanaugh, Zelenka, Grodin and all the other labcoats…. Well, let’s be honest…Dirty Harry they weren’t. Don’t get me wrong. They were brave as hell, performed under pressure, and were generally stand up guys. I aimed a jaundiced look at Kavanaugh who was currently getting his clock cleaned by Teyla in hand to hand. Generally.

Mostly they did they best that they could. Up until two weeks ago I thought that was good enough. Since then I’d changed my mind. Gaul and Abrams had shown me the light. And wasn’t it a damn shame they had to die to do it. Placing the P 90 in the grass, I took off my sunglasses, rubbed tired eyes, and shoved them back on again.

Truth was we didn’t know how Gaul or Abrams had done when the Wraith had attacked them. We weren’t there to grade their performance. We did manage to pick up on the fact that things hadn’t ended up so well for them…yeah, not too goddamn well. I didn’t want a repeat performance from our other science personnel. I didn’t want to bring home any more geeks in body bags. These were my geeks and I liked them in one piece.

“This was a good idea, you know.” When I turned, Rodney was studying me with a faint frown twisting his lips. It melted away instantly as my gaze hit him. “Yes,” he continued and waved his spoon for punctuation, “an excellent idea, despite the source. Beckett will realize that soon enough. Hopefully before you become a human pincushion.” At my glare, he hurriedly temporized, “Still, all in all, a good idea.”

Like most of my good ideas, it was too little, too late. “Yeah, I’m just full of ‘em, aren’t I?” Losing my appetite, I passed back the remainder of the cookies. “And you’d better worry about your own ass. I don’t think the Doc is too happy you’re up on high while he’s down in the dirt. I know your best bud Kavanaugh isn’t jumping for joy over it.”

“Yes, and I’m so very worried about what that pony-tailed jackass might be thinking.” The frown returned. “I am missing a pair of boxers from my last laundry load. You weren’t serious, were you…what you said on the Jumper?” He didn’t give me a chance to answer; I don’t think he really wanted to know…there wasn’t enough sanitizer in the world to wash that happy little picture out of your mind. “By the way, why am I up here and not down there with the rest? Not that I don’t appreciate not being forced into mud-wrestling with some of your more verbally challenged boys in green, I do. But why am I so lucky?”

I lay back on the grass, more slowly and carefully than I wanted to, and put my hands behind my head. The sun felt warm and I closed my eyes. “Because you don’t need to be, Rodney. You’ve proved yourself already. Hell, you shoot better than Ford. You’re a regular double O geek.”

It might’ve sounded like a joke, but it was true. McKay could take care of himself, not to mention covering the asses of fallen Majors who’d gotten on a Wraith’s bad side. He’d put every bullet square center in that Wraith’s chest, every single one. And being that I was on the other side of the Wraith, dead opposite him, I greatly appreciated the good aim.

Rodney was damn good with a gun, considering he’d only been at it a month. I’d been given him lessons since the Genii took over Atlantis. I’d asked why the sudden desire to sling some lead, but for once he’d managed to be close mouthed about something. There was just a roll of the eyes, a disgusted snort and a shrug. Who or what precisely he was disgusted with, I couldn’t even guess. With Rodney, it could be absolutely anyone or anything. I didn’t push it. It was a good idea for him to actually know how to use the gun I made him carry on missions, and that he turned out to be an excellent shot was a nice bonus. So far I’d won a box of chocolate chip cookies and a week’s break from activating his little toys. He was catching up though. He might never be as good as I was, but given enough time he’d make the competition interesting.

Of course, the whole reloading concept seemed to escape him under pressure, but we all have our faults.

“Double O geek. Hmph.” He sounded pleased though and I heard the cheerful crunch of an Oreo biting the dust. “Has Teyla or Elizabeth noticed your hair yet?” he asked around a mouthful.

“Not that I know of. Why?” I grunted curiously.

“Oh, you know….” I could actually hear his hands flying about. Handcuff those puppies and I would swear he’d lapse into an epileptic fit. “A woman’s opinion, all that.”

I pushed up on my elbows and rested for a moment while my ribs adjusted to the new position. “If you’re that worried about Teyla’s opinion,” I said slyly, “why don’t we ask what she thinks about the space bimbo remark.”

“What? What?” he stuttered. Even through my sunglasses, I could see him pale. “What are you talking about?”

“You know,” I repeated mockingly, “when we first brought Teyla and her people to Atlantis and you said, and I quote, ‘Oh look, Captain Kirk’s bagged his first space bimbo.”

“That’s a vicious lie.” He paled further, but stuck out a pugnacious jaw. “I never said that. I never said that. Jesus, don’t tell her I said that. She’d rip me to tiny pieces.”

“Teeny tiny,” I affirmed solemnly.

“Oh God.” He dropped his head into his hands and moaned. “I’m dead. Deceased. Less viable than Kavanaugh’s social life.”

I eased the rest of the way up and slapped him lightly on the back. “Don’t worry, McKay. Your secret’s safe with me…for now.”

He straightened and exhaled. “I didn’t mean it. Not really. Well, not once I got to know her,” he amended with a grimace. “I was just…being an ass. Apparently, that’s my thing. That’s what I do.”

“But you do it with such style.” I braced myself on his shoulder and pushed up to my feet. “And I happen to like your style, McKay. Keeps things interesting.” Stretching with infinite care, I said, “Why don’t you go down and offer your fellow labcoats some moral support. I’m going to do a circuit of the perimeter.”

McKay scrambled up, dusted off his pants, and raised eyebrows. “Why? It’s just us and the bugs.” He swatted hastily at a gnat that flew by.

“That’s my thing. That’s what I do,” I echoed dryly. I emptied the gun of paint pellets and reloaded with genuine ammunition.

As I worked, McKay shifted from foot to foot, looked down the hill and then back at me. “Didn’t Dr. Beckett say it was light duty for you?”

“As long as I walk, it’s light,” I said noncommittally.

“But you’re walking like my arthritic old granny,” he pointed out with a scowl. “All you need’s a shawl, orthopedic shoes, and five cats at your feet. What if something jumps you? You won’t even have a walker to beat them off with. What, do you have a death wish? Are you sincerely that suicidal to go off alone when you can barely crawl?”

I took a look around. Fields of silvery green grass billowing gently in the cool breeze. Masses of brightly colored alien butterflies spun through the air like diving kites. Something that resembled a cross between a rabbit and squirrel bounced up a tree to chitter at us with indignation. “Yeah, I’m walking into the danger zone all right,” I snorted skeptically.

His scowl deepened. “Appearances aren’t everything. I think we’ve all learned that by now. Seriously, major, I didn’t have a problem telling in first grade and I don’t have a problem now. Beckett will be up here so fast your un-gelled head will spin.”

He meant it, too. I could see that plainly in the stubborn furrowing of his brows and the challenging glitter in his eyes. I gave in to the inevitable. Besides, it was a literal walk in the park. It might do us both some good. “If you want to come along, McKay,” I said mildly, “all you have to do is ask.”

He hesitated with something close to worry flashing across his face and then asked with milder sarcasm than usual, “Gee, Major Sheppard, sir, could I tag along?”

“That’s Mr. Special Gene to you, Dr. McKay.” I waved a hand at Ford to let him know we were off then started walking. Within minutes we were in the band of trees that surrounded the stretch of field. It was quieter there, still and silent. Naturally, there are those among us who can’t abide a single, solitary moment of silence.

“You know, Major, I’ve been thinking….”

Those words, and I heard them quite a bit, always hit me in the same way that ‘You know, Major, a thermonuclear explosion is really something to see at ground zero’ would. It inevitably led to bad things. “Do tell, Dr. McKay,” I said with grim resignation. “I’m all ears.”

The stamping of feet behind me grew louder and I imagined he was picturing himself stomping on my head. “I was thinking,” he began again between gritted teeth, “that maybe you could show me how to use some other weapons, like maybe a knife.”

All right. That was it. Enough was enough. McKay with a gun might be a necessary thing in our fucked up little Pegasus galaxy. McKay with a knife? That was not necessary, and, in many ways, it was nightmare inducing. But besides being frightening on so very many levels, it was also wrong. Just…wrong. A gun let you keep the illusion of distance between you and the people you kill. A knife was different. That was the smell of fear-sweat and blood, the sound of a blade punching through flesh, snaring in bone…a man’s last strangled breath hot on your face. There was no distance, and no hope of forgetting. Ever.

“No,” I said flatly. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” he demanded. When I continued to walk, he grabbed my arm and dug in his feet. “Why the hell not?”

I turned and looked at him. I was not happy, not at all, and I knew it showed, but he didn’t back down. “It’s not who you are, Rodney,” I finally responded. “So let it go already.”

“So what am I?” His lips tightened to an invisible line. “Some dorky scientist who sits on his ass in a lab day in and day out? Oh, except on the rare occasion I spill everything I know under threat of torture and do nothing, do not one goddamn thing, while someone takes over Atlantis with what I told them?”

Well, hell.

And there was the reason he’d learned to shoot. If I’d bothered to rub together the one or two brain cells I possessed, I might have figured that out a damn sight sooner. Shaking my head, I opened my mouth, closed it, and then ordered, “Let’s run.”

“What? What?” The change of subject…correction, the ignoring altogether of the subject confused him. That was fine by me. I wanted some time to think before I opened this can of worms. I wanted to say the right thing. Rodney deserved the right thing.

“I said let’s run. Good for that cardiovascular system. Good for outrunning Wraith. Now let’s go.” I started into a jog and set my jaw at the immediate complaint of my ribs.

His disbelieving voice followed me. “Dr. Beckett will tie your mutinous ass down in the infirmary. He will make you wish you’d never….”

I did more of the ignoring thing, dodged a tree, and picked up the pace. The pain picked up as well. Fiery and stabbing, it crept its way around my left side, hugged the rib cage, and cackled with glee. If there’s a Wraith Hell, I was sure the son of a bitch who’d given me the cracked ribs was cackling as well. I put my head down, clamped an arm against my side, and jogged on.

“Wait. Seriously, Major. Slow down.” After about five minutes, a hand smacked me firmly on the shoulder as the winded voice went on, “This is not good for you, and it certainly doesn’t feel good for me. So, stop. Okay? Stop. Stop!” The hand went from shoulder to arm and tried to drag me to a halt.

Giving in, I did stop. Five minutes wasn’t much time to beat unruly thoughts into order, but it would have to do. Turning, I snagged a handful of McKay’s shirt and promptly sat his butt on a nearby fallen tree. “First off,” I said without preamble. “It wasn’t ‘threat of torture’, Rodney. It was torture. Period. That bastard sliced you up like a Christmas goose. You needed what? Almost a hundred stitches to put that arm back together? That is torture and I’d better never hear you say different. I give you crap, McKay, that’s my job. You don’t give it to yourself, got it?”

His mouth opened and stayed open. “But…I told them what they wanted to know. I talked.”

Exhaling, I sat next to him. “Everyone talks under torture. Everyone. Without exception. You might hold out an hour, you might hold out a week. It doesn’t matter. Because in the end, you’ll talk, and you’ll weep with gratitude for the privilege.”

Nothing gave truth to your words like personal experience. McKay’s eyes widened fractionally at what he saw in my face and then he nodded. “Yeah, okay, I get that. I do. I’m not a complete idiot.” I snorted skeptically and rested my shoulder against his companionably, taking some of the pressure off my ribs. He took my weight without complaint. “I am not a complete idiot,” he repeated with emphasis. “But afterwards, when we were back at Atlantis, you were taking out Kolya’s men, saving the goddamn day, and I couldn’t do anything to help. Not a damn thing. All I could do was stall. Bluff and stall.” He twisted his lips. “Some of us are heroes and some are lab rats, right? Never the twain shall meet.”

I remember the very first few days with the self-proclaimed wonder that was McKay. Ford had said to me, “That guy thinks the sun shines out of his ass, doesn’t he?” Ford was young. And often enough the young didn’t have a fucking clue. When someone is so eager to tell the world how wonderful he is, it’s only because he doesn’t for one minute believe it to be true. Not really, not down deep. Not where it counts. Sometimes a guy like that needs some help seeing himself for what he really is.

Happy to oblige.

I straightened and smacked the back of his head. “Nope, not an idiot. More like a moron.”

He yelped and rubbed the back of his head. Glaring, he snapped, “What was that for?”

“For you, Dr. McKay. Personal delivery. Maybe it’ll jar some memories loose.” I stretched out my legs. “Like who threw himself in front of Weir when Kolya was going to shoot her? And who held off on repairing the shield generator until I could shut off the power? Who stood up to the guy who’d just had him tortured and was threatening to put a bullet in his brain? Who, Rodney? Just who did all those things? Anyone you know?”

He blinked, unconsciously sent a hand to his pocket for a cookie, then shrugged a little uneasily. “The first was low blood sugar, I swear. Had to be. The other stuff….” The cookie crumbled in his hand and he watched the pieces of chocolate rain to the ground below us. “I couldn’t let that son of a bitch push me around. Not again.”

“Hypoglycemia and stubbornness, McKay, that spells heroism to me.” I slapped my legs and stood, inch by painful inch. “You did a good job…you, Rodney Mckay, scientist. One helluva job, try and remember that. Besides,” I added, “you’re the only one who AP’ed out of bootcamp. If that’s not proof enough, I don’t know what is.”

“True,” he brightened marginally, swatting at his arm. Apparently the gnats were after his cookies. “And I’ll never let Kavanaugh forget it either. Supercilious bastard. Do you know what he said at our last staff meeting? Can you fathom the gall of this man….” His voice trailed off as he studied the palm of his hand. “Uh oh,” he said it calmly, almost conversationally.

“What?” I leaned in for a closer look. A small bug was curled in his palm. It was red and black, equipped with wings…and a tiny lethally curved stinger. “Oh, shit.”

“I left my epinephrine in my bag on the Jumper.” The one occasion you think he would panic to the skies and beyond and he seemed as cool as a cucumber. At least, he did until I saw the convulsive swallow and the quicksilver fear behind his eyes. “Because, you know, I was more concerned with my pudding. But, hey, who needs to breathe when you’ve got pudding, right?”

I ripped the velcro pocket on my pants open and dipped a hand inside. “Come on, McKay. Stay with me here. Just think about it. It’s an alien bee. What are the chances you’ll be allergic to it? Different venom. Different planet. Different galaxy for that matter. What are the odds?’

A faint wheeze was threaded under his answer. “Pretty good,” he said, swallowing again, dropping the bee and tucking his hand into his armpit. “We have to go back. It’s not far, right? Not too far….” The wheezing was more audible and he stopped talking. Tucking his chin against his chest and squeezing his eyes shut, I could see him struggle not to hyperventilate and make things worse.

“No worries.” I pulled his shirt free of his pants, lifted it, quickly pinched an inch of the flesh of his abdomen between my fingers, and injected the epinephrine. “Not all of us are all about the pudding.”

His eyes popped open and he fixed a mystified look on the injector pen I let fall to the ground. “You’re…” wheeze “…allergic…bees?”

“No, Rodney,” I said patiently, “you are. You told us so when you were running from the glowbugs screaming like a little girl.” And I listened to what McKay said, no matter how much he doubted it. The day Beckett discharged me from the infirmary, I had him give me a handful of epinephrine syringes and a lesson to go with it. Because you never knew when it came to absent minded scientists, you just never did.

He tried for a glare. “Didn’t…scream.” The wheezing was worse, but he wasn’t blue. Wasn’t gasping for breath. Not yet. But I wasn’t a doctor, was I? If the epi didn’t work for allergic reactions to alien venom, there wouldn’t be a damn thing I could do to help Rodney. Not one goddamn thing, and that wasn’t acceptable. Not in the goddamn slightest. Of course, neither of us were wearing communication earpieces. It was just a day in the park…why would we need to call for help? Damn it.

I could run, get Beckett and be back in ten minutes, maybe less. I looked over my shoulder in the direction we had come. A hand fastened around my wrist before I could move. “Don’t,” he pushed out between wheezes then snapped his mouth shut. He squared his shoulders and let go of my wrist. He wasn’t going to beg. He was going to be brave, macho as hell…everything I didn’t give a shit about.

“Don’t,” he’d said. Don’t leave me.

A horrible way to go, suffocation. In my book, probably the worst. But as bad as it would be, struggling for every breath, doing it alone would be…well, it didn’t matter what it would be. It wasn’t going to happen. He’d slid from the log to sit on the ground. His knees were up and akimbo and he dropped his head between them, his chest heaving. I sat beside him, rested a hand on the back of his clammy neck and squeezed.

“So,” I said casually, “while you were bluffing Kolya’s ass off, do you want to know what I was doing?”

He slanted his eyes in my direction. They held overwhelming relief then annoyance and finally curiosity. “No need to ask,” I commented dryly, “I’ll tell you. I was wondering—what would McKay do?” The curiosity increased…as did the stridency of the wheezing. Thirty more seconds and I’d give more epi. Thirty more, unless he improved. I let my hand fall from his neck and held it out, palm up. His hand clasped it instantly, squeezing with painful desperation. “Yep, what would McKay do, I said to myself. How would he bring that jack-booted bastard Kolya down if he were haring all over Atlantis instead of me? And that’s when it hit me. Can’t use what doesn’t work. And I’ve seen you in action, McKay. You’re a genius all right. You can make anything not work.”

The glare worked this time. I nodded, “It’s true. If we could get you on a Wraith ship, you could cripple it with one trip to the bathroom. Probably wire the toilet into another space/time continuum. You’re a lethal weapon, Doc. Double O geek. We get home to Earth and they’ll make movies about you. I like my hydrochloric acid shaken, not stirred.”

The thirty seconds had passed, and he was no worse, and maybe was some better. The acid in my stomach churned a little slower. “And I was thinking of making those bracelets? You know, with WWMD on them? Sell them five bucks a pop to all your protégé geeks. You’d have your own cult of personality going on, and not just in your own mind like you usually do.”

I wasn’t sure the strangled bark was a laugh or a promise at dire revenge. “No?” I raised my eyebrows. “T-shirts, maybe?” It was definitely revenge in those eyes. My lips curled faintly. “Okay, okay. Jeez. No imagination. Anyway, McKay, that’s the story. That’s how I got through it. More or less.” My embryonic smile faded instantly. What I hadn’t thought when I’d pondered the WWMD issue was that McKay would kill fifty-five men with the gate and a handful more with a P 90. Kolya was a shit, no doubt. An amoral, ruthless monster, but the men who followed him…they were just soldiers. Like me or Ford. Protecting their world or so they thought. So they’d been told. Kolya deserved to die; I didn’t regret that one particular bullet at all. But the others….

You did what you had to do. And when you’re a soldier than means you kill. You kill and kill and if the next day calls for it, you kill some more. And Rodney wanted to be a hero…that was some fucked up logic. Truly it was. If anyone could figure out a way to defeat the Wraith, it would be McKay. Not a soldier.

“Wasn’t…your fault.”

I blinked and looked down at our joined hands. As hard as he was gripping, I think I was gripping harder. I gently extricated my hand and looked him over carefully. Still pale…still with the cold sweat, hair pasted to his head, but the wheezing was easing. He looked better. Hell, he looked like a million bucks. “Feeling better?” I used two fingers to turn his chin from one side to another to study his neck. No swelling.

“You had to,” he insisted, pushing my hand away.

“Had to what?” I drawled. “Give you a shot? Hell, I enjoyed that, McKay. You stuck me four times, four times with a needle. I still owe you three more.”

He didn’t have the lung power to go into it then, but truthfully, we didn’t have to. The fact that he had seen it in me, that he knew where I was with what had happened…and it was nowhere good…was enough for now. I wasn’t sure anyone else had seen the end of the siege as anything but a victory. I didn’t see it that way. I hadn’t for a single moment. It was survival, not victory. You might celebrate one, but the other was just a bare necessity of life. Bare and lonely.

I’d grown up wanting to fly, hoping to fly. Not once had I hoped to kill.

We got into trouble…that was a given.

Beckett taped up my ribs with ruthless zeal and relieved of duty altogether for a week. He treated McKay like a child and lectured him for hours on end, thanks to hearing how he’d forsaken life saving meds for pudding. How did he know about the pudding? Well….

Yeah, yeah, I’m a bad boy.

Two days later I was reading in my room when there was knock at the door. I knew it was McKay, the impatient one-two rap was a giveaway, and I sent a mental ‘open’ to the door just to annoy him. From the peeved grimace on his face it worked.

“I come bearing gifts and you taunt me. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again…you’re an asshole,” he sniped. He was carrying a jar, nearly a foot tall. Staggering under its weight, he sat it down on the table with an oomph.

“A present?” I sat up on the bed and discarded the book. Walking over to it, I peered into the depths and gave him a dubious look. “Is this some weird Canadian April Fools joke? Revenge for me spilling the pudding thing?” The jar was full of what looked like clear jelly. We were in the ocean…maybe it was some face eating, killer jellyfish. “Hey, is it a pet?” I tapped on the glass. “Maybe I’ll call him Captain Kirk. Or Steve. I sort of miss Steve.”

McKay rolled his eyes and folded his arms. “Why do I try? Why? I have things to do, important things, earth-shattering discoveries to make, and yet here I am—subjecting myself to what you think is wit. It’s a self-destructive streak I didn’t know existed in me. Appalling. Maybe Beckett has something for it. Pills, therapy, lobotomy...”

I noticed he was wearing the new lab coat I’d snuck in and left in his lab yesterday. I’d paid one of Teyla’s people to do the embroidery over the pocket. Double O Geek in dark blue letters. It was snazzy as hell, if I did say so myself. “Fine. Okay. I’m ungrateful as hell, I get it. What’s in the jar?”

His mouth curved secretively and he leaned in as if we were in the midst of a crowd. Cupping his hand to his mouth, he whispered, “Hair gel.”

“No.” I scooped a finger’s worth out and sniffed it. Same consistency, it even smelled the same. “No friggin’ way.”

He rocked back on his heels and preened. “You left your comb in the debriefing room bathroom. By the mirror of course. Vanity, vanity, Major. I analyzed the chemical composition, and presto chango….” He indicated the jar with a flourish. “Naturally, I did have to make a few substitutions, but nothing radioactive.” He grinned mockingly, “Not that I recall.”

Hair gel. I rubbed it between my fingers then looked up at him and grinned back. They say man hath no greater love than to give his life for his friend. Well, they don’t know dick. Now, hair gel….

That said it all.

The End