Hopefully everyone enjoys this. Please, don't take any offense to it, it's meant only in jest. Hopefully, I caught all of my grammar and spelling mistakes, but as I'm only human, I know somethings were missed. So please, read, relax, enjoy, and review. Oh, and I don't own Stargate, if I did I wouldn't be fretting about paying for college.
Three seconds after he emerged, limbs flailing, on the other side of the wormhole, he hit the hard gateroom floor with a loud thud. At that instant, John Sheppard decided he'd had enough. That was the last straw; he wasn't going to take it any more.
"Every time we go out," he hissed, "something happens." He paused as he rose to his feet. "Every single time," he emphasized barely checking his growing anger.
"Every time we go out?" Rodney questioned as he turned to face Sheppard. "It's not us, it's you." He pointed his finger at the dark-haired man, taking a step forward to stand a few meters from him. "Every time you go out, something happens."
"What do you mean every time I go out," he countered somewhat indignantly. "It doesn't matter who's on the team, something always happens when we go out."
"Oh no?" Mckay asked. "So how do you explain those few weeks when we joined Major Lorne's team on missions because you were still laid up from breaking some ribs and nothing happened the entire three weeks? Not a single thing: no injuries, no ambushes, no sudden storms, nothing," Rodney said emphatically. "Now," McKay paused for the briefest of seconds, thrusting one hand into the other, "the very next mission after you returned to duty, bam, something happens." McKay clapped his hands together. "We come under attack from some very nice locals, who seemed to like us on the last trip we took there with Major Lorne, but once you come, they attack us and we have to make a mad dash towards the gate."
"That proves nothing. They could have pretended to be nice when you visited, waiting until the right moment to attack us; until we weren't expecting it," Sheppard explained.
"Perhaps," McKay said, as he slowly considered the possibility, "but it's a bit far fetched, don't you think?"
"I think it's less far fetched than your idea," Sheppard tossed back.
"Hmm," he paused. "Nevertheless, it doesn't deter from the fact that it happened on your watch. When you were on the mission, not when Lorne was, thus it's your fault and you're the jinx." McKay jabbed his finger into the air at Sheppard.
"I'm not a jinx," Sheppard defended himself, pausing for a moment as he thought. "It's just a coincidence."
"Oh, a coincidence?" McKay leaned back on the back of his feet, crossing his arms. "That's what you call getting both of us thrown in jail, you with a serious concussion or us tossed into a frozen wasteland where you just happened to find the thinnest spot of ice and fall in, leaving us to care for your hypothermic body during the frigid night thinking you were dying as you coughed up your lungs and stomach. Was it coincidence that has gotten us captured by Koyla who knows how many times and you repeatedly tortured to near death by that lunatic? Or how about all those times you've taken a minor tumble down a hill resulting in serious injuries discovered only when you get hit by one of Teyla's banto sticks or Ronon's fist sending you into emergency surgery and giving you a nice long stay in the ICU during which you nearly die who knows how many times; been captured by some alien scientist bent on exploiting your ancient gene; picked up an alien virus that affected you worse than the rest of us because of that ancient gene you're so in tune with; or been captured by some madman who wanted the secret password so that he could have Atlantis for himself and once again tortured nearly to death because of it. Is that all coincidence Sheppard?" McKay paused a second, giving Sheppard enough time to open his mouth, but not to answer, before continuing, "I think not, you're a trouble magnet." McKay pointed his finger at the man, "A jinx!"
"I am not a jinx McKay," Sheppard countered, exasperation evidence in his voice. "And I'm not to blame for any of those things happening. I can't help it if things happen when I'm around." Sheppard explained, shrugging his shoulders.
"Actually Sheppard," Ronon interrupted, bringing everyone's eyes towards him; he stood a few feet from McKay, "you do seem to attract trouble."
"Yes," Teyla agreed from where she stood to the left of Ronon. "I believe Rodney has a point."
"See, even Conan and Xena agree with me." McKay gestured towards the two with his arms, though he missed their irritated looks.
"It's not me guys," Sheppard turned to his team, pleading with them.
"It's not him, he says," McKay announced. "Alright then Colonel, what is it? Something else. Something out of this world perhaps?" McKay teased.
"I don't know," he shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe," Sheppard answered seriously, though a bit sheepish.
"Maybe? Come on Colonel, quit playing around," McKay cried letting his arms fall to his sides with an audible slap.
"I'm not playing around Rodney. I'm serious. Something is causing this and I'm tired of it."
"So what," McKay began, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he folded his arms across his chest, "some gods are wrecking havoc on your life? Sounds a little 1st century to me Sheppard."
"Actually it makes sense." Sheppard pointed his finger at McKay as he spoke. "The last time we were on Earth, Jackson caught up with me and gave me a warning. He said he'd looked at my file and noticed something. He told me to be on alert for it."
"On alert for what?"
"He said the same thing was happening to him," Sheppard continued, ignoring McKay's question. "That someone was wrecking havoc on his life too; causing all of these injuries and stuff."
"Someone?" McKay asked. "What like Gabriel in that episode of Xena where whatever she writes on a magic scroll happens?"
"Ye… what?" Sheppard threw McKay a puzzled look. "Yeah," he continued after a few seconds, though his voice was still filled with puzzlement, "something like that."
"Please colonel. Do you really expect me to believe some gods are wrecking havoc on your life?"
"They're not gods," Sheppard answered quietly.
"Ok, so then who are these people?"
"Jackson had a name for them. Something to do with writing."
"Well that makes a lot of sense," McKay said sarcastically.
Sheppard thought for a moment, beginning to pace a bit before he abruptly turned to face his 'audience.' "Fanfic writers!"
"Yeah. That's what Jackson called them."
"Seriously? Fanfic writers? Oh yes Colonel, that's a whole lot more plausible than my theory. Now, why can't you just accept that you're a jinx?" McKay asked, exasperated.
"'Cause I'm not. It all makes sense now," Sheppard said, beginning to pace once again. "It explains how trouble always seems to find me; how a planet, that at first checks out as harmless always turns deadly once I arrive; how some madman always seems to find me, capture me and torture me until I'm 9/10ths dead and Beckett's clucking in overtime; how the smallest, most minor cut I get always manages to become infected with this universe's worst virus, making me deathly ill and setting back any sort of recovery I was making from the numerous wounds I received on the mission."
Not wanting to be near Sheppard's lunatic rant in such a public place, McKay tried to placate him. "Alright Sheppard, we understand. We get the picture."
"No, no. I don't think you do," Sheppard countered quickly, wagging his index finger at McKay. McKay sighed in frustration, though worry quickly replaced any thoughts he might have had of getting his frustrations out by turning Sheppard into a guinea pig for the new batch of ancient devices his team found. In the little time that had transpired, Sheppard had developed a noticeable limp in his right leg and a growing dark stain below his left kneecap. Further up, McKay saw Sheppard favoring his left side, indicating some injury to the ribs. Whatever it might be, it was invisible, unlike the wound on Sheppard's right side, which was seeping blood, dripping on his pants.
"You know," McKay began as something forced him out of his thoughts, "perhaps we should go see Carson." As McKay offered, he took a step forward.
"No, I already told you, I'm fine." Sheppard waved him off, unknowingly giving McKay view of yet another injury of his: his mangled fingers and cut up hands, still fresh with blood. Nevertheless, Sheppard seemed oblivious to the injuries, which McKay had yet to decide whether this was a good thing or a bad thing, though he found himself leaning towards the latter as Sheppard grew increasingly agitated as the minutes passed. Rather than noticing the injuries, Sheppard paced an area of the gateroom that no one dared to enter, mostly due to his half-crazed look and his two-time hit-and-run victim appearance. "Besides, I can't go see Beckett right now. I have to figure out how to stop them. There has to be a way."
"Stop who?" McKay asked absently, his true attention on the increased flow of blood from a nasty gash on Sheppard's head that was somehow missing his eyes completely.
"Them," Sheppard said emphatically, almost seeming to plead with the physicist. "See, if I stop them, this all stops." He gestured to the room about him. "I don't have to be the punching bag for all the evil leaders and their minions of the universe anymore," he explained, becoming more and more animated. McKay watched as Sheppard's arms moved wildly about, pulling on the abdomen injuries, he knew existed and must hurt. "I can actually," Sheppard continued, "spend my downtime relaxing in my room, not the infirmary and stop having to spend what little downtime I have left over filling out requisition forms for new uniforms because the last one had to be cut off by Beckett or, if not, is too holey to be used."
McKay had been ready to explode, asking how exactly these fanfic writers could cause all of Sheppard's problems. But there was something in Sheppard's tone that made him stop; something about the way he spoke that made him pause to wonder. McKay had little time to ponder, however, as his eyes caught sight of something glinting in the gateroom light. Near Sheppard's right shoulder was a small knife. Odd, he thought, he didn't remember them getting into close contact with the now unfriendly villagers of M4X-572. Perhaps there was some truth… No, he told himself. It wasn't possible. Regardless, Sheppard's crazed, animated movements were doing him no good. He needed to calm him down somehow.
"I have to do something," he heard Sheppard say, his pacing all the more frantic and frenzied.
"Alright." McKay took a breath, quickly forming a plan of attack. "Even if they do exist, how are you going to find them to talk to them?"
"I… I," Sheppard hesitated, his pacing slowing. He seemed unaware of McKay moving closer to him.
"They're not going to be easy to find," McKay continued calmly, yet firmly using his best voice of reason tone.
"No, no, they're not," the Colonel agreed, his voice loosing some of its firmness
"Why don't we visit Carson before you go find them," McKay suggested, now just a few inches from the bleeding and battered man.
"But, I don't need to," Sheppard whined, pulling back. "I'm not injured. Nothing's wrong this time."
"Nothing's wrong!" McKay exploded. This time, he couldn't help himself. Obviously, Sheppard was oblivious to his wounds. "Look Colonel Indestructable, in the time you've spent lamenting your fate as the whumping boy of this galaxy, whilst decrying your role in it all, claiming some people called fanfic writers are to blame, you've been bleeding all over my gateroom floor. Now, while I must admit watching that knife wound of yours go up and down with each movement of your arms has been somewhat amusing, your growing number of wounds is alarming and quite frankly, a little disconcerting. Not to mention, judging by the blood you've left on the floor, I can't possibly figure out how you've got enough to remain standing, let alone conscious and alive. So shut up and go see Carson."
Only at the end of his tirade did he realize Sheppard had backed up several meters. Now, he told himself, was not the time for berating. That would come later when Sheppard was on the mend. Forcing calmness into his voice, he began again. "Something is wrong Colonel and you do need to see Beckett."
Even as Rodney was speaking, Sheppard began playing with the wounds, causing McKay to cringe, his facing wrinkling in disgust. With one hand, he poked the area around the knife and with the other he tapped the side belly wound. A look of surprise came over his face when his finger found a hole in his stomach. His mind slowly processed that it shouldn't be there. The hand busy poking the knife wound felt the sogginess of the surrounding tac vest, but gave the mind little more than that to process. There should be pain, he told himself. Blood and holes mean pain is present. Suddenly finding himself off balance, he took a step back and felt his legs give out as a sudden wave of pain shot through his body. That wasn't supposed to hurt, he thought. Resting precariously on one knee, he called out to Rodney, who was already advancing towards him.
"Rodney," he said quietly as he raised his head to look at the physicist. "Could you get Beckett? I… I think something's wrong." Even as the words escaped his mouth, his focus on the world was fading. Panic slowly seeped through his dazed mind as he realized he would hit the hard ground. However when a pair of hands caught him, lowering him to the ground, those fears were banished. Before he completely lost consciousness, he heard Rodney next to him.
"Get Beckett down here," the physicist called. Turning his attention back to Sheppard, he muttered under his breath, "Those darn fanfic writers!"
So, what did you think?