Disclaimer: I do not own Stargate Atlantis, nor am I making any sort of profit from this story. It is for fan reading pleasure only.

The Tournament

By Kerr Avon

5. Chess for the Living Dead

"We're down to three names today: Major Sheppard, with no losses; Doctor McKay, with one; and Doctor Kavanagh, with two. I'm asking for a volunteer to pull two names out of this hat, and they will have today's contest. The third person will have a 'bye'. Anyone?" Weir did her best on-stage announcing imitation. With a nod, Dr. Simpson stood, confirmed that all three pieces of paper held different names, then randomly drew out two.

Weir thanked her, then opened the two names. "Today's bout will be between....Dr. McKay and....Dr. Kavanagh. Major Sheppard won't be playing today." While a low moan of disappointment went up from some of the crowd, Dr. Beckett turned his eyes heavenward and thanked whatever deities remained that weren't Goa'uld for the break.

Sheppard showed no emotion one way or the other; he simply stood and quietly left the room as the two scientists went at it. Beckett, watching for it, swiftly followed and caught up with him in the corridor. "Major, do you have a minute?" he asked softly, matching strides.

"Doctor, I'm pretty wrung out and I'd..."

"That's what I'd like to talk to you about."

Sheppard slipped him a suspicious sideways glance. "What about it? I'm going to go take a nap right now."

"Well, it appears you aren't sleeping well, and I know you're not eating..."

"Is there a point to this diatribe?" snapped Sheppard uncharacteristically. Running a hand over his eyes, he immediately apologized. "Sorry, Carson, don't know what came over me."

"Look, I'll get to the point. I'd like you to withdraw from the tournament..." he held up a hand to forestall the Major's angry refusal, "but I know you won't. So, next best thing is a good night's sleep. I'd like to give you some sleeping pills to take for a few days, just until this thing is over. Afterwards, if you're still having problems, we'll work them out. All right?"

Sheppard nodded. He didn't like the thought of sleeping pills, but at this point he'd do almost anything for one uninterrupted night's sleep.

"Walk with me to the infirmary and I'll get them for you."

The next morning looked much better to a particular young Major. If he had any nightmares, the pills Beckett dispensed had caused him to sleep through them. Rather than running, he showered, dressed, and headed for breakfast. He managed a bowl of oatmeal along with two cups of coffee, but it was more than he had eaten in one sitting for days.

"Glad to see you're feeling better, then." Carson sat next to him with his own breakfast. "The medicine help?"

Sheppard nodded, chagrined. "Yeah, it did. Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Just promise to come see me if the nightmares don't go away after the tournament is over."

"I sure hope I don't have to. Who won yesterday, anyhow?"

"McKay again, which means Kavanagh is out of the running. It's just you and Rodney now. You'll have to beat him twice, but he'll have to beat you three times in order to win."

"That means at most four more games, all with Rodney."

"Or as little as two, if you keep beating him."

"Let's hope I keep beating him, then."

McKay critically sized up Sheppard's physical condition when he showed up at the appointed time for the match. He hadn't really noticed before, but the man was clearly not at peak form. He looked a little better than he had the day previously, but still pretty drawn. It would hardly count if he won a match with a sick opponent.

He cleared his throat as Weir was doing her announcing, then stated quietly, "Nothing personal, Major, but you look like shit."

Sheppard snorted. "You're not getting out of this that easily."

McKay shrugged. If that's the way he wanted it...

Most of the base had squeezed into the room by the end of the hard-fought game. Sheppard stared in disbelief, then tipped over his king. A roar went up from the watching crowd, and Rodney was literally carried away on their shoulders. He had beaten the unbeatable! Sheppard smiled at their reaction; McKay deserved it. He himself had pulled some boneheaded moves, and the astrophysicist had capitalized on every one. He deserved to win that game. Besides, did it really matter anymore? Kavanagh and all his cronies were out, and McKay had never been a discipline problem. He had already won one too many games in his lifetime, at the age of fourteen. Wrapped up in that prior competition, he stood and left the nearly empty room.

Beckett didn't like the way John looked after that game, but said nothing. If he took the sleeping pills again tonight, he'd feel a whole lot better again in the morning.

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"Damn!" muttered Sheppard, sitting up in bed, covered in sweat yet again. "It wasn't the pills – it was the 'bye' that let me sleep the other night." He smiled wryly. "Well, at least that's a pretty good indication that they'll stop once I'm done playing." Pulling on his sweats, he headed out the door and into the deserted hallways.

"Lieutenant Ford, have you seen the Major yet today?" Beckett was concerned.

"No sir, why?"

"Well, you probably noticed that this competition has been quite a strain; I've been trying to keep an eye on him without making it too obvious. It's hard to do when you can't find the man!" He spread his hands in helplessness.

"I know where he'll be in thirty minutes."

Beckett glanced at his watch. Damn. "I guess I'll just go wait for him there, then."

Sheppard was already sitting at the chessboard when Beckett walked in. 'He looks worse than yesterday!' The doctor unhappily sat down and awaited the start of the game. He didn't have long to wait; McKay came breezing in to take his place across from John just moments later. The scientist was all triumphant smiles until he caught sight of the Major's face. His brows wrinkled in displeasure as his face changed to a 'fetching' shade of purple.

"Oh, absolutely not!" he exclaimed indignantly. He turned towards the onlookers, searching the crowd. "Is Doctor Weir in the room?" he asked, after not immediately setting eyes on their 'umpire'.

"Here, Rodney" She maneuvered her way forward. "What's wrong?"

He gesticulated vehemently towards the now-bemused Sheppard. "Th...this is what's wrong!"

Weir looked at Sheppard's side of the table but saw nothing out of the ordinary. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"I do not play chess against zombies!" Sheppard looked insulted. "It was borderline yesterday; today it's intolerable." He pointed to John's haggard appearance.

"If you refuse to play, you forfeit the match." Weir was testing his resolve.

"I thought this competition was to prove who was the best at this game. If I play him like this and win, it proves nothing, because I'd be surprised if he could make toast in his present condition, let alone play chess."

"Now wait just one second!" The Major started to reply.

McKay continued as if nothing had been said. "If he wins, then it also proves nothing, as I would be so distracted by playing chess against the living dead that my game would be off."

Weir examined Sheppard critically. Rodney did have a point. "What would you suggest?"

"We're both at one loss, each to the other. Turn this man over to Doctor Beckett. When he's fit enough to play, he and I will arrange our games and let you know the results."

"But people want to watch the games..."

"Playing in a three-ring circus is also distracting to me. I want to know who's better, and this is the only way we can truly determine that."

"Hey, don't I get any input?" John stood, 'casually' leaning on the table to hide any shakiness. "I want this whole thing over!!"

"But he has a point, John." Weir's eyes silently added, 'and we've already achieved our purpose; Kavanagh et al were beaten'. To the audience, she said, "All right then. The match is postponed until further notice. Carson, if you would?"

Beckett was down in a flash, grasping Sheppard firmly by the right arm while Ford joined him on the left. Despite his protests, the Major was soon on his way to the infirmary.

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"Well, I guess that's it, then." McKay tipped over his king with a sigh. Upon arrival in the medical unit, Beckett had examined Sheppard to rule out any immediately life-threatening processes, then proceeded to sedate him into oblivion for the next two days. When he was finally allowed to emerge from his drug-induced catatonia, John found that his appetite had returned with a vengeance. 24 hours later he was released to return to his quarters. Beckett notified McKay that Sheppard was fit to play, but only without an audience. Without the onlookers, the nightmares did not return.

McKay had contacted Sheppard immediately and set up the first match. He brought the board to Sheppard's room, to expedite the process. John won the first round, and Rodney the second, tying them at two losses each. The dreams still remained at bay.

The last game was hard-fought, with a number of devious twists, but the Major ultimately prevailed.

"I'll let Weir know our final score." As each game had been played, McKay had reported it to Weir, who posted it above the list of top twenty players and their respective rankings in the Common Area. While most people were still interested in the outcome, the obsession had dwindled now that they couldn't watch the play. Everyone felt that the two were so far above the rest in chess skill that it didn't really matter who won. Zelenka was, of course, still interested, as he had quite a bit of money riding on the outcome; he had been somewhat disconcerted when Rodney's win had been posted, much to McKay's enjoyment. Still, it looked like Rodney owed him the twenty dollars after all.

"You're very good. That was a close game." Sheppard commented as he stored away the pieces.

McKay was pleased at the remark, and puffed up accordingly. "I suppose that's quite a compliment, coming from a World Champion."

The Major's hand froze over the board, his eyes shooting to McKay's face in surprise. "So much for doctor/patient confidentiality," he muttered to himself as he returned to his task.

McKay was confused at the apparent non sequitur. "What does Carson have to do with anything?"

Putting the lid on the box, Sheppard looked again at McKay. "Isn't he the one who told you?"

McKay shook his head. "Why, does he know, too? No, Beckett never said anything to me."

"He's the only one I told, and then under duress. Weir knows, of course, because it's a line in my personnel file, but I doubt she'd have told you, either..."

"Nope." Rodney was pleased to know something Sheppard didn't. "Turns out that one of the kids you beat at the world tournament all those years ago was Zelenka's brother. Zelenka remembered shaking your hand back then, the day after Weir announced the base contest, and bet us all that a non-scientist would win the tournament. He almost had a coronary after each of those two games I won against you." Rodney grinned in remembrance.

Sheppard considered for a moment, then shook his head at the coincidence. "Small world, huh?"

"Small universe," corrected the scientist, at which John snorted in agreement.

"You know...if you had just played me when originally scheduled, you probably would have won easily."

"And what would be the point? As it is, I am absolutely positive that I have beaten you once when you were in top form. That's as important as winning the wager. Anything else would have been cheating."

"I'm glad you feel that way."

A thought struck McKay belatedly. "Wait a second; Weir knew about your chess acumen before she announced the contest? She intentionally put in a ringer?!?" He felt angry and a little betrayed.

"That's why she made it triple-elimination, instead of just double. She wanted to prove to Kavanagh's group that brains come in different packages, and other people might have opinions worth listening to."

McKay's anger drained away as he gained a new appreciation for Weir. "Well, the whole bunch of them have been wandering around shell-shocked at the concept that they were beaten by a mere soldier. Maybe she was right."

Sheppard grinned. "I guess that's why she's in charge."

McKay smiled as well. "I guess so." He reached for the door handle. "Well, I'd better be going; I have to give Zelenka that money."

"Hey, Rodney?" McKay turned back towards the Major, who was looking at the closed box.

"Yes?"

"Would you...well, I was wondering...would you like to play again sometime, unofficially, just one-on-one?"

Rodney grinned. "Anytime. Just call. Looking forward beating you again."

"Thanks." As Rodney exited, Sheppard had the feeling that the nightmares were finally gone for good.

The End

AN: Thanks to my McKay beta-reader, Richard, for keeping him appropriately self-centered. And thanks to everyone who stuck to reading this story – I'm glad you enjoyed it. I think the next one's going to be H/C again, instead of angst. Anyone else notice that there really isn't a good subcategory for H/C stories at FFnet? Oh well...

And to the shippers out there - I haven't really picked up a particular ship yet, so for the time being I'll stick to 'friend'-ship! ;-)