Sorry about the wait--I've been busy with the first ever ScriptFrenzy (and I'm a winner!!! -dances-), so I wrote this in the hour I had before ending ScriptFrenzy and starting JulNoWriMo. Thanks always to my beta, Oparu.

I don't own ANYTHING. Except for the script I just wrote (-bounce-) and also my newly born novel for JulNoWriMo.


Elizabeth pressed the GDO securely into Ketna's hand. "Go. Don't look back. Just go."

Ketna looked uncertain, and she gave Elizabeth a questioning glance.

"I'll be okay," Elizabeth answered, though she wasn't sure if she was telling the truth or not. "Just go on my signal."

"But–" Ketna started protesting, but Elizabeth effectively stopped her with a look. "Okay," she breathed, staring past Elizabeth to the guards that were circling nearer and nearer to their cell.

"Wait for it..." Elizabeth stood shakily. She grabbed the bars in front of her for support and stared pointedly at Ketna.

"You," the guard said gruffly, raising a finger to point at Elizabeth. She'd been taken the last few times, so it really wasn't a surprise anymore.

While the door was open, she flung a fist into the guard's face, and she smiled at the resounding crack. Teyla's self-defense training appeared to have helped somewhat, because the guard was currently holding his broken nose with one hand and scrabbling for his gun with the other. She kicked his hand with her bad foot, winced, and grabbed his gun for herself. Ketna stumbled past her, and Elizabeth shot over her head to distract the guards. Elizabeth heard a creak of a door opening, more shots, and guards' yells. She felt a small satisfaction over getting Ketna out of there, if not horror over the three guards she'd hit with her cover fire. She hadn't meant to hit anyone, but their weapons fire had been getting dangerously close to Ketna's head.

She felt a pressure upon her wrist, and it went limp. The gun dropped heavily to the ground, and she gave a twisted smile to the guard that was currently behind her.

"You've got blood on your face," she told him before her slapped her, kicked her bad ankle, and she collapsed into darkness.


"Rodney?"

Katie Brown entered the infirmary with unsure steps, looking reproachfully at the scientist in his hospital bed. "Rodney? How have you been?"

Rodney rolled his eyes and glared at her. "Oh, since I was shot and paralyzed? Well, I've had great fun having people feed me and cater to my every need. It's been wonderful. How are you?"

He regretted it as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but Katie seemed to understand.

"I'm sorry, Rodney." She faltered. "I brought you a flower," she said feebly, gesturing helplessly towards the small pot in her hand. "It's from the mainland, and I know you're not allergic, so..."

He sighed and tried, for the millionth time, to raise his hand to point towards the table next to him. He paused for a moment, and he finally nodded. "Thanks. Just, ah, put it over there."

She walked quietly to the table and put the flower down, briefly touching the leaves before sitting on Rodney's bed. "Listen, I know this hasn't been easy on you." She bit her lip. "I honestly don't know how to deal with this situation. I deal with plants, not with people. But I thought you might appreciate the company."

He swallowed, wishing he could reach out to take her hand. "I do." He would have added so much more to that sentence, but the woman had been traumatized enough from dealing with him. "Thank you. For the flower. And for everything."

Katie smiled. "It really isn't a problem, Rodney."

They sat in an awkward silence before she patted his prone hand and got up. "I'll be back to water that, okay?"

"You're leaving? Already?" His eyes widened–he hadn't realized how lonely he'd been.

She slumped back on the bed. "Oh, I don't know what I'm supposed to do. Plus–" She glanced towards the door, where Zelenka was waiting nervously. "Oh, look, Rodney–Radek's here," she added in a voice that was slightly higher than normal. "I'm sure he's waiting for you. Here, I'll let you two catch up."

"What? No!" Rodney protested, but she smiled at him and shuffled out the door, muttering something to Zelenka before nervously leaving. "I don't want to talk to–uh, hi, Radek."

Zelenka pushed up his glasses, taking a breath. He pulled over a chair from John's bedside without thinking and sat down. He looked briefly at the lieutenant colonel before snapping back to Rodney. "Well, Rodney, I'm sure you'll be happy to know we have gotten a few dozen addresses out of the DHD on the planet."

"Oh, that's great news. Any ones that lead to planets with miracle cures for paralysis?" he said sarcastically, jerking his head for emphasis.

"No," Zelenka retorted, keeping his voice in check, "but we have sent teams to some of them–"

Rodney would have sat up straighter if he were able to move. "Did you find Elizabeth?"

Zelenka shook his head. "Well, no, but we have eliminated those planets–"

"You eliminated them? How do you know they didn't dial to one of those and then 'gated somewhere else? Did you get the addresses from those DHD's?"

"That would be thousands of addresses, Rodney. We don't have that kind of manpower."

"So what exactly are you doing, besides wasting the time of dozens of personnel and scientists?"

"Rodney!" Zelenka shouted before snorting out his nose, annoyed. "We are doing everything we can do get Elizabeth back. You know, better than anyone, how hard it is to unscramble the DHD coordinates."

Rodney glared at him for a second, his mouth set in a stubborn frown. "Yes, I suppose I do."

"And if you have a plan–any plan at all–that would help us find her, we are all open to ideas."

Rodney looked down. "No, I don't." He swallowed again, breathing through his nose. "I'm sorry." He made it a point not to look at Zelenka while uttering his apology, but Zelenka noted it anyway.

"I am too." At Rodney's surprised glance, the Czech gestured faintly to Rodney's body. "I don't really know..."

"Well, join everyone else. You've been the first person to actually acknowledge it. Teyla just nods and looks away, Ronon grunts, Carson feels sorry for me, silently, of course, and Sheppard doesn't know who I am." Rodney stopped, looking at Zelenka as if seeing him for the first time. "Katie's either completely freaked out or scared of me."

"You do have the luck with the women," Zelenka quipped dryly without thinking.

Rodney half-smiled, then his face slipped back into a frown. Before he could retort, Carson stepped in gently between them.

"Rodney? I think it'd be best if ye got some sleep now. Sorry, Radek," he apologized softly. Zelenka bolted off the chair and smiled at Rodney, nodding quickly.

"Get well soon, Rodney," he said before making a quick exit.

"Like that's going to happen," Rodney yelled after him, glaring at Carson, who was sticking a needle in his limp arm, which had lost its IV days before. "I can't feel that. What are you putting there? What is that?"

Carson rolled his eyes and replaced the needle with a cotton swab. "Go to sleep, Rodney."

"I don't need this stuff anymore. I can sleep fine on my own." That was a blatant lie, and his head hit the pillow before he could shout back any more protests to Carson.

Ronon's good eye blinked once, twice, and finally closed. If any one of them were to snap, it would be Rodney first. He'd always suspected that, but especially with his injuries now...

Carson walked past him, and he feigned sleep. He didn't like drugs in his blood. It made him feel weak–a soldier should be able to sleep without the aid of intravenous substances. Sure, he was plagued with nightmares, but that was nothing new.

Carson rubbed his head and looked from one patient to another. Teyla and Ronon could be released soon, and by medical standards, so could John and Rodney. Rodney would need a keeper, of course, and John would have to go back to Earth, but from a medical standpoint, they were perfectly fine. Physically. Mentally...he wasn't quite sure yet.


Elizabeth had faced down angry negotiators, leaders, and even military leaders. But this man's leering face was in a different category altogether.

"Oh, Elizabeth," he said in perfect English. "You've thwarted every torture tactic you've come across."

She would have responded, but the muzzle on her mouth hampered her speech, so she struggled futilely against her bonds instead.

"So it's time for something new, hmm?" He continued ignoring her feeble attempts to escape. He walked around her chair, fiddling with knobs and flicking a switch. "Something...different. Unexpected. If we can't pull out the knowledge we want with simple military tactics, we'll have to turn to the science, won't we?"

His rhetorical questions were beginning to worry her. He sounded completely sane, but his eyes made her uneasy. While he spoke, his hands flew across control panels beyond her comprehension.

"Yes. We will." He answered his own question, pressing a final button and standing behind her. "How noble of you to let that little girl escape, no? When you didn't even know if she'd make it to the Stargate? We could have caught her and tortured her for the information you gave her. Here, to put your mind at ease–she made it. You picked a good messenger–young, with very fast legs. Oh, and yes, Elizabeth, this will hurt."

An ominous whirring began behind her. She looked from left to right in concealed panic, but she couldn't identify the source of the sound. The man's face appeared again, upside down in front of her own, and he smiled. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. This might be a waste of a very powerful mind." His face left her vision, and she heard footsteps leading away from her metal chair.

She understood why he'd left. The whirring was, to her horror, a drill. It was coming at her with incredible speed, and the two prongs lined up directly with her temples.

"Don't struggle, Elizabeth," the man's calm voice shouted from behind her. "It will kill you if you do."

She watched in fear as it descended on her, and she repressed a scream as it made contact with her skin. Liquid hot pain blinded her immediately.

"Such a waste," the man said quietly. Shaking his head sadly, "It's such a waste," he finished.


Huh. That took an odd turn. That wasn't what was supposed to happen when I wrote it, honest! Oh well. My muse tends to take over the story, along with the plotbunnies and the characters. (Not like Lizzie wanted a drill in her head, of course.) I don't know what I'm saying. Anyways, you all know the drill (ha! -rim shot-) by now.