A Series of Firsts
Disclaimer: The following story is a work of fan fiction, and as such is for fan enjoyment only. All recognizable characters/settings are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is made. THEY'RE STILL NOT MINE! WAAAH! *pouts and kicks her badgers*
Summary: It's been a funny old week in the Lost City.
Central Character(s): Rodney and John, with Aiden, Carson, Elizabeth and Teyla.
Category (ies): Humour, friendship.
Placement: Season One.
Rating: +12 for potty mouths. Naughty, naughty boys…
Spoilers: None but see below...
Author's Note: Believe it or not, this was actually inspired by a Starsky and Hutch fic I read a little while ago. Basically, it was the response of a challenge to write a story using all the titles from the first season. One thing led to another – meaning that my badgers liked the idea and promptly hit me round the head with a loofah until I wrote this. (You really don't want to know why they have a loofah. Some things are best left a mystery...)
And yeah, it probably is a bit pointless, but it's just a bit of fun. Who knows? Maybe someone else will have a go and we can compare.
Episode titles are in bold capitals in case you were wondering. :P As always, special thanks to Moony my beta who has been teaching the boys some naughty language while I was on hiatus. I'll leave you all to read while I chase John and Rodney around with the swear jar.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Major John Sheppard groaned and immediately regretted it as he felt the nausea RISING in his throat. Flinging out a hand, he slammed it down on his battered alarm clock, cutting off the shrill noise. He forced himself to take a couple of steadying breaths before attempting to sit upright. Once the room stopped spinning, the young officer flung back the covers on his bed, swinging his legs over the side. His stomach nearly rebelled but he pushed it down as he staggered upright. Blinking to clear his fuzzy vision, he willed the lights in his room down a notch and moved across to his cabinet.
It was at that moment that his shin connected solidly with the skateboard propped up against his chair. Letting out a wail of agony, he clutched at his battered appendage, hopping around on one foot as the pain flared.
Unfortunately, he'd forgotten about the discarded bedding.
His frantic hops brought him into range of the sheets and his good foot got tangled up. With a startled yelp, he crashed to the floor. As soon as he'd gotten his breath back he launched into a tirade of bad language, the deeply personal curses he reserved for his own stupidity.
"Damn stupid bed, damn stupid sheets, ass hat, pigheaded, no good piece of sh..."
He'd been drinking last night with the rest of his team, and judging from how the room was defying the laws of physics, he'd had one too many. Staggering into his shower, he let the hot water wash away some of his aches, sighing contentedly as the urge to vomit up his internal organs passed. Athosian wine was not a good beverage to imbibe after drinking copious amounts of beer, he mused ruefully. The mere thought of alcohol triggered his nausea again so he pressed his head against the wall of the shower and breathed slowly until it subsided again.
He was never drinking ever again. Not even a small one, no way, no how, not even if someone was threatening to shoot him. As he stood under the running water, he made a promise to the deities that watched over the skies of the Pegasus Galaxy that not one more drop of alcohol would pass his lips. From this day forward, he was going tee-total.
Well, maybe he'd have a beer in a couple of days' time, once his hangover had abated...
As he dressed, he had a flash of a memory from the night before. The gang had gotten bored watching his football game, so Ford had suggested that they play HIDE AND SEEK. The Air Force man snorted, gingerly shaking his still throbbing head. He'd never really understood why alcohol made grown adults want to act like five year olds, but couldn't help the tingle of guilty pleasure at being allowed the chance to just unwind and kid around.
After they'd explained the rules to Teyla - Earth games weren't her strong suit - John and Rodney had ganged up on Aiden. They had explained that since he'd had the idea of playing in the first place, he had to be the one who was on 'seeking' duties. McKay had, amazingly, kept a completely straight face and done a fine job of acting superior and indignant while laying down the law to the Lieutenant. Next to him, John had treated the younger man to his 'I'm your commanding officer' glower and nodded savagely.
Ford hadn't stood a chance.
So, the young man had started to count (albeit woozily) and the others had fled to their hiding spots. Teyla had been the first to be discovered, having not realised in her slightly inebriated state that Aiden could see her legs sticking out from behind the sofa in the rec room. 38 MINUTES later, the pair found John crouched behind a cabinet, who had then proceeded to accuse them of cheating.
The fact that they'd heard him singing a medley of Johnny Cash songs loudly (and slightly off-key) hadn't even crossed his mind.
Unfortunately for the pilot, although Teyla wasn't as mentally sharp when drunk as when she was sober, she still had the ability to put the fear of God into him. And all she did was smile and ask Aiden if he'd seen her Bantos rods...
Needless to say, Sheppard had lost the argument. After pouting and sulking like a two year old for ten minutes, he gave up trying to win them over and agreed to help look for Rodney.
John smirked as he tied his shoes. The Canadian gave the impression of being useless in the field, but he certainly excelled at Hide and Seek. Eventually, after nearly an hour, they gave up and admitted defeat only to find Rodney curled up underneath one of the tables fast asleep. Although John hadn't wanted to wake his friend up, he knew that the physicist would spend the next week bitching about his back if they left him there.
Without warning, John's alarm clock burst into life again. He grunted and grabbed hold of the small machine, willing the little pixies in his head to quit their hammering for a minute. Repeatedly pushing the off button had no effect whatsoever, forcing the Major to resort to Plan B.
He pulled his arm back and threw the clock as hard as he could against his door.
The plan worked. In fact, it would've been a complete success if McKay hadn't chosen that particular moment to open the door to the pilot's quarters. The clock smacked him firmly in the face and John paled as he heard the sickening crunch of bones.
"Rodney!" he cried, vaulting over his bed to go to the aid of his geek.
McKay let out a pitiful moan as he sank to his knees, clutching his face. Tears of pain were spilling down his cheeks, mingling with the blood gushing from his nose.
"Hey, buddy, I'm really sorry," John said as he batted his pockets, trying to find a handkerchief to stop the bleeding. "I didn't mean to hit you."
"Ow, ow, ow," Rodney moaned, rocking slightly to try and ease the pain. "I dink you broke by dose!"
John pulled out his handkerchief with a flourish, kneeling down next to his friend and trying to pry his fingers away. "C'mon, let me see," he ordered gently.
"Uh-uh!" McKay snapped, his blue eyes full of SUSPICION. "You've done enough dabage already, tank you!"
"If it's any consolation, I was aiming for the door," Sheppard replied, pulling Rodney's hands away and inspecting the damage. "I didn't know you were gonna come in."
"Gibbe dat," Rodney snapped, tugging at the cloth. "I can do it byself!"
Knowing that he wouldn't win this battle, John relented and released his grip, watching as Rodney expertly balled the cloth up and tilted his head back. When the Canadian went pale and started to sway slightly, he grabbed hold of the man's shoulders. "Hey, I think you ought to go see the doc," he urged, not liking the way his team-mate was trembling under his grip. "That clock hit you pretty hard."
"Really? I didn't even dotice," Rodney shot back sarcastically, easing the growing knot of tension in John's chest. If McKay was making smart ass comments, he wasn't as badly off as it seemed. "And by the way, dat's the last timb I do anyone a favour." He allowed John to haul him to his feet and help him down the corridor.
"Who were you doing a favour for?" Sheppard asked as he deftly manoeuvred his friend along the relatively empty hallway. "And more importantly, what was it?"
"Elizabeth told be to comb get you," McKay replied weakly, blinking a bit. "You're late for dat cobband staff beeting."
The Air Force man pulled a face as he recalled Elizabeth reminding the senior staff members about the weekly meeting the day before. "Yeah," he said, drawing the word out guiltily, "guess I, uh, overslept a bit..."
Any reply from the pilot was lost as the boys pushed through the door into the Infirmary and came face to face with a very angry Carson Beckett.
"What in the name of God have you two done now?" he demanded, his face darkening. "Rodney, get your sorry bum over here and sit down while I take a look."
McKay did as he was told, giving John a glare that would have killed a Wraith. "I didn't do it!" he protested as the Scotsman started fussing and cleaning his now bloody face. "It was the Bajor's fault!"
"I'll deal with him in a minute, son," Carson replied darkly, shooting a black look at Sheppard over his shoulder. He gently began to rinse off the Canadian's face so that he could assess the damage that had been inflicted.
"I threw my alarm clock at the door," John began to explain. "Only Rodney walked in at the wrong time and it hit him instead..." He trailed off at the incredulous looks he received from his two friends. "I used to do it all the time when I was a kid," he added defensively. "Seriously, haven't either of you gotten pissed off with your alarm clocks?"
"Your CHILDHOOD'S something I hope you never share with be," Rodney grumbled, wincing as Beckett dabbed a particularly sore spot on his face. "OW!" he yelped, trying to jerk away. "Is there no END to your witch doctoring pain?!"
Carson clucked his tongue angrily, tugging McKay's face back around with a little more force than he intended. "If you kindly cease your whining, I'd be done a lot quicker," he growled.
"Wow, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning," John said, giving a low whistle. He flinched involuntarily as the doctor span around angrily. "Hey," he said, raising his hands in defence, "I didn't mean anything by it." He tilted his head, his boyish features full of concern. "Seriously, doc, you okay?"
"Aye, lad, I'm fine," Carson replied with a weary sigh. "Just bloody knackered. I was up until three trying to patch up Sergeant Stackhouse."
The boys exchanged a look. "Wasn't he in for some kind of nasty stomach bug?" Rodney asked nervously.
"Yes he was, and no, it's not contagious."
"I wasn't even thinking it."
Beckett snorted a laugh as he placed an ice pack in the scientist's hands. "Put that on your face while I find you some painkillers," he ordered.
"Is Stackhouse okay?" John asked, glancing around the ward as if he might spot the soldier sticking out of a body bag.
"He's going to be fine, Major," came the slightly muffled reply – Carson had his head stuck in the medical cabinet, rooting around for some pills. "Let's just say that he's learnt his lesson." He reappeared holding the bottle of Tylenol triumphantly. "It's the last time he'll drink the local water while off-world." A mischievous grin crossed his face. "Brings a whole new meaning to the phrase POISONING THE WELL, eh?"
John sniggered as he moved across to Rodney, placing a hand on his geek's shoulder. "How're you feeling, buddy?" he asked.
"Like I got smacked in the face with an inanimate object," Rodney replied, but his crooked grin took the heat out of his words. "Next time you're gonna try out for the shot-put, give a man some warning, okay?"
"Right, you," Carson said, placing the pill bottle in McKay's free hand. "Two of these every four to six hours as needed, keep that ice on for as long as possible and come straight back if you feel dizzy or nauseous. Got it?"
"Off you go then. And keep out of mischief!" he called to their retreating backs.
LOL! My flatmate actually did this to me once and yes, it hurt like hell. *sad face for Rodney* Next chapter up soon!