By Kate Carter

Disclaimer: Wow! You thought I owned Stargate? That's so exciting! And so untrue!

Spoilers: "Sateda"

Written 11 Jan 2007

A/N: This came from a conversation with Jeannie over Facebook…I owe you one (possibly several, you've inspired at least one more). And I'm SO not letting you win the poke war.

And no offense meant to any Canadians. Really.

It had started when Elizabeth told John to order whatever he needed for training purposes.

Bad idea.

She was busy when the Daedalus finally arrived with the supplies, and didn't really pay any attention to the manifest when she was supposed to review it.

So when John told her he was going to have a "training session" while she was busy reading a stack of reports, she didn't really pay any attention to him. She just nodded, and let him wander away, grinning like the proverbial cat who'd eaten the canary.

The captains of the opposing sides shook hands, before turning towards the gathered mass for one of the most sacred rituals of the game; picking their teams.

"Teyla," Ronan immediately called.

"Lorne," Sheppard countered.

"Woods," Ronan said.

"Stackhouse," Sheppard pointed.

It continued in this fashion, until the last two were left; McKay and Zelenka. Rodney was shooting daggers at Sheppard. Ronan smirked. "Zelenka."

John tried to hide a grimace. "Fine, I'll take Rodney." At Rodney's glare, he hastily added, "Not that I don't love having Rodney on my team, because really, I do. He's a great asset. Really. Rodney's awesome."

Both teams assembled their gear; McKay could hardly move under the weight of the protective equipment. Sheppard sighed. "Rodney, do you really need all that?"

"Oh, do I really need all this." Rodney rolled his eyes. "Yes, Sheppard, I do. You wouldn't want me to get hurt, would you?"

"McKay, you've been shot."

"In the ass with an arrow, yes, thank you for reminding me!" Rodney's voice was beginning to be higher pitched; Sheppard wisely decided to drop the subject.

"Five minutes; then it's war. No radios allowed," Sheppard said firmly, turning his off to demonstrate. "Go."

It was brutal.

Ronan, an expert with a weapon, was only slightly hampered by the fact that the paintball gun seemed to be awkwardly weighted. Sheppard, longtime expert with a paintball gun, was a match for Ronan's skills when this handicap came into play. Hence the reason they were the captains for each side; it was decided that were they both to be on one team, it would be the equivalent of matching the U.S. military against the Canadian army (something Rodney loudly protested).

When Carson (who was on Sheppard's team) made the mistake of getting trapped into a corridor with members of the opposing team on either side of him, he was quickly splattered both front and back with bright neon yellow balls. "Oh well," he sighed, and walked back to what had been declared the "out" area. He wasn't the first there; several Marines had already been forced out of the game. Zelenka had splashes of neon pink on his glasses; he'd obviously been trying to clean them off, but it had only succeeded in smearing the paint further. Rodney, surprisingly, was covered in the bright neon pink paint of Sheppard's team. Carson looked at him questioningly, but didn't say anything as Rodney merely shook his head and muttered "Friendly fire, my ass."

"Have you seen Colonel Sheppard?" Elizabeth asked, emerging at last from her office.

The technician she asked shook his head. "No ma'am."

Another technician piped up. "I heard him say something about training exercises in the empty corridors on the east pier."

That was right; Elizabeth vaguely recalled him saying something to her about training exercises. She thanked the technicians and hurried off to find them.

It was down to the last two.

Lorne had reluctantly come to sit down with the rest of those who'd been outted. They'd begun taking bets on who'd win. The group was divided 50/50 between Sheppard and Ronan.

One thing they all agreed on; both were determined to win.

Elizabeth frowned. Sheppard wasn't answering his radio. She'd been wandering the east pier corridors for the last five minutes searching for him, with a good half-dozen questions to ask him.

A splash of bright yellow stood out in the corridor; what was that? Weir came closer, curious about it. It was…paint? From a paintball gun? Her eyes widened as she realized exactly what Sheppard had meant by "training."

Something tickled her nose; she sneezed. Two seconds later, she discovered where her missing colonel was, as he leapt out with a yell and pulled the trigger. Bright, neon pink paint splattered all over her chest, contrasting hideously with her red shirt.

She gaped in disbelief. Sheppard had the good grace to look sheepish; he hurried forward in concern. "Elizabeth, are you okay?" he asked anxiously.

She was interrupted by a roar from behind. Before she had the chance to turn, she felt the impact of several balls on her back. Looking over her shoulder, she confirmed what she'd thought had happened; she'd been shot with several bright yellow balls.

Ronan, also, looked sheepish. He came and stood in front of her. "Sorry, Dr. Weir," he mumbled. "Didn't realize that was you, thought it was Sheppard."

She drew herself up to her full height, glaring at the two men. "Give me the guns," she said quietly. They handed them over to her slowly.

"Eliz-" Sheppard began, but quickly stopped when the full force of her glare hit him.

The two men weren't expecting her to drop Ronan's gun and spray both of them with pink paintballs.

"Clean up, and come see me in my office in half an hour," she snapped, before picking up the other gun and turning away sharply. The two men watched until she was out of sight, before Sheppard turned to Ronan and indicated the pink splotches.

"Does this mean I win?"

"You…will be working in the laundry for the next week." Elizabeth glared at Ronan. The former runner nodded, solemn.

"And you…will be cleaning up all the corridors. With a sponge. Which should take about a week." Elizabeth turned her glare to Sheppard. "And you should count yourself lucky I'm not making you do it with a toothbrush."

"What about the others?" Ronan asked quietly. Sheppard groaned. He thought Ronan understood the concept of not being a snitch.

"The others?" Elizabeth rubbed her temples. She should have known there was more than just those two in on this. "I want a complete list from both of you, of everyone involved." She smiled grimly. "I have a project in mind for them."

"This…is disgusting," Rodney said, picking up a piece of seaweed-like substance.

Beckett grimaced, as he used a steel brush in an attempt to scrub mud off the floor, the result of a spilled container that had once held a tree. "Well, we were bloody well asking for it, when we wanted to play."

Zelenka, bushy hair speckled with paint, set his paint roller down. "But we did think that Doctor Weir knew about it."

"Exactly!" McKay said, as he picked up more pieces of the trash littering the floor. "We're not the cleanup crew!"

"Well, somebody had to do it," Zelenka rationalized.

"Aye, these flooded sections had to be repaired at some point," Beckett agreed.

"How's it coming?" Elizabeth asked brightly as she walked into the section. "It's looking good!" she said, smiling widely.

"Elizabeth, this is cruel and unusual punishment!" Rodney whined.

"I'm familiar with the Geneva Convention, Rodney, need I remind you?" She smirked. John Sheppard was rubbing off on her. "Next time, you'll all remember to ask permission first, won't you?"

The End

A/N: The ending was a little awkward…sorry about that. But I had to show that the others were being appropriately punished. And if you were wondering why Sheppard's team was using neon pink paintballs; well, it's simple. The Daedalus only brought yellow and pink. Sheppard and Ronan played Rock Paper Scissors (Beckett had taught Ronan that one day while they were both somewhat bored offworld), Ronan won, so Ronan got to use the yellow.