AN: Wow, hello. Welcome to the sequel to So I Married A Chair. Sit back, break out the pina coladas and attempt to get through this monster of a first chapter. I will be making reference to So I Dated A Chair as well. And this really is not just another chair story, I promise. ;)

It's set season 2, and 2-3 days after "Intruder".

Story 1 - ...Or Something Like It

When asked what the major differences between the operations at Stargate Command and those of the Atlantis expedition were, one would of course point out the international cooperation of the latter and its position in the middle of another galaxy. One might also admit that while the grey walls of the SGC offered no opinion in the running of the program within it, the walls of Atlantis had much to say about everything, from impending Wraith attacks and...whether or not decent coffee was served in the mess hall.

For Dr Carson Beckett, the differences were very pronounced. To begin with, his wife was only able to appear to him on Atlantis. She was the entity of the city, its very essence, and their marriage had resulted in him becoming the king of Atlantis. The humans inhabiting the city either respected him for it, or gave him a wide respectable berth.

He still wasn't sure which one he preferred.

When it came to Stargate Command, people either laughed outright or shot each other skirting looks that either meant they thought he was insane, or that they were planning on sending a gift-wrapped Naquadah bomb to his new home address.

Again, choosing a preference was problematic – especially if he mentioned that when he'd met Nena, it had been through a chair.

But Carson Beckett, CMO and father, didn't care about all that. He was happy, he was in love, he had a daughter and then add in the bunch of very loyal, very strange friends – so all in all, he had nothing to complain about really.

He told himself this over and over, when the new arrivals who'd come with him on the Daedalus asked loudly if it was true, that he really was married to a chair.

"I don't really see how tha's any of yer business," he said for the umpteenth time.

His newest patient, awaiting her physical, smiled up at him. She was a nice blonde with an even nicer smile. Carson thought she might be a Lieutenant. Instead of the usual dirty questions that invariable followed, she merely said, "You're lucky. I don't even think a chair would go out with me."

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true," Carson said, feeling relieved. "Ye seem like a lovely lass to me. Maybe ye will find some luck of yer own here?"

Laura Cadman sighed and stuck out her arm for a blood sample.

The Chief Medical Officer was not the only one encountering trouble with the newer denizens of Atlantis. Already someone had stepped in and swiftly undersold Radek Zelenka in the roaring black market trade of chocolate, coffee, banana-flavoured condoms and other unmentionable items. This caused a lot of angst for Zelenka and it meant that his leisure time was just as stressful as working with Rodney McKay for several hours.

A fight had broken out over seating arrangements in the mess hall, an intellectual war had started between the already established physicists and their new colleagues and someone had thrown a linguist's personal items over a railing into the ocean. The funny thing was, no one was sure if the linguist had been there to begin with, or was a more recent addition. The current theory was that there was no linguist and there certainly was no spoon.

But none of this was important compared to the brewing enmity between two different branches of the US military.

Lt Colonel John Sheppard knew exactly when the conflict started – the moment that Major Lorne had quite innocuously asked Sergeant Bates how to get to the mess hall. The two men sized each other up, judging how well either of them filled out their BDUs, finding out who was shorter and then there was the cracking of teeth as Bates recognised exactly what kind of man this was.

John watched this with some trepidation. Not only had he returned from Earth with a lot of new guys, but also with the news that the position of "head of security" was no longer seen as relevant to the expedition. This news John had kept to himself for far longer than he ought to have, mostly because of Sergeant Bates.

He reflected that this might have been easier if the king of Atlantis had left Bates buried in the sewers. In fact, John could think of far worse places to hide, especially once the news broke.

"Bates, how about some directions for the Major?" Sheppard prompted uneasily.

Sergeant Bates nodded briskly. "Yes, sir. Down this corridor, take a left, swing another left and then it'll be the second door on your right. Take your time, Major. Don't expect to learn it all on your first day."

"Third day, actually," Lorne corrected. "I've been too busy casing out the city to handle any more than ration bars. Heard there might actually be a half-decent cook here."

Flicking his eyes between Major and Sergeant, John realised he probably looked like he was watching a hard and fast game of tennis, so shot his line of sight right down the middle. He cleared his throat. "Try to have some fun. All work and no play...well, you know how that turned out."

John laughed. He was the only one.

He power-walked out of sight.

Approximately twenty minutes after he'd left the infirmary, John Sheppard reappeared. Given that the officially instated military head of Atlantis usually had more important duties to attend to, largely concerning a misplaced cache of ammunition and/or alcohol, Carson Beckett thought he had a good reason to feel nervous.

"What can do I for ye, Colonel?" the CMO asked cautiously when his friend approached.

"Oh, you know. Just checking up on the king of Atlantis, making sure you're not getting any lip from the marines and that you've got enough of those little swab things."

Carson stared at him. "John, yer not fooling me. Wha' has got yer so on edge?"

"It's Bates," Sheppard said quietly.

"He's really not as bad as he used to be. He makes a fair babysitter, ye know, something I notice neither ye nor Rodney have signed up for."

The Colonel's forehead creased and then he shook his head. "What? No! You know I'm too busy for that, Carson. And do you really want Rodney inflicting long and complicated formulae on your daughter?"

"Then what is the problem? I don't have much time for this myself."

"Bates..." John hesitated. "He's no longer head of security."

Carson had been busily rummaging through a box of triangular-shaped bandages. He immediately withdrew his hands and turned around, corners of his eyes crinkling with concern. "Then who is?"

"No one. But that's not the only problem."

"Yer just a real charmer today, aren't ye?"

"He just met one of the new guys and...it didn't look good," Sheppard finished.

Dr Beckett crossed his arms, envisioning a horde of testosterone-charged bulls descending upon the infirmary with more injuries than IQ points. He asked tentatively, "Didn't look good in wha' way?"

"Well they didn't have a spitting contest or anything, but there was some definite tension."

Carson smiled. "Wha' sort of tension, do ye suppose?"

"Carson, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Sheppard said, disgruntled. "I just think we should keep an eye out."

"And why are ye telling me this? Shouldn't this be something for Dr Weir to sort out?"

"But you're the king of Atlantis," John pointed out.

Dr Beckett took one step forward. He noted with some satisfaction that Colonel Sheppard uncrossed his arms and stood up straighter, swallowing at what was hopefully the impressive sight of a harassed and very cross Scotsman.

Carson let him have it.

"I'm also the Chief Medical Officer with not enough space to store my new supplies – a problem I would have very glad to have in the past year thank ye – and I am a father with a wee daughter who thinks it is simply grand to wake me up for the graveyard shift. And, as far as the IOA are concerned, I am no more than an irritation with no authority outside this room."

"Ouch, they really said that?"

"Not in so many words," Carson said darkly.

"When was the last time you saw Nena?" John inquired, leaning forward.

"This morning, I'll have ye know. She doesn't need nearly as much sleep as I do, so she's probably seen me a lot more than I've seen her. But it's hard to have a chat while yer daughter is makin' a fuss."

"If you two ever need some personal time, just say the word and I'll help out with Meredith."

"Are ye offering to babysit?" Carson asked, amused.

Sheppard grinned slowly. "Well, no, but I'm sure I could find someone for you."

"Thank ye, Colonel, but others have been more than generous with – "

"Hey, you know I'd do it if I had the time," John interrupted. "But this Bates-Lorne thing..."

"Trust me, I understand completely. Do ye remember when I sent Dr Biro to work in the botany labs?"

"Oh, when you exiled her to the Dark Hole of Calcutta?" John sniggered.

"I wouldn't call it that, John. But yes. Well at first there was a lot of name-calling and other silliness between the medical and science departments, but now it's silent as the grave."

Probably not the best simile to draw upon at this moment. Sheppard sucked in his bottom lip, frowning. "I'll keep that in mind. And Doc?"

"Aye?"

"Say hi to Nena for me. In case I don't see either of you before...well, before things get crazier than usual out there."

John sauntered out the door, though at a snappier pace than usual.

Carson and Nena Beckett watched him leave. It took a few moments for Carson to realise that his wife was standing beside him, even though the virtual coding announcing her arrival had streamed through the back of his head. It didn't take so long for him to wrap his arms about her and kiss her.

"Miss me?" Nena asked.

"I think ye know the answer to that," Carson murmured against her cheek. "Where's our Meredith?"

She smiled playfully at him. "Which one?"

"Don't act daft with me, love. I meant the midnight alarm clock."

Nena kissed his left ear, comfortably digging her chin into his shoulder. He patiently let her do so – until his shoulder started to twinge and a machine nearby started to make pinging sounds. Neither were very ignorable for long. Carson slowly moved away to turn off the machine. When he looked back, his wife was leaning against some cupboards.

"Meredith is being babysat by Teyla," Nena explained. "But not for very long. I promised her I'd let her go to a fight with one of the new marines."

"So it's jus' ye and me for a not very long time?" Carson mused.

"Suggestions?"

He told her.

"Carson Beckett, you are a very naughty boy."

"For the next ten minutes, maybe."

"Ten? Teyla doesn't expect me for at least fifteen minutes."

"Teyla doesn't have to reorganise the infirmary's inventory now, does she?"

Slightly more than fifteen minutes later, Carson shimmered out of thin air back in his office, straightening his shirt.

In that time, Sergeant Bates had decided to declare war.

...or something like it.

"Firstly, I want to know how this is my problem. Secondly, what would this achieve? Thirdly, I don't know what you're talking about – I have never been involved in any form of inter-departmental espionage. If Dr Beckett has said anything..."

"Who said anything about espionage?" Sergeant Bates cut over Radek Zelenka.

The scientist slipped his glasses off his nose and began gnawing on the rim. Grey areas were something that many in his field were used to – but if said grey area was being proposed by the still very paranoid head of security, it tipped over into the realm of Big Trouble. And the last time Zelenka had had anything to do with Bates, it had involved both of them performing spectacular belly flops into the bowels of Atlantis. Radek had not yet forgiven several people for that incident.

Bates crossed his arms, a movement which tightened his uniform and allowed him to rest a hand over the gun he was carrying. He tried again. "I need to carry out security checks on all the new personnel, because you never know who's got their slippery little hands into Atlantis."

"You have soldiers for that, no?" Radek asked suspiciously.

"A whole new batch, sure. But I don't trust them. What I need is an unofficial check up on Major Evan Lorne. No one else."

Zelenka popped his glasses back on and blinked rapidly. He fixed his eyes on Sergeant Bates for a moment, patting his hair into place. Then, after some consideration that involved mentally calculating his stock of chocolate, Zelenka said, "Please, no more lying. This will cost you. And there better not be any ventilation shafts this time."

"I'm not in the habit of making promises I can't keep."

Radek hoped that meant payment and not what he deeply suspected.

Glowing lines and numbers of data wafted in and out of the virtual corridors of the city, making itself known to those who could see and make sense of them. As this was limited to a sole one in this particular matter, it didn't even raise the hairs on the back of any necks. It did cause some anxiety for Chuck the technician when he couldn't figure out if there really was a glitch with his epic game of Minesweeper that he'd managed to hack onto the console screen.

In Doctor Weir's office, Nena abruptly stopped conversing with the city's acknowledged leader and peered up at the ceiling.

"Something wrong?" Elizabeth wanted to know.

Nena shifted the weight of her daughter in her arms, looking back down. She said after a pause, "Someone is interfering with one of my systems. It's nothing major, but I'd placed a warning message on that particular system after Carson used it to dump some people into the sewage system. I didn't tell him but it's handy to keep a leash on some of his activities."

Elizabeth smiled briefly. "The ventilation system. Do you want me to send someone to check it out?"

"No. I need to have a few words with my husband."

The lights overhead darkened and Nena's expression became slightly scary.

"I can page him here," Weir suggested, averting her eyes. "I need to talk supplies and personnel with him anyway. Even though I had plenty of time sitting around on the Daedalus, I don't seem to have got much of the number-crunching done."

"Not to mention having to attend human union ceremonies?" Nena's lips lifted a little.

"That too. But I wasn't about to pass up Atlantis' first official wedding. I'll call Carson."

The entity of Atlantis shook her head. "I'm going to have to say very bad words. I'd rather you not hear me."

"Believe me, I've probably wanted to say a lot worse," Elizabeth said. "Especially to the IOA. Explaining the last twelve months to their satisfaction left me biting my tongue."

Nena looked puzzled. "The IOA?"

"International Oversight Advisory. I assumed Carson had mentioned it. They had more than a few questions for him about your relationship."

Every light in Atlantis went dark. A lot of people started to rub impromptu goosebumps rising on their arms.

"Excuse me," Nena said, snarly static underscoring her words. "I really need to talk to Carson now."

She shimmered out of view.

Elizabeth Weir rested her chin against a fist and was very glad she wasn't her Chief Medical Officer right about now.

CARSON BECKETT.

Uh oh. That didn't sound good. Carson looked sideways at the Lantean coffee machine settled into the wall of his office. It spat a very hot jet of water in his direction. He ducked under his desk. Poking his head up, he saw steam rising from the machine and rivers of boiling coffee snaking down the wall.

He closed his eyes. What is it, love? Ye haven't tried any of this nonsense on me since we were dating.

Think really hard, Carson.

...oh crap.

Yes, crap.

Well, there was no point running away as he so often had before they were married. Never mind that she had always known where he was, but he now he was just as much a part of the computer systems as she was and could therefore be abducted into virtu-Atlantis at any time she chose.

Carson allowed his corporeal form to evaporate into streams of data, sliding from reality into their home-within-home. He sensed that Meredith had been put to bed for her afternoon nap in a room nearby and wished he were similarly unconscious.

Nena stood not two metres in front of him, auburn hair somehow glowing more red and her eyes narrowed to two thin green lines.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" she demanded.

Carson shrugged helplessly. "No, love, I didnae think that. I jus' wanted to keep yer happy and not involve ye in any of this."

"Any part of Atlantis is involved with me, it's impossible to keep me out of it!"

"I'm sorry," Beckett said quietly. "I know I should have told ye. It's jus' that I...I was ashamed with myself, because I felt embarrassed trying to explain all this to a group of strangers. The IOA asked me sech questions..."

Nena held up a hand. "Hold that thought. Right now I would like to discuss you hacking the ventilation system."

Bewilderment crossed Carson's mind. He searched around for anything and came up blank. After broadening his search from his memories to the city's database, he found an alarm of sorts – something he wouldn't have picked up without her directly pointing it out.

"Well then, lass, it's not me," he defended.

It can be very tricky for the male of a species to convince the female of his genuine sincerity and honesty. This would definitely be one of those times.

The perpetrator of the crime was crawling through a ventilation duct that ran parallel to the corridor leading to the newly assigned quarters belonging to one Major Evan Lorne. Zelenka muttered in Czech for about twenty metres, switched to his command of Russian swear words for ten metres and then chose two or three very foul sentences in English before repeating the cycle.

"Not in the habit of making promises I can't keep, he says," he mocked under his breath. "Security clearance is not enough for me, I need a slimy little spy to do all my dirty work. Security check, hah! Just because he has his manliness threatened he has to send me to...where am I?"

Radek consulted the portable computer he had been pushing around in front of him. It had taken some fancy work to bypass the lock on the ventilation system – a lock that he was sure hadn't existed last year and was extremely unusual, because who in their sane mind would crawl into one of these ducts?

Especially since it had meant climbing in through a female Lieutenant's bathroom. If she returned from her duties before he made it out...Big Trouble.

Zelenka flashed through the schematics. He nodded once, then twice, and set off down the left passage. It narrowed somewhat, forcing him to squirm the last several metres.

He tapped his headset. "I'm in." Then he added sarcastically, "Should I take notes?"

"Only if you think it would make your report any more accurate," Bates replied from somewhere safe and comfortable.

Radek blew loud and hard into the mouthpiece, imagining with pleasure what sort of feedback his tormentor was getting. He peered through the dotted air vent, close enough that his glasses chinked softly against the metal, which gave a little. Startled, he drew back but kept his eyes focused on Lorne's quarters.

Evan Lorne was already there, finishing up a set of stretches and exercises. He rolled his shoulders loosely and shed his shirt. Zelenka decided that Bates really should feel threatened by that.

Lorne walked out of sight. When he returned, he was carrying...an easel?

Radek blinked.

Out came paint in several shades of greys, blues, greens and a funny little pink colour that wouldn't look too bad on a T-shirt. Lorne was suddenly holding a brush that had materialised so quickly he might have had it stashed in his pants. Zelenka really hoped not. A very bad joke had started to shout in his brain and wouldn't shut up.

"What's he doing?" hissed Bates in his ear.

Zelenka removed his glasses, bit on them for reassurance and put them back on. He mumbled, "Painting. He's just...painting."

Indistinct swishes turned into sure and steady lines, curving and rising up the canvas as surely as...Atlantis. Lorne was painting the view outside his window!

"He's...actually quite good," Zelenka said more to himself.

"Anything else that's a little more relevant?" Bates demanded.

An waspish answer had started to rise up Zelenka's throat, but it shrivelled and fell back down to his stomach the moment he felt a hand on his shoulder. Twisting awkwardly he looked over at his new companion.

He gulped. "Carson, I can explain."

"If I had the grace to let ye explain away, lad, then maybe I would. But since I jus' got a long lecture that wasn't supposed ta be for me, I'm sorry to say I don't have much grace right now."

Carson Beckett's face was mostly dark in the cramped and dimly lit confines of the ventilation duct, though pinpricks of light from the grate revealed a set of dimples that looked somewhat murderous instead of amusing, as they should have been.

The panels beneath Zelenka gave way.

"Jezis, Carson!" he bellowed, but from the floor.

Or more accurately, from a bed that was on the floor. And it definitely wasn't his bed.

Lorne had spun around, holding a paint brush in one hand and a pistol in his other. Again, it was a mystery to a slightly befuddled Zelenka as to where the gun had come from. He rolled off the bed and managed, "Uh, yes, hello. I am Dr Zelenka. I was just...inspecting the ventilation system for...bugs."

"I think you found one," Lorne said dryly, walking over to snatch the earpiece away and turning it off in the process.

"Ano, fancy that." Zelenka went cross-eyed as his glasses slipped down his nose. "Ah, this is embarrassing for us both. It was not my idea to be in the ventilation system and was not my idea to fall through."

"Actually tha' last one was my stroke of brilliance," a Scottish bur announced.

Radek and Evan both looked over at the corner. The CMO was wearing his lab coat and had both hands burrowed in the pockets. Leaning against the wall, he looked at ease, although he was frowning.

"I'm pretty sure you weren't there a second ago," Lorne said.

Carson nodded. "Yer right. I was going to leave Radek to this wee problem, but it is not his fault as I discovered after replaying some audio records."

"You must be Dr Beckett," the Major deduced. "Is it really true that you – "

"Married a chair? Aye, the rumours are all true. Now can we move on?"

"No, I was going to say, is it really true you control all of Atlantis' systems?" Lorne rephrased.

Carson reflected that he really oughtn't to expect everyone to ask the obvious. He was finding this more and more as the days wore on. Somewhat pleased, he replied, "Yes. Not to worry, though, I won't go peeking where I shouldn't – unless it is to put a stop to this kind of mischief."

Lorne clicked the safety on his gun and tucked it into the back hem of his pants. "Glad to hear it. I guess the real question now is who sent Dr Zelenka here?"

Zelenka muttered something that sounded like 'client confidentiality'.

"I think I know, Major," Carson volunteered. "Colonel Sheppard approached in the infirmary with a concern about Sergeant Bates and yourself."

"All I did was ask him how to get to the mess hall," Lorne said, frowning as he swished the paint brush in a small jar of water. Streaks of blue and grey morphed into one those dank filthy colours that tend to very quickly fill paint water.

Beckett and Zelenka looked at each other, exchanging the all-knowing civilian glance which was often affected in front of military personnel. Carson sighed. "What a fine mess. Are ye going to retaliate?"

Evan squeezed the paintbrush bristles under his fingers, mucky water dribbling down his wrist. "I'll get back to you on that one, Doctor."

Sergeant Bates was intent on making the most of the afternoon, although he was severely unimpressed with the skill of his spy, who had stopped transmitting anything over the radio. Probably turned it off accidentally, knowing the types you found in the science departments. Well, no service, no payment. And he'd possibly let the right authorities know about Dr Zelenka's side job.

He started into his quarters, heading exactly for where his basketball was. Bouncing it off the wall, he typed out initial personnel reports between hitting the ball. He drew a long breath, pausing over Lorne's name.

Deep breaths are usually good for taking in country air or even air by the seaside – although if you took the breath for just too long you might find yourself catching a whiff of a cow pie or rotting seaweed.

Sergeant Bates caught a whiff of sewage.

He leaned back in his chair and eyed the ventilation grate. He leaned further back when the smell did not dissipate. He then proceeded to fall flat on his back when the basketball returned to smack him like an uppercut to the chin. Leaping to his feet, Bates approached the grate, sniffing rapidly.

Definitely coming from there.

Clawing at the grate, he was momentarily relieved when it gave under his fingers, but then flattened back out. Several re-attempts and several re-results turned up the same awful stench. Bates then decided to calmly retreat.

...or something like it.

John Sheppard prided himself on having a Spidey-sense when it came to the men under his command, but on most occasions he would ignore it because it wasn't exactly accurate. That wasn't to say that his brilliant hunches were wrong, it just meant that sometimes he didn't trust the signal he was receiving.

He stepped into the mess hall.

Everything seemed fine. Lots of people hanging around, eating things...and not sitting down.

Not sitting down.

Then he noticed the distinct lack of any chairs. And there was a note on the buffet table.

The United States Army has appropriated all chairs for the vital task of dinner. If you are looking for a chair and don't know where it is, give up. You'll never find it.

John looked around at the people gathered in the mess hall. Some scientists, a linguist and a lot of guys and girls from the Air Force. Completely no army personnel.

"Bates," he muttered.

"Problems, Colonel?" Caldwell wanted to know.

John bit just inside his lip, fighting the urge to say something that would probably bust him right back down to Major again. He had no idea why he'd sought out the Daedalus' commanding officer for a matter like this, but he hoped he might get something out of the other man's Spider-sense. So he thought he'd get right to it.

"Yeah, there's a problem with the personnel here on Atlantis. The Air Force guys and the Army guys aren't exactly getting along."

"Is this something that was happening before you left?" Caldwell asked. "Because if it's been going on this long, then I really don't think you earned Dr Weir's confidence."

"No, no it's nothing like that. It all started when you brought the new batch over."

"And this concerns me how?"

John chose his words carefully. "You've got...a bit more experience with this sort of thing. Any suggestions?...hunches?"

That last one was kind of desperate. John wasn't sure he trusted his own hunches right now.

"Try some aggressive negotiations," Colonel Caldwell responded blandly.

It wasn't until John was out of the room that he turned back to the closed door and demanded, "Isn't that from Star Wars?!"

Shaking his head, he went in search of the king of Atlantis.

Within two hours, Sergeant Bates entered a transporter. The doors shut, but nothing happened. He tapped the screen. It beeped rudely back at him. The doors opened again, admitting Major Lorne.

Both men stared at the doors, refusing to glance sideways.

Lorne finally turned around and selected his desired location.

Nothing happened.

"I think it's stuck," Bates said.

"No kidding," said Lorne.

Silence.

"What is your deal with me anyway?" Lorne asked.

Bates shrugged. "I don't know, you seem kind of up yourself."

"You got that from one question about how to get to the mess hall?"

"Yeah I kinda did."

"...that's stupid."

"No more stupid that sewer trick you tired. Who helped you? Zelenka? Beckett?"

"Yeah I admit it was stupid. What about the thing you did with the chairs?"

Both men said at the same time – "Definitely stupid."

At this point, Dr Beckett materialised between them. He asked with a sigh, "Are ye done yet? I was hoping to meet someone here."

Bates grinned. "Hot date?"

Lorne chuckled.

"Ye've been talking too much with Colonel Sheppard," Carson muttered, silently sending an ALL CLEAR message to John's laptop.

Somewhere nearby, John let out a sigh of relief. He thought about Colonel Caldwell.

The Force was strong with this one.

The next night found Teyla, John, Carson and Nena sitting in the mess hall – on chairs, thank God – trying to figure if what they were eating constituted proper mashed potato or something slimy that John's team had encountered on the ground on some planet.

"It certainly has none of the qualities I've come to expect in Earth food," Teyla acknowledged.

John held up the mashed potato in front of him and licked it uncertainly. "I think you might be right there, Teyla."

A tray landed heavily on the edge of the table. Rodney McKay seated himself between John and Teyla, leaving only one spare chair. "Good. You're all here."

"Yep, time for another session of the Society for the Protection of the Knowledge of Doing Sordid Things to Chairs," John said.

Rodney cleared his throat. "Please, are we still stuck in that loop? You won't believe how many idiots I've had to show the light switches to in the past few days."

By general consensus, no one thought to mention the person missing from the table. The empty chair remained empty.

"I can imagine," Sheppard commented flatly to his team mate. "Never mind that I had to quell a disagreement between two different factions of my men in that time."

Rodney looked up from his food. "Does this taste weird to you? This definitely tastes weird. I need some salt."

John passed him the pepper shaker, keeping his poker face carefully cultured.

Teyla took the shaker in her hand and gave John a severe look. "Yes, we were just discussing the food. As for the problems that John is speaking of, I noticed very little. I suspect very few of the non-military people here did."

"Really?" John looked put out. "But it was a problem. You can't deny that."

"Aye," Carson muttered, looking at his wife.

Nena rolled her eyes. Then she selected a pout from her arsenal. "I said I was sorry, Carsie-buns."

His face started to glow pink, but then he leaned over to kiss her.

"Ah, I thought something was missing," Rodney announced. "Where's my god daughter? You didn't leave her with Sergeant Bates, did you? There are plenty more qualified nursemaids who don't happen to have guns lying around the place where any grubby little hand – "

Carson snorted. "Don't ye worry. I left Meredith in the very capable hands of Sergeant Bates and Major Lorne."

John choked on his food and Teyla slapped him forcefully on the back. A glob of mashed potato went sailing past Carson's ear before landing somewhere unknown with a faint plop.

"Oh John, did ye tell Bates about losing his position?" Beckett asked.

After spluttering for a moment, the Colonel straightened. "No. I put in a recommendation for Bates to stay as the head of security. I also told them they might consider appointing Lorne as his 2IC."

"What did I tell ye? You'll hear of no more silliness between yer men."

"It's the unheard stuff I'm worried about," John groused.

Teyla laid a hand on his arm. "John, among my people, such invisible conflicts will solve themselves. If you hear of them, then only is it your concern."

"How long does it take for one of you to pass the salt?" Rodney asked everyone.

Teyla passed him the pepper shaker.

AN2: I am so sorry that turned out so long!! I had no idea it would keep multiplyling like that. Just a bit if silliness inspired by the fact that I saved Bates in the fic set before this. Next chapter is set around "Runner" so that should be...interesting. ;)