SGAHC 5 Minute Fic Challenge "I knew I should've been a gynecologist!"
Job Description by nebbyJ (Jen)
Rated: Teen for some slight language
Spoilers/Season: None and 2
A/N: Spur of the moment idea with not a lot of bulk, but an overload of testosterone. As I've said many times before, I have absolutely nothing to do with this show other than write to amuse myself and possibly others.
The noise level inside the private office was escalating out of control as one voice attempted to be heard over the cacophony of others. "Gentlemen. Gentlemen, please!" Dr. Weir shouted, only to find her pleas drowned out and she irritably glared at the tall backs turned towards her. It had been this way for close to half an hour, ever since Col. Caldwell and Lt. Col. Sheppard had started their verbal sparring match that eventually involved dragging in Rodney and surprisingly Beckett soon to follow.
"My team has been just fine without your adjustments to the roster, Colonel," Sheppard snapped with disdain and the senior officer's rank spoken as if it were a cuss word.
"Well, as your superior officer, I've decided that since reviewing your most recent off world exploits and the reports from Dr. Beckett, it appears clear to me that your 'team' is accident prone. Valuable time is wasted, supplies continually misused, and resources are mismanaged."
Rodney, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet through most of the argument, quirked an irritated brow at Caldwell's comment. "Define 'mismanaged'."
The commander of the Daedalus chose to ignore the scientist and instead flipped open a folder, pulling out two separate forms, and slid them across the table towards Sheppard. Before Atlantis's chief of military operations was able to gather the sheets, Carson's hand quickly reached out and snatched them.
"These are copies of my personal records, Colonel Caldwell. The information contained within is private and covered under doctor/patient confidentiality. When I find out how you accessed these, I will submit a report to Dr. Weir and Stargate Control, as well as file charges."
A sharp smack against the table top drew everyone's attention back to the now red-faced Canadian standing off to the side of Beckett. "Define 'mismanaged'," he demanded again. "For your information, Caldwell," his deliberate omission of rank clear to all present in the room, Rodney continued, "the resources of Atlantis have not been used as the science team's personal playground. My people work continually to save your ass on a daily basis and last time I checked, not one of the doctors and specialists under my supervision had liberated any equipment for personal use."
Caldwell sneered at the scientist as he removed another printed document, sliding it across the table towards McKay. All standing could see it was a complaint form filed by one Dr. R. Kavanaugh.
Rodney snatched the page and scanned its contents before crinkling it into a tight ball and tossing it over his shoulder. His arms crossed smugly over his chest and his chin jutting in indignation, he scowled, "Is that it? Is that what you call mismanagement? Yes, there is a still in the science department. And if you so much as try to inform me that such equipment does not exist on the Daedalus, I will have to inform you that the naquadah drive generator on board the Daedalus does not require copper tubing or a heat containment unit."
"I don't know what you are talking about, Dr. McKay."
"Don't you? Remember, I was the one who gave the final consent to all equipment brought on board while back on Earth. I was given final say for all the requisitions for both Atlantis and the Daedalus."
Caldwell planted both palms on the table, leaning forward threateningly towards the Atlantis team. "And the case of 60 year old Scotch? I suppose that has medicinal value?"
Carson's blue eyes grew to mere slits, "As a matter of fact, Colonel, it does. Who gave you permission to go through my medical surplus supplies?"
"Medical surplus supplies, doctor? Don't make me laugh."
"For your information, you…" his comment drowned out by Sheppard.
"You went through our supplies? Who in the hell gave you the right to go through our supplies? You, Sir, are at our disposal. Stargate Command has placed Atlantis under Dr. Weir's and my authority. You don't have any say on what we bring here."
"I have authority on what I carry on board my ship, Colonel!" The top of Caldwell's head was turning dark red as his anger increased.
Not about to be pushed aside, Carson was ready to continue where he'd left off. "Getting back to my medical supplies that you've apparently decided to go through, perhaps you would care to explain to me why one of the said bottles of Scotch is missing from the crate, Colonel. Do I need to submit the proper form to start an investigation that my supplies have been pilfered through and stolen?"
Sensing that things were about to get even more ugly, Elizabeth squeezed up to the table between Sheppard and McKay. "Gentlemen!" she yelled, her voice filled with the authority that she had earned over years of negotiations and hard work.
Instantly all shouting ceased and the male members stared at her in surprise.
"This is my office and I demand that it be respected as such. If any of you have grievances towards any member here or within your designated positions, submit it to me in triplicate and have it on my desk first thing in the morning. Do I make myself clear?"
Several heads nodded and the military officers verbally answered with 'Yes, ma'am'.
Seeing that she had their attention, she walked over to her door and activated the panel to open. Mentally she wished for nothing more than a doorknob and a hardwood door to slam open full force and give them all one good scare, but instead, she folded her arms, raised one irritated brow, and clearly gave them the signal to get out.
She never moved as they each filed past her out of the office in silence before scattering to their four corners of Atlantis.
Whoever had said men were easier to deal with than women were wrong. With the coast clear and her office blissfully empty, she let the door slide shut before making her way back over to her desk and collapsing into her comfortable chair. Toeing off her shoes and sliding her bottom drawer open, she reached in and snagged the hidden bottle of Scotch and her coffee mug, and then propped her feet on the lip of the desk.
Drink in hand; she raised a toast to her departed father. "You were right all along, Dad. I knew I should've been a gynecologist."
A/N: My muse is being a slob at the moment and is refusing to give me anything more than bits and pieces. I do have something more substantial in the works, but, alas, until she gets the fire lit back under her, I have to wait just like you. Take care! Jen