Chapter 6:

Spoilers: Suspicion, Trinity and Critical Mass, maybe others.

Beta: J.A.B. – but any remaining mistakes are my own.

A/N: Any resemblance to actual medical procedure is purely by accident.

No, this is the same fic, just bear with me.

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It was good to get away from their duties, especially training the new personnel in Atlantis. This trip to the Mainland was just the thing to ease their headaches and give two of the top people in the city a chance to worry about nothing more than getting the next batch of medicine to Teyla's village.

"I swear they're doing it just to screw with me," said Rodney from the co-pilot's seat, his hands full with his computer as he tapped away. The typing was accompanied by little 'huh' noises from the scientist.

From the pilot's control, Sheppard was kicked back in his chair and using minimal contact to fly the Puddle Jumper, relaxation written all over his body. "Rodney, just lighten up. This is a mini-vacation—remember? Absolutely no shop talk."

Rodney didn't reply to the 'no shop talk' comment as he kept his eyes on his computer screen. "I mean, what does it sound like to you? Every time I leave them alone to finish a project and come back, I find them huddled in a corner and giggling. They're screwing with me, the flying monkeys."

John heaved a sigh and shook his head in exasperation. Then he shot out a hand and jabbed at the window frantically. "Oh, look Rodney, an actual flying monkey! Right there!"

There was no response from McKay, just the clackity-clackity of computer keys.

"And it's carrying a ZPM covered in chocolate," wheedled John in a higher voice.

Rodney's head came up with a snap. "What? A chocolate covered ZedPM? What are you going on about?" However, McKay was finally looking away from his computer and out at the beautiful sky.

It was perfect weather—for flying monkeys or Puddle Jumpers.

"You work too hard," snorted John as he adjusted their flight path to circle the coast of the Mainland to take in the gentle waves, bright beaches and clear blue water.

"Working relaxes me," whined McKay. "What do you want me to do, put on a Hawaiian shirt, drink fruity drinks and sing 'Don't Worry, Be Happy' until I pass out?"

"That would be a start, we only have four hours. Time's a wasting."

Rodney put down his computer next to his co-pilot's chair. "Fine, I'm stopping. This is me—stopping." It took all of three second for the scientist to start tapping his fingers on his seat in agitation. "It's just—"

John bowed his head in defeat to the McKay workaholic ethic.

"It's just that Mawyer is driving me nuts. She never lets me look her work over on her computer. She always prints it out. That's just . . . just a waste of paper!"

"Maybe she just likes to keep her computer private," said John with a raised eyebrow. "You don't like sharing either. I remember that time Zelenka tried to—"

"Okay, okay! So I don't like to share, but I'm the boss . . . the big cheese . . . the head honcho. I'm the one that gets to snap my fingers and have my way. Not anyone else. You know how long it took me to get to where I am today? Years." McKay made a harrumphing noise. "I've earned the right to snap my fingers at a few flying lab monkeys."

"I bet your monkeys want to snap something else of yours," muttered Sheppard.

"What?"

"Nothing," said John in a falsely cheerful voice and raised eyebrows of innocence.

"And all the giggling in the corner with the other females. I swear, it's starting to make me paranoid."

"Like you weren't already?"

"Shut up, Colonel," huffed McKay. "Are we there yet?"

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There was a sharp smell and then a pain on his left cheek. A sound reverberated in his head, like the sound of a slap, but he couldn't tell at the moment.

"Colonel?" asked Carson Beckett's voice. It was worried and tense, but trying to stay calm. For a moment, the voice blended with McKay's, and Sheppard was still in the Puddle Jumper talking about Mawyer and giggling.

"Colonel, are you there?" asked Beckett, his brogue deep.

Sheppard opened his eyes, surprised that they had been closed. "What's . . . going on?" He felt a trickle of water and reached up shakily to find that his forehead was soaked with sweat. His face felt flushed, especially on the left side.

A cool cloth touched his face and he almost closed his eyes again at the fantastic feeling as it wiped away his warm sweat.

John could hear pacing and growling, but he was too disorientated to figure out what was happening around him, just to lie on his bed and try to regain his strength.

"I'm not sure, Colonel. We left you a moment while you were testing the H.U.D. and Ronon came back and noticed you were unresponsive. We had to take some . . . measures to get you back. We've called Rodney. He's on his way right now."

On cue, Rodney burst into the infirmary, gasping for air. As soon as he crossed the infirmary threshold, he stood for a moment with his hands on his knees, heaving from the run from his labs. "Is . . . he awake yet?"

When Beckett didn't answer right away, Rodney hung his head. "Oh, god . . . I've killed him."

Beckett looked away from John's drained face to look at the keyed up scientist. "Now, calm down, the lot of ya. Rodney, he's not dead, just dead tired. And Ronon, you need to stop pacing before you wear a hole in the floor, lad."

Sheppard slowly turned his head to see a scowling Ronon walking back and forth with a piece of the H.U.D. held tightly in his right hand. The part was trialing wires on the floor as he moved.

Rodney noticed at the same time. "Oh, what did you do, you Neanderthal?" He reached out and snatched the piece away from the fuming warrior. "This is a very important piece! I can't replace this without—"

"Sheppard wouldn't wake up until I pulled it out, scientist," Ronon sneered the last word as he loomed over Rodney's shorter form.

Rodney pushed back from Ronon, finally noticing the heated glare as he took his eyes from the destroyed H.U.D. part. He stumbled into a quick retreat to the other side of Sheppard's bed.

"Rodney," whispered Sheppard. "The Jumper. . . Mawyer . . ."

Beckett leaned in closer to John, pressing the wet cloth to the disorientated man's forehead. "Just relax now, Colonel. It's over."

"Wait, what did he say about Mawyer and the Jumper?" asked McKay as he put down the H.U.D. part.

Sheppard weakly pushed Beckett's hand away and looked at McKay, trying to convey more than he was saying. "Medicine run . . . you bitching about Mawyer's computer."

The scientist's eyes grew large. "The H.U.D. showed you the trip we took to the Mainland?" McKay looked stunned. "That-that was weeks ago."

Rodney turned one of the components away from the bed and tapped out a command on a small keyboard. "This was that Jumper's H.U.D. Huh. I didn't design it to do that—just imagine the applications!"

Sheppard shrank back from the H.U.D. as McKay started to babble, the pilot's cheeks starting to flush, his eyes glazed.

"Rodney, not now, the Colonel isn't well enough for more experiments," said Beckett sharply as he noticed his patient's distress. "Why don't you go help the Major and Teyla with the interviews?"

McKay looked at Sheppard and noticed the deep-seated fear in the glazed eyes. McKay slowly stepped away from the H.U.D. and John immediately started to relax. The tired man was almost into a semi-sleep, his eyes closing in exhaustion when Rodney answered Beckett. "Sure, I'll-I'll go help with the interviews. Call me if . . . if he gets worse."

"That I will, Rodney."

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McKay was in a foul mood by the time he reached the room picked out for the interview. "Yes, just test out the experimental device while you're recovering from a gunshot wound, Colonel . . . no problem. The man's half dead and you manage to make it worse—"

"Dr. McKay?"

Rodney turned to see Teyla and Major Lorne sitting at the interview table staring at him strangely. He cleared his throat self-consciously and put his hands behind his back. "I've, uh, decided to help with the interviews."

"Yeah," said Lorne, putting his crutches on the floor. "It has nothing to do with the H.U.D. project and Colonel Sheppard."

Rodney scowled as he took the seat beside Teyla. "That-that . . . Beckett called you didn't he?"

Teyla leaned over and placed a calming hand on Rodney's arm. "He told us there was an unexpected side effect and that you were both upset, but that the Colonel is now peacefully sleeping."

McKay deflated a bit. "Oh, good . . . okay then. Who are we talking to first?"

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Dr. Katy Mawyer looked around the interview room with anxiety, her tears just under the surface as Lorne, McKay and Teyla sat opposite her.

"So, Doctor, where were you when Colonel Sheppard was shot on P3M-390?" asked Lorne, his face unreadable under the harsh lighting of the room.

Mawyer rubbed her arms as if she were cold and licked her lips nervously. "I was over by the water, with Jeromy and Henry, uh . . . Dr. Grant and Dr. White. We were taking water samples."

"Did you see anyone acting out of the ordinary—anything suspicious?"

Mawyer canted her head at the Major and rubbed her arms even harder. "It was my first mission. I don't know what would be suspicious or out of the ordinary. I did see that man on Colonel Sheppard's team come over to watch us."

"Ronon Dex?" asked Lorne.

Mawyer nodded. "I think that's his name. He's very large and . . . very scary."

McKay snorted which earned him a kick under the table from Teyla.

"I have a question," said McKay as he glared at Teyla, rubbing his leg. "You never let me see your computer when I review your work on your assigned projects. Want to tell me why that is?"

Mawyer's eyes darted back and forth, her arm rubbing turned into a clutch that made her fingers white. "Uh, do I? I just figured it would be easier if you had a print out—"

Rodney shook his head. "No one else does it. You had to notice." McKay slid forward in his chair and tapped the table, his voice getting stronger. "Just what are you hiding on your computer? Hmmm? Contraband? Games? Or something more sinister?"

Mawyer's eyes got big. "Sinister? What? No, no, no, nothing like that. It's just . . . a little embarrassing. Do I have to say?" she asked Lorne, her face pleading. "It's just something I did and I let some of the girls see it . . ."

Then she giggled the hated giggle from the lab. The one that drove Rodney crazy.

McKay almost half stood. "That! There it is! That giggle. Every time I left the lab and came back, she was always giggling. It's just . . . just disturbing!"

Mawyer was giggling so hard her breath was coming in gasps. All she could do was reach into her jacket and throw down a picture wallet on the table.

Lorne poked at the wallet suspiciously and then opened it, and then he was laughing as well.

"What?" demanded McKay, grabbing for the wallet. He opened it up to see four pictures of himself in various situations—in the lab shouting, in the control room with a frown, and in the mess eating Jell-O—all with small multicolor kissy lips at the bottom around his name.

When Rodney got to the fourth picture, his face went from white to red. "Well . . . huh . . . how did you get this picture? This looks like the lab's emergency shower—Oh, my god, I have a stalker!"

Mawyer gasped aloud and tried to control herself, but the giggling kept coming out. "I had that one on . . . screen saver. I couldn't let you see it. But the girls . . . they loved it!"

Lorne grunted and grabbed the pictures away from the blushing McKay. "This is evidence, Doc."

The Major had to firmly push Teyla's hands away from the 'evidence.'

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The next one to be interviewed was Pvt. Norman Bitterman, one of Lieutenant Tuck's men.

The Marine's angelic looking face and childlike indigo eyes were quickly belied by his harsh words. "Does she have to be here?"

Lorne flipped open the file he had on Bitterman, and paged to his service record to start the questioning. "Who?"

Bitterman pointed at Teyla with the lift of his chin. "The Wraith bitch. Does she have to be here? From what scuttlebutt I hear around here, she was giving information away to the enemy at one point."

Teyla tilted her head and through clenched teeth responded. "You, and the 'scuttlebutt,' are mistaken, Pvt. Bitterman. I never willingly gave information to the Wraith."

"Nah, that's not what I heard. I heard you beat up a few people, including Bates and Sheppard. We all know why Sheppard keeps you around," Bitterman said with a leer. "But why Dr. Weir puts up with it—ack!"

He got no further as Teyla launched herself across the table to punch the man across the face. Lorne tried to struggle up with his bad leg, McKay right behind him, as both tried to grab the enraged woman before she seriously hurt the ignorant Marine.

The Major finally got a good hold on Teyla's jacket and pulled her back, just as her hands gripped Bitterman's neck. "Come on, Teyla! Stop it! He's turning blue!"

McKay pulled on Teyla's arms as Lorne leaned back to put his weight on her jacket, his leg starting to throb painfully. They finally dragged her off the Private and he sat in his chair gasping and holding his jaw.

"Damn crazy Wraith bitch! You have to be seriously putting out to stay around here with a temper like that. Maybe you've got more than the Colonel—"

"Okay, that's just about enough!" muttered McKay and he turned away from Teyla to launch himself across the table to throttle the mouthy man.

"Doc! Come on, he's not worth it!" yelled Lorne as he let Teyla go to dive for the furious scientist. "Damn!" he hissed as his broken leg hit the table solidly causing a burst of agony.

Teyla was absolutely no help to Lorne in trying to pry McKay off Bitterman. She was too busy trying to climb over the Major and the table to help McKay choke the rude man.

"Damn it! Guards! Guards!" yelled Lorne, wondering when he'd lost control of the situation, and hoping no one thought to pick up one of his crutches to use as a club.

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Both McKay and Teyla trudged into the infirmary with dour expressions.

Teyla was now sporting a split lip on her fine featured face and McKay was limping slightly as, with a groan, he practically threw himself on the nearest infirmary bed.

Ronon glowered with an edgy grin at Teyla, fingering his own purple bruise under his eye. "He's turning blue," he mimicked in a high voice. "You should know better," he said, repeating the words she had used on him after his own fight with the guards in the cell room.

Teyla just glared right back, her arms crossed over her chest and her upper lip slightly elevated to show her white teeth.

"Yeah, well, where's the doctor around here? I think my knee is broken," complained McKay from his bed which was between Sheppard and the bed-ridden Marine from Ronon's fight with the guards. "Between Teyla kicking me and kneeing that ass . . . remind me to never knee a man in the groin again. I need drugs. Lots and lots of drugs."

Lorne came in behind them, clattering on his crutches, sneaking looks around for Beckett. The Doc was going to kill him for hitting his leg on the table during the melee. It felt like he'd broken the damn thing again.

Bringing up the rear were two guards, one was half dragging his buddy, who was holding his family jewels. The other was leading a cuffed Bitterman who was rubbing his battered face.

As soon as the 'wounded' guard was placed near a bed, he crawled up and curled into a protective ball of misery. Bitterman just slumped down in a plastic chair.

"Here, now, what's all this," asked Beckett as he appeared at the door.

Everyone just groaned.

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Ronon watched as Beckett patched up his new patients, his eyes going from the new people to Sheppard, who was still partially asleep.

The Colonel was clearly done for the day, the last of his energy used up by the experimental H.U.D.

Ronon didn't want to leave him unguarded. At a time like this, a man needed his closest supporters nearby, but Ronon had a theory that he wanted to check out on P3M-390.

He hadn't thought he would get the opportunity with McKay and Teyla doing other things, but now that they were both banned from the interviews, just like he was, Ronon could now put his plan into action.

The big man stood and caught Teyla's attention. The woman narrowed her eyes at him.

"Keep an eye on Sheppard. I've got to go."

Without waiting for her answer, the Satedan turned on his heel and left the infirmary.

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"So, let me get this straight. You want to go back to P3M-390—alone."

Ronon had thought his biggest obstacle in going back would be getting supplies, but it turned out to be a woman by the name of Dr. Elizabeth Weir. "Yes."

"To do what exactly?"

Ronon stopped himself before he rolled his eyes. He'd taken care of himself for years while on the run from the Wraith. Nothing on that rock and water planet was going to harm him. "I think I know where the gun is located."

"The gun?"

Really, he didn't think Weir was this dense, but she seemed determine not to understand a word that was coming out of his mouth. "The gun that shot Sheppard."

Weir narrowed her eyes for a moment. "You think the gun is still on the planet?"

"Looks like. It wasn't one that we brought back."

"And you've cleared this with Beckett and Lorne?"

Beckett—yes, Lorne—no. Ronon just shrugged in answer.

"Okay, but keep in contact every fifteen minutes. I don't want something happening to another member of the team if it can be helped."

Ronon just shrugged again, hefted his supplies and stepped through the active gate.

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It took just three minutes of looking to find the gun.

Ronon grunted in satisfaction and then shucked out of his clothing.

TBC . . .

I'll leave you with that mental picture until the next chapter . . . mwahahaha!