CATEGORY: Humor, hurt/comfort (whumping).This is a gen (general) story.
SPOILERS: Takes place after "Rising," the series premiere.
Copyright Disclaimer: The Stargate Atlantis characters, as presented on the series, belong to MGM, Sci Fi, and other registered copyright holders. No copyright infringement is meant or intended by the writing and posting of this material. I'm just borrowing the characters and the universe for a piece of non-profit 'fan fiction' and will return in one piece (well, usually). However, all original characters and story material are copyright to author. Please do not repost this fiction, in whole or in part, anywhere, without expression written permission of the author.
SUMMARY: Soon after they arrive on Atlantis, Sheppard decides its time to instruct McKay and Teyla on the operation of a P-90. Things do not go as planned, of course..
"You want to go where?
"M46 2NS. You know, desert world."
Dr. Elizabeth Weir rounded the large triangular table in the meeting room, and sat down to stare at Major Sheppard, who was doing his best to look both guileless and bored. "The world with endless sand, no food supplies, no indigenous life whatsoever. The planet you were at just five days ago and vowed never to visit again? Why would you want to go there now?"
Weir arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
Sheppard shifted slightly in his chair, assuming a less than official military posture as he picked at a non-existent loose thread on his long-sleeved black shirt. "Well, Teyla is joining the team, and I'd say McKay could probably use a refresher course but I don't think he's handled a P-90 before. There's really no place on Atlantis that we can blast off a P-90 on full auto without ricochet or risking some sort of damage. We could shoot off the lower deck on the water, but there's that's ricochet factor again."
"And how long would this trip take?" said Weir.
Sheppard shrugged his shoulders. "A few hours, just back and forth. We can deal with any maintenance issues here on Atlantis."
"Yes," agreed Weir. "I don't think stripping down a gun on a planet full of sand is a very good idea."
1. TARGET PRACTICE
"I don't know if this is a good idea, sir."
Sheppard made a face at Ford's cautionary statement, readjusting his grip on the heavy item the two men were holding up between themselves. "It's not like anyone will miss it."
"Major, you're ready to proceed." Grodin's calm British accent echoed over the communications system into the cavernous area that housed both the control center and the Stargate. After a quick overview by the MALP, Sheppard's team got the okay to proceed through the large circle.
"See?" Sheppard smiled as he motioned for the rest of the team, Dr. Rodney McKay and Teyla Emaggen, to enter the gate.
"Major. What is that?"
Weir's voice sliced through the air, over the odd watery noise that the gate itself made. Ford halted instantly, his actions no doubt honed from years of obeying his commanding officer. Sheppard, on the other hand, nearly stumbled as he stopped abruptly, cursing under his breath as he pulled one hand off the wood. He almost got stabbed by a splinter - too late to think about bringing gloves. He assumed an innocent expression and turned around. Weir gazed down on his team from the control area. It wasn't that she looked unhappy or anything. She just had that look that made him wonder if she was tapping her foot like some parent catching the kids doing something they shouldn't.
"It's a target."
With Ford's help, he stood up the piece of wood. Six by three feet, the slab was a bit rough on the edges as it was actually half of a side of a huge crate that had contained supplies for Atlantis. Fortunately part of the equipment they'd brought to this galaxy had contained items such as axes and machetes; all of which had been quite handy to split off the section of crate.
Weir's incredulous expression said it all, and then some.
Sheppard frowned. "What?"
Somebody behind Weir laughed. No, they snickered. The disrespectful attitude was catching as Sheppard caught a few more strains of laughter rippling around the control area. Even Weir seemed hard pressed not to react in the same manner as she studied the hand-drawn figure on the wood.
"Hey, you brought me here for my flying skills," protested Sheppard with a hurt look. "Not my artistic abilities."
Weir finally succumbed to the pressure. "Well, thank God for that, or else we'd all be doomed," she laughed.
"Is everybody a critic?" muttered Sheppard. So what if the figure he'd slapped on the wood was an approximation of the human form? So what if he'd drawn a warped happy face on it?
"Good grief." McKay came around to study the handiwork. "My cat could have done a better job."
"My other option," Sheppard said as he motioned for Ford to grab the other end of the board, "was to stick you in a flak vest, Rodney, as a target."
"What?" McKay said in horror.
Sheppard grinned in delight. "Just kidding." Heading toward the watery illusion of the gate, he told Weir that they'd return in a couple hours.