SGA fic: One of Those Days
Mar. 14th, 2006 08:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
auntiemeeshThis was written for the Chef Challenge Surprise, over at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
the_recroom.
Prompt: Stargate Atlantis: The copy machine jams, the water cooler falls over, everyone has a stomach bug, the lunch special has the word "surprise" at the end of it, and Atlantis is expecting a hurricane.
Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit from any of this.
Betaed by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eve11
One of Those Days
“Do you want good news or bad news first?” Dr. Zelenka asked, spinning around in his chair to look up at Dr. Weir, who had just entered the lab.
Weir’s first impulse was to comment on the likelihood of any news around here being good, but thought better of it. She was having a less than perfect day, starting with her shower turning ice cold approximately thirty seconds after she stepped into it, Kavanagh hunting her down to complain about the way she worded her report on his most recent work on the jumpers, and nearly falling down the stairs to the gate room while speaking with Major Lorne. It wouldn’t be fair to take that out on Zelenka, however, who was only doing his job, even if he was going to be delivering bad news any second. “Good news first,” she replied after she was sure her knee-jerk reaction was under control.
“We have meteorology up and running,” Zelenka stated with a grin. The scientists had found a complex computer system several days ago that they’d decided was for meteorological purposes but which they had so far been unable to make do anything other than report weather that had happened between six months and ten thousand years ago.
“That’s wonderful news, Radek,” Weir answered, smiling at the Czech’s enthusiasm. “Now, what’s the bad news?”
“Oh, yes, bad news is, there’s a hurricane heading our way. Not super hurricane,” he added hastily as Weir’s face paled. “No twenty year storm this time, just normal hurricane, and it is still several days out.”
Oh well, then, Weir thought to herself, just a normal hurricane. Nothing to worry about. “How much will it deplete the ZPM to power the shield during the storm?”
“Enough that McKay will make small, whiny noises and wave hands around,” the scientist answered cheerfully, “but really, ZPM will still last maybe close to half a century.”
“Alright, then.” Weir nodded in understanding. “When do you expect the storm to hit?”
Zelenka looked at the screen in front of him for several minutes, muttering to himself in Czech, before turning back to Weir. “Now we have meteorology station running, we should get meteorologist, yes?”
“I’ll take that into consideration,” she answered wryly. “In the meantime, I’d like an ETA as soon as possible, as well as a projected path. Is it going to hit the mainland anywhere near the Athosian settlement? If so, we’ll need to offer them the use of the city until it passes.” And hope it doesn’t destroy their crops, which are only a few weeks from harvest, she didn’t add.
With a nod of farewell, she left the lab, stopping by the mess hall on her way back to her office. She wasn’t particularly hungry right now, but by the time she was ready to eat, her options would likely be a tasteless MRE or what the cook of the day had, rather frighteningly, labeled Athosian/Klingon Surprise. Elizabeth had a gruesome image dancing in her mind of those wriggling worm things the Klingons always seemed to be eating, encased in a shell of the bitter ‘bread’ the Athosians seemed to love so much. It was much better to load up a tray now, while there were still other options, and take it to her office for later.
Fifteen minutes later she was in her office, a tray with a covered plate of something closely resembling (without actually being remotely like) spaghetti and meatballs, a small leafy salad, and a large chocolate chip cookie (with real chocolate) sitting to one side of her desk, awaiting her attention. The large thermos of coffee she’d also acquired in the mess hall was already being put to good use, fresh coffee steaming in the metal mug she cradled in one hand while she pecked at her keyboard with the other, making occasional changes to the reports she was preparing.
***
Sheppard made an effort to stifle his laughter as he stepped through wormhole and into Atlantis, but it bubbled out again as he caught sight of Ronon, the large warrior wearing nothing but several strategically placed chains of flowers and leaves, and a scowl. The Kolerians had insisted on ‘honoring’ the ex-runner because he bore a striking resemblance to their most holy and revered founding ancestor, whose likeness was on prominent display in their town center. Why it was necessary for Ronon to be, for all intents and purposes naked in order to receive this ‘honor’ had remained unclear, but the Kolerians had been adamant.
Rodney was laughing as well, as he practically skipped through the event horizon half a step behind Sheppard. Teyla, just behind the scientist, had managed to refrain from outright laughter, but the amusement in her eyes was readily apparent. Once all of his team was through and the gate shut down, Sheppard handed Ronon’s clothing back to the large, glowering man, and waved up to Elizabeth, who was staring down at them from the control room’s balcony.
“Anything I should know before the debriefing, Colonel?” she asked, visibly pulling her eyes away from the Satedan.
“Nah,” Sheppard said with a slight shake of his head. “Pretty standard meet and greet.”
“Very well, gentlemen, Teyla. Debriefing in an hour. That should give you plenty of time to get cleared by Carson and grab something to eat. I’m sure there will still be some Athosian/Klingon Surprise left for you.”
Twenty minutes later Carson declared them all healthy as far as he could see. Ronon had taken the opportunity to rid himself of his floral arrangements and was in a much better mood now that he was once again encased in his scruffy leathers. Feeling pleased with themselves over the accomplishment of a successful mission in which nothing even remotely disastrous had happened, the team headed to the mess hall.
McKay, who had managed to position himself first in line, eyed the food bins worriedly. Most of them were empty of all but a few sad scraps, but the one labeled Athosian/Klingon Surprise was still covered. Possibly, no one had been brave enough to even investigate it. McKay lifted the lid gingerly, then turned to Sheppard with a smug grin. “I told you,” he crowed, “give it a gruesome enough name and no one will come within twenty feet of it.”
“Yes, you did, Rodney,” Sheppard answered, amused at the astrophysicist’s glee. He hoped the lasagna was as good as it looked, because he’d had to promise Sgt. Milton, the cook on duty, the use of his boogie board for the next three free days in order to get the man to willingly hide his best recipe away like that.
The team had just settled down at an empty table in the back of the room when Dr. Zelenka came storming in, hands and forehead liberally smeared with black smudges. Catching sight of them, he veered over to their table. “McKay,” he said in a restrained shout, before letting loose a burst of Czech. After a moment, he reined himself in and started over in rapid English. Sheppard, admittedly only listening with half his attention, made out something about stupid sheep, Dr. Simpson, and a jammed copier.
“Wait a minute,” he said, suddenly sitting up straighter, “since when do we have a photocopier here? We don’t even use paper.”
McKay gifted him with a withering glare before turning his attention back to Zelenka and spouting off a string of gibberish that seemed to appease the other scientist. Zelenka nodded a few times, made a few more comments, and then wandered out of the mess hall in the direction of his lab.
“McKay?” Sheppard drawled in that tone that meant he wanted an answer, now please. “What are you doing with a photocopier?”
“Oh for Christ’s sake, Colonel,” McKay snapped, “it’s not a photocopier. We found an Ancient device that we think functions similarly to our copiers, in a room that seems to contain pieces of equipment that had become obsolete for the Ancients. It’s quite interesting, actually,” Rodney’s eyes gleamed and Sheppard moved to intercept before his scientist could get started on a long and not at all interesting explanation of how exactly this thing that he was calling a copier wasn’t even the least bit like an earth photocopier.
“Time to go, boys and girls,” he said, gathering his tray. “We don’t want Elizabeth to think we’ve stood her up, now do we?”
***
The not-spaghetti had not been good. Weir grimaced as she pushed the remainder of her meal to one side. Maybe it would have been better if it hadn’t been sitting on her desk for the better part of three hours before she got around to eating it, but she suspected the fault was in the ingredients rather than the delay. She drank down the last of her coffee in an attempt to wash away the taste, and then gathered up her laptop and headed for the conference room to meet with Sheppard’s team.
She arrived just ahead of them and they all settled in around the table together. The meeting was short, the mission having been surprisingly uneventful, aside from Ronon’s fashion show. Sheppard confirmed that the inhabitants of MX2-365, were genial folks, if slightly over-impressed with Ronon’s supposed resemblance to their revered ancestor, and that they had expressed a willingness to trade basic foodstuffs with the Atlanteans in exchange for simple medicines and some textiles that Teyla’s people would provide.
“Do your people have enough textiles to spare, Teyla?” Weir asked, keenly aware that the Athosian lifestyle had been drastically altered since losing their home to the Wraith a year and a half ago.
“As you know, Dr. Weir,” Teyla began, “Colonel Sheppard has taken several of my people back to Athos on a number of trips. We have salvaged more of our stockpiled goods than was originally thought likely. We are able to spare the fabric in the cause of good relations with the Kolerians.”
“That’s excellent news, Teyla.” After a few more comments about the Kolerians, Weir brought the team up to speed on the approaching hurricane, now estimated to arrive within the next three to four days.
“Great, that’s just great,” McKay griped, “now we can look forward to being destroyed, not by the Wraith, but by the forces of nature. It’s only a matter of time before the ZPM runs dry and then the next storm that comes through will wipe us out.”
“McKay, breathe!” Sheppard ordered. “I’m sure that when the time comes, you’ll find some brilliant, genius way to save us all, which I’m equally certain you’ll never allow us to forget.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure you’re right.” McKay relaxed back into his seat, apparently willing to let Sheppard mollify him.
Teyla had several questions concerning how the hurricane would affect the settlement on the mainland and Weir gave her as much information as Zelenka had been able to glean from the system, which still wasn’t much. “He informed me quite firmly that meteorology isn’t even close to his specialty and if I want accurate information, I should hire myself a weatherman.” She grinned. “I think he’s been spending too much time with you, Rodney.”
Standing, she indicated the meeting was over. “And now, if you’ll pardon me, I have some reports to finish before tomorrow’s data burst. John,” she added as an afterthought, “please make sure I get your mission report by 0900 tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sheppard drawled, somehow not jumping immediately to his feet to get started on it. It would be late, she knew, but it would be done well, despite his aversion to paper work, and it would be only a little late, still in plenty of time to add to the data burst. He was surprisingly reliable in that regard.
***
Sheppard sighed and rubbed at tired eyes. It had probably been a mistake to join the poker game going on in one of the common rooms. It was now well after midnight and he’d only just started the damn mission report. Not to mention that he’d lost a sure bet to Rodney, who was a better bluffer than he had any right to be. He was going to be spending the better part of tomorrow as a lab monkey in consequence, turning things on and off for the scientists.
Forcing his concentration back to the task at hand, he typed up the report as succinctly as he could, doing his best to ignore a sudden sourness in his stomach. By the time he’d finished the damn thing and sent it off to Dr. Weir, he was feeling flushed, with an icy sweat that spelled no good. Lurching to his feet, he only just barely made it to the head before puking rather spectacularly.
When the heaves finally stopped several minutes later, he weakly splashed some water on his face, rinsed his mouth out, and crawled into bed, hoping against hope that he was done with whatever had triggered that.
No such luck. He was up again three more times before morning. He lingered in his spot on the floor by the toilet bowl after the last bout, debating the merits of dragging himself back to his bed where he could rest in at least relative comfort until the next time versus saving himself the trouble and just resting here. Yeah, he thought to himself, time to hit the infirmary. He didn’t relish the idea of moving, but hopefully Beckett would give him something to ease things a bit.
He closed his eyes as he dragged himself to his feet, riding out a wave of movement induced nausea before lurching down the hall to the, thankfully very close, transport chamber. Staggering into the infirmary a short time later, he felt a grim sort of amusement at the sight of several others clearly suffering from the same complaint, including McKay and Elizabeth.
“This is all your fault, Rodney,” he hissed before turning to Dr. Weir. “Don’t tell me you ate the lasa…um, Athosian/Klingon Surprise, too, Elizabeth,” he finished lamely, as McKay shot him a vaguely green-tinged death glare.
“Spaghetti,” Weir offered faintly before cocking her head curiously. “Did you just say lasagna, John? I don’t remember that being one of the choices today.”
“Um,” he answered eloquently, “no, no, Athosian/Klingon Surprise, Elizabeth. This bug must be affecting your hearing. You should have Beckett check that out while you’re here.” Not a very good lie, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.
Weir clearly had more to say on the subject, but Beckett chose that moment to turn his attention to their little group. “You too, Colonel?” he asked in a harried tone as he spied Sheppard supporting himself against the doorframe. “Well, come on in, there should be an open bed over there somewhere.” He waved rather vaguely towards the back of the infirmary and returned his attention to a pale looking nurse.
Sheppard wandered through the room, finally finding a free bed near the back wall. He collapsed onto it gratefully, only to bolt upright a moment later, grabbing an emesis basin just in time. “Ugh,” he groaned as he lay back down once he’d finished.
He must have slipped into a doze then, because he was startled when something poked him in the ear.
“Just checking your temperature, Colonel,” he heard Beckett murmur soothingly. He cracked his eyes open but otherwise didn’t move as the doctor continued. “Only slightly elevated. What time did your symptoms start?”
“’Bout one, or so,” Sheppard mumbled, not feeling particularly chatty.
“Well, you’re in luck then,” Beckett answered. “The nausea seems to be lasting about six to eight hours, and you’re nearly to the end of that. Just rest here until your stomach’s calmed down a bit. Then one of the nurses will see you get some Tylenol and you’ll be able to sleep the fever off in your own room. You should be up and around again by this evening.”
With a promise to have a nurse bring him a clean basin, and a reassuring pat on the arm, Beckett shuffled off to his next patient and Sheppard closed his eyes again, trying not to move at all. Just as he was drifting off to sleep, he heard a crash and what sounded like water swooshing across the floor.
“Dammit, Rodney, why aren’t you in bed?” he heard Beckett shout irritably.
“I wanted some water,” McKay whined, and Sheppard could imagine the look on the scientist’s face. “I was thirsty and none of your vastly incompetent nurses would help me.”
He heard Beckett sigh heavily before speaking again. “Fine, Rodney, I’ll have one of the nurses, all of whom are entirely competent, bring you some water. Then I think you’ll be ready to return to your own quarters.” As the doctor walked away, Sheppard thought he could hear him mumble something about not really needing that water cooler anyway. His lips twitched in the smallest of smiles as he drifted off.
***
Dr. Beckett’s timeline was remarkably accurate, Sheppard mused that evening as he stepped out of the shower. He had lain in bed feeling thoroughly rotten most of the day, but the fever had broken several hours ago and he was finally starting to feel semi-human again. It seemed that Sgt. Milton’s girlfriend, one of the botanists, had picked up a virulent and fast-hitting stomach bug off-planet and shared it with Milton, who then shared it with nearly everyone who’d eaten in the mess hall yesterday. Fun times.
Before collapsing back into his bed, Sheppard made the rounds of his people and stopped in at Weir’s office, unsurprised to find her there, looking pale and tired.
“Feeling better?” he asked, sinking uninvited into an empty chair.
“Mostly,” she grimaced, “although it’ll be awhile before I eat spaghetti again. You?”
“I’m fine,” he replied, ignoring the weakness that still quivered at the edges of his awareness. “Just making sure there are enough able bodies to man the security details and confirming that Atlantis isn’t going to fall apart before morning. As soon as I’m done here, I’m turning in.”
“Good. I’m nearly done here, myself.”
Sheppard nodded and stood but hadn’t gone more than two feet before Weir spoke again.
“Oh, one thing. I know how disappointed you must be that you didn’t get to help the science department today, so I’ve scheduled you for two days of ‘lab monkeying’ I believe you call it, tomorrow and the next day. And John, I know that next time you and Rodney conspire to save all the good food for yourselves, you'll be sure to cut me in."
Sheppard winced, then nodded, knowing when he was bested. "'Night, Elizabeth." Yep, just another day in the Pegasus Galaxy.
the_recroom. Prompt: Stargate Atlantis: The copy machine jams, the water cooler falls over, everyone has a stomach bug, the lunch special has the word "surprise" at the end of it, and Atlantis is expecting a hurricane.
Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit from any of this.
Betaed by
eve11One of Those Days
“Do you want good news or bad news first?” Dr. Zelenka asked, spinning around in his chair to look up at Dr. Weir, who had just entered the lab.
Weir’s first impulse was to comment on the likelihood of any news around here being good, but thought better of it. She was having a less than perfect day, starting with her shower turning ice cold approximately thirty seconds after she stepped into it, Kavanagh hunting her down to complain about the way she worded her report on his most recent work on the jumpers, and nearly falling down the stairs to the gate room while speaking with Major Lorne. It wouldn’t be fair to take that out on Zelenka, however, who was only doing his job, even if he was going to be delivering bad news any second. “Good news first,” she replied after she was sure her knee-jerk reaction was under control.
“We have meteorology up and running,” Zelenka stated with a grin. The scientists had found a complex computer system several days ago that they’d decided was for meteorological purposes but which they had so far been unable to make do anything other than report weather that had happened between six months and ten thousand years ago.
“That’s wonderful news, Radek,” Weir answered, smiling at the Czech’s enthusiasm. “Now, what’s the bad news?”
“Oh, yes, bad news is, there’s a hurricane heading our way. Not super hurricane,” he added hastily as Weir’s face paled. “No twenty year storm this time, just normal hurricane, and it is still several days out.”
Oh well, then, Weir thought to herself, just a normal hurricane. Nothing to worry about. “How much will it deplete the ZPM to power the shield during the storm?”
“Enough that McKay will make small, whiny noises and wave hands around,” the scientist answered cheerfully, “but really, ZPM will still last maybe close to half a century.”
“Alright, then.” Weir nodded in understanding. “When do you expect the storm to hit?”
Zelenka looked at the screen in front of him for several minutes, muttering to himself in Czech, before turning back to Weir. “Now we have meteorology station running, we should get meteorologist, yes?”
“I’ll take that into consideration,” she answered wryly. “In the meantime, I’d like an ETA as soon as possible, as well as a projected path. Is it going to hit the mainland anywhere near the Athosian settlement? If so, we’ll need to offer them the use of the city until it passes.” And hope it doesn’t destroy their crops, which are only a few weeks from harvest, she didn’t add.
With a nod of farewell, she left the lab, stopping by the mess hall on her way back to her office. She wasn’t particularly hungry right now, but by the time she was ready to eat, her options would likely be a tasteless MRE or what the cook of the day had, rather frighteningly, labeled Athosian/Klingon Surprise. Elizabeth had a gruesome image dancing in her mind of those wriggling worm things the Klingons always seemed to be eating, encased in a shell of the bitter ‘bread’ the Athosians seemed to love so much. It was much better to load up a tray now, while there were still other options, and take it to her office for later.
Fifteen minutes later she was in her office, a tray with a covered plate of something closely resembling (without actually being remotely like) spaghetti and meatballs, a small leafy salad, and a large chocolate chip cookie (with real chocolate) sitting to one side of her desk, awaiting her attention. The large thermos of coffee she’d also acquired in the mess hall was already being put to good use, fresh coffee steaming in the metal mug she cradled in one hand while she pecked at her keyboard with the other, making occasional changes to the reports she was preparing.
***
Sheppard made an effort to stifle his laughter as he stepped through wormhole and into Atlantis, but it bubbled out again as he caught sight of Ronon, the large warrior wearing nothing but several strategically placed chains of flowers and leaves, and a scowl. The Kolerians had insisted on ‘honoring’ the ex-runner because he bore a striking resemblance to their most holy and revered founding ancestor, whose likeness was on prominent display in their town center. Why it was necessary for Ronon to be, for all intents and purposes naked in order to receive this ‘honor’ had remained unclear, but the Kolerians had been adamant.
Rodney was laughing as well, as he practically skipped through the event horizon half a step behind Sheppard. Teyla, just behind the scientist, had managed to refrain from outright laughter, but the amusement in her eyes was readily apparent. Once all of his team was through and the gate shut down, Sheppard handed Ronon’s clothing back to the large, glowering man, and waved up to Elizabeth, who was staring down at them from the control room’s balcony.
“Anything I should know before the debriefing, Colonel?” she asked, visibly pulling her eyes away from the Satedan.
“Nah,” Sheppard said with a slight shake of his head. “Pretty standard meet and greet.”
“Very well, gentlemen, Teyla. Debriefing in an hour. That should give you plenty of time to get cleared by Carson and grab something to eat. I’m sure there will still be some Athosian/Klingon Surprise left for you.”
Twenty minutes later Carson declared them all healthy as far as he could see. Ronon had taken the opportunity to rid himself of his floral arrangements and was in a much better mood now that he was once again encased in his scruffy leathers. Feeling pleased with themselves over the accomplishment of a successful mission in which nothing even remotely disastrous had happened, the team headed to the mess hall.
McKay, who had managed to position himself first in line, eyed the food bins worriedly. Most of them were empty of all but a few sad scraps, but the one labeled Athosian/Klingon Surprise was still covered. Possibly, no one had been brave enough to even investigate it. McKay lifted the lid gingerly, then turned to Sheppard with a smug grin. “I told you,” he crowed, “give it a gruesome enough name and no one will come within twenty feet of it.”
“Yes, you did, Rodney,” Sheppard answered, amused at the astrophysicist’s glee. He hoped the lasagna was as good as it looked, because he’d had to promise Sgt. Milton, the cook on duty, the use of his boogie board for the next three free days in order to get the man to willingly hide his best recipe away like that.
The team had just settled down at an empty table in the back of the room when Dr. Zelenka came storming in, hands and forehead liberally smeared with black smudges. Catching sight of them, he veered over to their table. “McKay,” he said in a restrained shout, before letting loose a burst of Czech. After a moment, he reined himself in and started over in rapid English. Sheppard, admittedly only listening with half his attention, made out something about stupid sheep, Dr. Simpson, and a jammed copier.
“Wait a minute,” he said, suddenly sitting up straighter, “since when do we have a photocopier here? We don’t even use paper.”
McKay gifted him with a withering glare before turning his attention back to Zelenka and spouting off a string of gibberish that seemed to appease the other scientist. Zelenka nodded a few times, made a few more comments, and then wandered out of the mess hall in the direction of his lab.
“McKay?” Sheppard drawled in that tone that meant he wanted an answer, now please. “What are you doing with a photocopier?”
“Oh for Christ’s sake, Colonel,” McKay snapped, “it’s not a photocopier. We found an Ancient device that we think functions similarly to our copiers, in a room that seems to contain pieces of equipment that had become obsolete for the Ancients. It’s quite interesting, actually,” Rodney’s eyes gleamed and Sheppard moved to intercept before his scientist could get started on a long and not at all interesting explanation of how exactly this thing that he was calling a copier wasn’t even the least bit like an earth photocopier.
“Time to go, boys and girls,” he said, gathering his tray. “We don’t want Elizabeth to think we’ve stood her up, now do we?”
***
The not-spaghetti had not been good. Weir grimaced as she pushed the remainder of her meal to one side. Maybe it would have been better if it hadn’t been sitting on her desk for the better part of three hours before she got around to eating it, but she suspected the fault was in the ingredients rather than the delay. She drank down the last of her coffee in an attempt to wash away the taste, and then gathered up her laptop and headed for the conference room to meet with Sheppard’s team.
She arrived just ahead of them and they all settled in around the table together. The meeting was short, the mission having been surprisingly uneventful, aside from Ronon’s fashion show. Sheppard confirmed that the inhabitants of MX2-365, were genial folks, if slightly over-impressed with Ronon’s supposed resemblance to their revered ancestor, and that they had expressed a willingness to trade basic foodstuffs with the Atlanteans in exchange for simple medicines and some textiles that Teyla’s people would provide.
“Do your people have enough textiles to spare, Teyla?” Weir asked, keenly aware that the Athosian lifestyle had been drastically altered since losing their home to the Wraith a year and a half ago.
“As you know, Dr. Weir,” Teyla began, “Colonel Sheppard has taken several of my people back to Athos on a number of trips. We have salvaged more of our stockpiled goods than was originally thought likely. We are able to spare the fabric in the cause of good relations with the Kolerians.”
“That’s excellent news, Teyla.” After a few more comments about the Kolerians, Weir brought the team up to speed on the approaching hurricane, now estimated to arrive within the next three to four days.
“Great, that’s just great,” McKay griped, “now we can look forward to being destroyed, not by the Wraith, but by the forces of nature. It’s only a matter of time before the ZPM runs dry and then the next storm that comes through will wipe us out.”
“McKay, breathe!” Sheppard ordered. “I’m sure that when the time comes, you’ll find some brilliant, genius way to save us all, which I’m equally certain you’ll never allow us to forget.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure you’re right.” McKay relaxed back into his seat, apparently willing to let Sheppard mollify him.
Teyla had several questions concerning how the hurricane would affect the settlement on the mainland and Weir gave her as much information as Zelenka had been able to glean from the system, which still wasn’t much. “He informed me quite firmly that meteorology isn’t even close to his specialty and if I want accurate information, I should hire myself a weatherman.” She grinned. “I think he’s been spending too much time with you, Rodney.”
Standing, she indicated the meeting was over. “And now, if you’ll pardon me, I have some reports to finish before tomorrow’s data burst. John,” she added as an afterthought, “please make sure I get your mission report by 0900 tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sheppard drawled, somehow not jumping immediately to his feet to get started on it. It would be late, she knew, but it would be done well, despite his aversion to paper work, and it would be only a little late, still in plenty of time to add to the data burst. He was surprisingly reliable in that regard.
***
Sheppard sighed and rubbed at tired eyes. It had probably been a mistake to join the poker game going on in one of the common rooms. It was now well after midnight and he’d only just started the damn mission report. Not to mention that he’d lost a sure bet to Rodney, who was a better bluffer than he had any right to be. He was going to be spending the better part of tomorrow as a lab monkey in consequence, turning things on and off for the scientists.
Forcing his concentration back to the task at hand, he typed up the report as succinctly as he could, doing his best to ignore a sudden sourness in his stomach. By the time he’d finished the damn thing and sent it off to Dr. Weir, he was feeling flushed, with an icy sweat that spelled no good. Lurching to his feet, he only just barely made it to the head before puking rather spectacularly.
When the heaves finally stopped several minutes later, he weakly splashed some water on his face, rinsed his mouth out, and crawled into bed, hoping against hope that he was done with whatever had triggered that.
No such luck. He was up again three more times before morning. He lingered in his spot on the floor by the toilet bowl after the last bout, debating the merits of dragging himself back to his bed where he could rest in at least relative comfort until the next time versus saving himself the trouble and just resting here. Yeah, he thought to himself, time to hit the infirmary. He didn’t relish the idea of moving, but hopefully Beckett would give him something to ease things a bit.
He closed his eyes as he dragged himself to his feet, riding out a wave of movement induced nausea before lurching down the hall to the, thankfully very close, transport chamber. Staggering into the infirmary a short time later, he felt a grim sort of amusement at the sight of several others clearly suffering from the same complaint, including McKay and Elizabeth.
“This is all your fault, Rodney,” he hissed before turning to Dr. Weir. “Don’t tell me you ate the lasa…um, Athosian/Klingon Surprise, too, Elizabeth,” he finished lamely, as McKay shot him a vaguely green-tinged death glare.
“Spaghetti,” Weir offered faintly before cocking her head curiously. “Did you just say lasagna, John? I don’t remember that being one of the choices today.”
“Um,” he answered eloquently, “no, no, Athosian/Klingon Surprise, Elizabeth. This bug must be affecting your hearing. You should have Beckett check that out while you’re here.” Not a very good lie, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.
Weir clearly had more to say on the subject, but Beckett chose that moment to turn his attention to their little group. “You too, Colonel?” he asked in a harried tone as he spied Sheppard supporting himself against the doorframe. “Well, come on in, there should be an open bed over there somewhere.” He waved rather vaguely towards the back of the infirmary and returned his attention to a pale looking nurse.
Sheppard wandered through the room, finally finding a free bed near the back wall. He collapsed onto it gratefully, only to bolt upright a moment later, grabbing an emesis basin just in time. “Ugh,” he groaned as he lay back down once he’d finished.
He must have slipped into a doze then, because he was startled when something poked him in the ear.
“Just checking your temperature, Colonel,” he heard Beckett murmur soothingly. He cracked his eyes open but otherwise didn’t move as the doctor continued. “Only slightly elevated. What time did your symptoms start?”
“’Bout one, or so,” Sheppard mumbled, not feeling particularly chatty.
“Well, you’re in luck then,” Beckett answered. “The nausea seems to be lasting about six to eight hours, and you’re nearly to the end of that. Just rest here until your stomach’s calmed down a bit. Then one of the nurses will see you get some Tylenol and you’ll be able to sleep the fever off in your own room. You should be up and around again by this evening.”
With a promise to have a nurse bring him a clean basin, and a reassuring pat on the arm, Beckett shuffled off to his next patient and Sheppard closed his eyes again, trying not to move at all. Just as he was drifting off to sleep, he heard a crash and what sounded like water swooshing across the floor.
“Dammit, Rodney, why aren’t you in bed?” he heard Beckett shout irritably.
“I wanted some water,” McKay whined, and Sheppard could imagine the look on the scientist’s face. “I was thirsty and none of your vastly incompetent nurses would help me.”
He heard Beckett sigh heavily before speaking again. “Fine, Rodney, I’ll have one of the nurses, all of whom are entirely competent, bring you some water. Then I think you’ll be ready to return to your own quarters.” As the doctor walked away, Sheppard thought he could hear him mumble something about not really needing that water cooler anyway. His lips twitched in the smallest of smiles as he drifted off.
***
Dr. Beckett’s timeline was remarkably accurate, Sheppard mused that evening as he stepped out of the shower. He had lain in bed feeling thoroughly rotten most of the day, but the fever had broken several hours ago and he was finally starting to feel semi-human again. It seemed that Sgt. Milton’s girlfriend, one of the botanists, had picked up a virulent and fast-hitting stomach bug off-planet and shared it with Milton, who then shared it with nearly everyone who’d eaten in the mess hall yesterday. Fun times.
Before collapsing back into his bed, Sheppard made the rounds of his people and stopped in at Weir’s office, unsurprised to find her there, looking pale and tired.
“Feeling better?” he asked, sinking uninvited into an empty chair.
“Mostly,” she grimaced, “although it’ll be awhile before I eat spaghetti again. You?”
“I’m fine,” he replied, ignoring the weakness that still quivered at the edges of his awareness. “Just making sure there are enough able bodies to man the security details and confirming that Atlantis isn’t going to fall apart before morning. As soon as I’m done here, I’m turning in.”
“Good. I’m nearly done here, myself.”
Sheppard nodded and stood but hadn’t gone more than two feet before Weir spoke again.
“Oh, one thing. I know how disappointed you must be that you didn’t get to help the science department today, so I’ve scheduled you for two days of ‘lab monkeying’ I believe you call it, tomorrow and the next day. And John, I know that next time you and Rodney conspire to save all the good food for yourselves, you'll be sure to cut me in."
Sheppard winced, then nodded, knowing when he was bested. "'Night, Elizabeth." Yep, just another day in the Pegasus Galaxy.
