The
Three R’s
By: Helen Adams
A/N: I had an urge to write a friendship fic featuring
Rodney McKay and Ronon Dex, just because there don’t seem to be that many
opportunities for these two to interact without the impetus of galactic
destruction. Then, just for the heck of it, I threw Radek Zelenka in with them.
Thus the title.
Chapter 1: One Man’s Pleasure is
Another Man’s Pain
“Oh, come on!”
The familiar high-pitched whine drew immediate smiles and a few grimaces of
commiseration as assorted scientists glanced up toward Dr. Weir’s open office
door. Whenever Weir was having a conference with Dr. Rodney McKay it was not
unusual for everybody within twenty yards of her office to be able to hear what
was being said, at least on Rodney’s part. The over-excitable genius didn’t
seem to have a volume control, and God knew he wasn’t shy about sharing his
opinions. Unless directed at them, Rodney’s diatribes had become a source of
great amusement for the Atlantis control room personnel.
Much to their disappointment, the office door shut,
cutting off the rest of the argument before anyone could get the gist of what
it was about. With a sigh, everyone went back to work, but they perked
up again a few minutes later when Ronon Dex strode across the upper deck and
knocked on Weir’s door, barely waiting for her invitation before entering the
office.
Rodney’s voice raised and lowered several times, and when he stormed out of
the office a few minutes later with a red face and a murderous expression,
followed at leisure by a playfully smirking Ronon, no one even pretended not to
be watching. Rodney never noticed the attention, too busy grumbling under his
breath and waving his hands as he evidently continued the argument inside his
head, walking right past the control operations and out.
Braver than many of his colleagues, Radek Zelenka dared to ask as Ronon walked
past the station where he was running diagnostics, “What was that about?”
The large Satedan stopped, resting hip-shot
against the control station. The amused smile still lit his eyes as he replied
simply, “McKay’s going to join me for a few workouts. Do a little sparring
maybe. Gotta stay in good shape to go on missions.”
Mouths gaped and eyes widened. Any temptation to laugh was quelled by the
former Runner’s measuring glance as he eyed all of the other scientists,
clearly noting how many of them were in need of toning and toughening. Though
it was McKay who most often was called upon to go off-world, many of them had
also been called upon when new discoveries were unveiled in the Pegasus galaxy.
And if their stubborn, fast-talking, ridiculously intelligent superior had not
been able to talk his way out of this fate, how much worse were their own
chances?
Clearly enjoying the reaction, Ronon winked and straightened up, continuing
on his way.
Over the buzz of worried conversations floating around the control room, Radek watched the Satedan’s exit with a thoughtful expression upon his face.
Chapter 2: Misery Loves Company
Rodney fumed as he paced back and forth on the wide practice mat,
unconsciously adding a bit more spring to each step as
the cushioned surface supported his weight. He had, as directed, arrived dressed
in sweat-pants, gym shoes and a t-shirt, but every article he had chosen was
featureless black, a mute declaration for anyone who cared to look that his
cooperation had ended there.
Crossed arms drew even tighter against Rodney’s chest as his tense shoulders
hunched, making it appear that he was trying to pull his head between those
shoulders, like a turtle retreating inside of its shell.
“I hear that you are scheduled to practice hand to hand fighting today.”
Rodney spun at the unexpected voice behind him, nearly losing his balance in
the process. He scowled, just daring Zelenka to laugh at his small stumble.
“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be blowing up a lab somewhere?”
“I have this afternoon free from duty,” the Czech scientist said mildly.
“You approved the time off yourself.”
Waving off the reminder, Rodney resumed his pacing. “Right,
right, Carson and his insistence that everyone is working too hard and needs
more free time.” A tiny snort showed his view of the Scottish
physician’s diagnosis. Abruptly, his frenetic motion ceased, a
hopeful expression lighting up his face as he took a better look at the
Czech and realized that Zelenka was also dressed for a workout. “You got
drafted into this too, didn’t you?”
“We are reminded all too often of our own vulnerability here, even those of
us who do not normally leave our research to go on planetary excursions. I
asked Elizabeth why she felt that you were in need of better conditioning,
since you have proven yourself hardy enough thus far.” His smile turned rueful.
“I was trying to do you a favor, but somehow, she took my words as a suggestion
that I could benefit from some martial instruction myself. I think she has been
spending too much time around Colonel Sheppard.”
A bit more of the built-up tension left Rodney’s broad shoulders as he
huffed, “Probably. To G.I. Joe, this is a fun afternoon. ‘Cause
you never know when a good karate chop might come in handy against a Wraith.”
His hand lifted in a mock demonstration as he spoke. “At least this way we can
give ‘em some entertainment before they suck the life
out of us. Nothing like dinner and a show, right?”
“Better that than to lie down and die having given no fight at all,” Radek
replied quietly.
A startled blink showed that the other man was considering his words. “I
don’t know about that, but I suppose there is at least some benefit to you
being here. If I throw you in front of me, Ronon might take a few extra minutes
before he beats me into jelly.”
The small scientist frowned. Sometimes it was impossible to tell whether or
not Rodney was joking.
“Hey, you made it.”
The two scientists broke eye contact at the gruff greeting. Ronon looked
curiously at Zelenka, then just shrugged, unconcerned at finding two workout
partners where he had only expected to see one.
“We’ll just start with something easy, since you don’t know what you’re
doing.” Ronon paused to look appraisingly at Zelenka, who shook his head. “Either of you.”
Predictably, Rodney bristled. “How do you know I don’t know what I’m doing? And
how come you gave him the benefit of the doubt?”
Ronon met the sparking blue gaze calmly. “I’ve seen you run, McKay. You’ve
got all the grace of a dreezle in springtime.”
“A what?”
The man held up his hands, palms about three feet apart. “About this big,
four legs, real slow, mostly get eaten by predators.” Seeing that Rodney was
about to object again, Ronon backhanded him in the chest, hard enough to draw
forth a soft ‘ow’ of protest. “That’s why you’re
here, to see if we can’t toughen you up enough to give the predators second
thoughts.”
“Easy for you to say,” he grumbled. Still clearly feeling that he was
getting the wrong end of this deal, Rodney once again crossed his arms, chin
lifting defiantly. “How come
Curious, he asked, “Like what?”
Sensing a possible reprieve, Rodney pressed. “It’s not fair that I have to
do what you do, while you don’t you have to do anything I do. I mean, what if I
hadn’t been with you on that last mission? Could you have disassembled,
reconfigured and reassembled a DHD in under ten
minutes with three Wraith Darts buzzing above your head and Sheppard yelling in
your earpiece?”
Trying to keep the peace, Radek cut in, “Rodney, even I couldn’t have done
that in so short a time, and I know how the components
work."
“That’s because you’re not as smart as me,” he shot back smugly. “The point
is, you do know how to do it. If Captain Caveman here
can’t shoot, punch or wrestle something into submission, he’s out of options.”
The Satedan’s spine straightened, making him
appear even taller and more imposing than usual. “Are you calling me stupid?”
Rodney’s smug look lasted about two more seconds, until it occurred to him
that he was insulting a man who had just been given permission to whip him into
shape. “Well, no, not stupid . . . exactly. Just, maybe more like . . .
ignorant . . . that is to say, basically, somewhat intelligent but . . . I
mean, it’s not like you couldn’t have figured out something if you’d had a
couple of hours, right? Um . . .” He backed up a step, seeing Ronon’s eyes narrow.
“Why don’t you take a couple of laps around the workout room and warm up,”
the Satedan suggested in a dangerously soft voice.
“And then we’ll get started.”
McKay was not the most intelligent man on Atlantis for nothing. Snagging Radek by the sleeve, he turned on his heel and ran. Zelenka did his best to keep up as McKay sprinted away with speed borne of panic. Neither scientist noticed that their instructor was watching with sparkling eyes, nodding to himself, as if in agreement with something.
Chapter 3: No Pain, No . . . Aw,
Forget It
“What in bloody hell have you three been doing to yourselves?” Carson
Beckett demanded, staring in disbelief at the guilty-looking trio who had just
meandered into his infirmary.
“I was teaching them to fight,” Ronon admitted, peering down at the doctor
as best he could with his head tipped back, right thumb and forefinger pinching
off his still-bleeding nostrils. A magnificent black eye was forming just above
his swollen purpled cheek-bone, but in spite of his injuries the warrior was
grinning. He jostled McKay with his elbow. “They did okay.”
Beckett blinked in disbelief. “You’re telling me Rodney did that to you?”
The Scotsman looked at the man in question, noting the goose-egg on his
forehead and the pain-filled squint of his eyes. “I don’t suppose I need to ask
what he hit you with.”
Without bothering to confirm the physician’s guess, Rodney moved to the
nearest empty bed and flopped onto it. “Ice,” he groaned. “Just give me ice and
some aspirin and let me die in peace.”
When Ronon simply shrugged, Beckett turned to the third member of the party,
who was cradling his right wrist and muttering a soft continuous stream of
foreign words under his breath. “And I suppose you broke their fall afterward.”
A ghost of a smile, rueful but nonetheless amused,
twitched Zelenka’s lips. “Not
exactly. I had grown tired. I lost my footing and punched Rodney in the
back of the head, causing him to pitch forward and head-butt Ronon in the
face.”
“Crude but effective,” Beckett commented dryly, struggling not to smile as
he worked to stuff cotton up the Satedan’s bleeding
nostrils. “And how is it you didn’t get out of the way in time, Ronon?”
He chuckled. “Stupid, huh? I saw him coming at me
and tried to catch him instead of just letting him fall to the mat.”
“So instead of a nice soft landing, I flattened him and then Radek crashed
on top of us both. One big squashed McKay sandwich,” Rodney pouted. Glancing at
his apologetic-looking science colleague, he demanded, “What the hell have you
been eating, anyway? There’s no way a little guy like you should weight that
much.”
“Look who is talking,” he shot back. “I’m surprised poor Ronon did not break
his ribs when you landed upon him, Dr. Hypoglycemia-if-I-do-not-eat-every-ten-minutes
McKay.”
Rodney sat up with the intention of flinging back a stinging retort, but
forgot all about it as he paled and swayed in place. “Whoa.”
Zelenka also forgot his anger as he jumped forward in concern to steady his
friend. “Rodney, are you all right?”
Dr Beckett also came forward, easing Rodney back down. “Easy, lad,” he
crooned, grapping a pen light and shining it in the scientist’s eyes. “You just
sat up a wee bit too fast. Not a good idea after whacking your head. Your
pupils are even and I don’t believe you’ve got a concussion but I’d forget
about any more sparring sessions for the rest of the day.”
Those words had Rodney relaxing back onto the bed with a relieved smile that
turned into a wince when he reached up and touched the bump on his forehead.
“I’ll just get you something for that headache,” Beckett offered. He cast a
stern look at the other two patients. “But what I said goes for all of you.
There’s to be no more running around and fighting out of any of you today.”
Radek smiled and grew bold enough to knock Rodney’s legs out of his way so
that he could hop up to a seat on the bottom of the diagnostic bed. Rodney
scowled but offered no real objection. Ronon was the only person who appeared disappointed
by the order, but he nodded to Beckett as the doctor left the room to fetch
pain-killers. “So,” he said after a moment’s pause. “What do you guys want to
do next?”
Without moving the rest of his body, Rodney raised his head and gave him an
incredulous look. “Next? Wasn’t this enough?”
“Neither one of you is working today. And thanks to you, my schedule just
got cleared. Might as well hang out and do something else.”
“You did express irritation at having to work out without a promise of
payback,” Radek reminded Rodney.
McKay shot him an irritated look. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
The Czech merely smiled.
“With this headache, I don’t feel like going through Ancient technological
schematics, much less baby-stepping you through them,” Rodney mused, revealing
the activity he had been planning. Sounding a bit petulant he said, “
Ronon considered his options. “Food?”
“Naturally,” Radek snorted. When both of his companions glared at him, he
raised his uninjured hand in a gesture of supplication. “Is good to follow
exertion with a meal, but that will hardly take up the entire afternoon.”
Beckett reentered the room and set down the tray he had carried in with him.
He handed each of his patients pills and a cup of
water, following up with one ice-pack for Rodney’s head, one for Ronon’s cheek and a third for Radek’s
wrist. “Swallow those down and keep the ice in place until the pain settles,”
he ordered. “Dr. Zelenka, just give me a moment to wrap up that sprain and then
the three of you can take yourselves off to the mess-hall and get out of my
hair.”
All three breathed an unconscious sigh of relief at the dismissal, having
feared that the ever-thorough physician would demand a longer stay. His casual
attitude, more than anything else, told them that no serious injuries had been
incurred.
“Got any movies?” Ronon asked a few minutes later as the three men trudged
down to the dining hall together.
A bit surprised, Rodney asked, “You like movies?”
“Sure.”
“I have the extended-edition of “Dr. Zhivago” in
my quarters,” Radek offered.
Rodney made a face. “Sure, if
“Dracula?”
“Not enough life-sucking alien creatures in this galaxy for you?”
“Predator?”
“Explosions, gunfire and a pounding headache. Hmm, bad combo. Besides, Schwarzenegger is battling a
dreadlocked alien killing machine. Think about it.”
“Good point. What about ‘Pretty Woman’?”
“Tell me you’re kidding.”
Pushing his glasses up on his nose, Radek objected, “Julia Roberts is hot.”
Rodney paused. “Is that the movie with the slinky red dress?”
“And the high-heel boots and mini-skirt.”
Turning to Ronon, he asked, “What do you think? Isn’t watching chick-flicks
against the warrior code or something?”
Noting that he sounded hopeful, Ronon replied, “Got any cartoons?”
A startled laugh escaped. “Seriously?”
“Sheppard had one called “Shrek”. It was cool. Never seen
anything like it.”
Rodney considered this. Now and then it was easy to forget that Ronon was
not from Earth and wouldn’t be familiar with things the rest of them took for
granted. “I do have the sequel. Came in the last care-package
from the Daedalus.” Ever since the Atlantis
Expedition had reinitiated regular contact with Earth, supply runs had
frequently included small pieces of home. Ronon nodded his acceptance and Radek
shrugged, voicing no objection. “Sounds like we have a
winner. Anybody know what’s for lunch today?”
With a sly smile, Radek replied, “I believe it is the orange-glazed chicken
today.”
Ronon smirked. “I hear they’re having something called lemon meringue pie
for dessert.”
“Oh, you’ll like that. It is delicious. Don’t you agree, Rodney?”
McKay’s face worked comically, shifting back and forth between indignation
and dismay, not quite sure whether to believe them. Then, as they reached the
mess hall, he scowled. The Czech had only been joking but the reality was just
as bad. A sign on the wall read ‘Lemon Chicken’ as the day’s selection. And the
dessert advertised was, “Key lime pie? Are they trying to kill me?”
Ronon slapped him on the back. “I’ll let you have my popcorn when we watch
the movie.”
Rodney sighed unhappily and thanked God for MRE’s.
Chapter 4: Finding Common Interests
Much to Rodney’s relief, there had been a second choice on offer for lunch.
Within minutes, happily stuffed with lemon chicken, lasagna (for Rodney),
mashed potatoes, green salad and as many desserts as they had been able to lay
hands on, the three men set out for an afternoon of movie watching.
They reached Radek’s quarters first, where the
small man paused. “I will meet you both at Rodney’s in fifteen minutes,” he
promised. Plucking at the stiff material of his workout shirt in disgust, he
added, “I think we could all use a chance to clean up if we are going to spend
the afternoon together in one small room.”
Ronon had not even broken a sweat while dealing with the two scientists but
as he looked over the still damp material of Rodney’s black t-shirt, he grunted,
“Yep.”
A scowl stole over Rodney’s features but he could not disagree with the
assessment. “Make it twenty minutes. I’ll have the movie ready when you get
there.”
“Right,” Radek agreed. As he disappeared inside his room and the other two
started forward again, Ronon asked, “You want to invite Sheppard and Teyla to join us?”
“Can’t,” Rodney said around a leftover chocolate chip cookie he had just
popped in his mouth. He chewed for a moment, then swallowed noisily and
continued, “They were heading for the mainland to visit the Athosian
village this afternoon. Sheppard promised to take some of the kids for Jumper
rides while Teyla participated in a council meeting.”
The warrior grunted. “Forgot.” A pained grimace
flickered over his face. “Sounded boring.”
“The meeting or the babysitting?”
“Both. I don’t have much patience with kids, less with councilors.”
Rodney grinned. “And here I thought it was just me.”
The big man shrugged. “Don’t hate kids, just not very
comfortable with ‘em. Teyla
says I lack experience.”
A snort was the physicist’s response to that. “People have told me the same
thing but I didn’t buy it. I didn’t like being around kids, even when I was
one.” A thoughtful look came over him. “Though, come to think of it, I wasn’t
very good with adults either.”
“Still aren’t,” Ronon replied blandly, returning his companion’s irritated
glare with an amused smirk. He gestured at the door they had just reached. “See
you in twenty.”
Rodney appeared surprised that they had reached the door to his quarters
already. “Oh, right. Hey,” he called out as Ronon started to disappear around
the end of the corridor. The warrior stopped and looked back with a raised
eyebrow. “I’m going to hold you to that offer of extra popcorn.”
Ronon just grinned.
A couple of hours later, stuffed to the gills with popcorn and warm with
laughter over the movie, all three of the men were in a much improved mood.
‘Shrek 2’ had proved to be a big hit with Ronon, and Rodney and Radek had
derived much entertainment from explaining what was going on whenever the
fairy-tale references eluded him. They had laughed as much at watching Ronon
chortle and grin as his understanding and consequent enjoyment of the movie
grew, as they had over the film itself. The Satedan
had proven to have a quick mind and a surprisingly good sense of humor.
“That was better than the first one,” he commented as the last of the
credits rolled. “I liked the Puss in Boots character. You used to have one of
those, didn’t you, McKay?”
Rodney nodded. “Not exactly like that one. Real
cats don’t talk and they don’t wear clothes or fight with swords.” The smile
grew a bit wistful. “But they do make really loyal friends.”
“You must miss him,” Radek said, nodding as he saw McKay tense, obviously
preparing himself to be made fun of. “I, too, am a cat person by nature. My
family had dogs when I was growing up, but I always managed to keep a couple of
cats as well. I had to pass them to my sister for safekeeping when I joined the
Atlantis expedition.”
Rodney relaxed. “A neighbor is looking after mine.”
“Haven’t had an animal since I was a kid,” Ronon revealed, settling back
more comfortably in his borrowed chair and crossing his hands over his stomach.
“Not a lot of people did on Sateda. Not when there
was always a food shortage and a good chance that a culling could wipe out half
your population at any time. People did the best they could, but there wasn’t a
lot of extra time and resources. I joined the local military as soon as I was
of age, anyway.”
“A life that would not leave much time for pets,” Radek said, nodding.
One muscular shoulder shrugged. “Not much.” He smiled. “Had
to wait until I got here. Found some pet scientists to look after.”
“Oh, ha, ha,” Rodney replied. He was aiming for acerbic but his current
warm, comfortable and well-fed state stole the edge away. He was lying on a
sofa that had been here when he had taken over this room, his body sunk deep
into the softness of the cushions. The Ancients had been a society dedicated to
scientific, military, and spiritual advancement but some among them had clearly
been dedicated to creature comforts as well. The furniture discovered in many
of the abandoned living quarters had been not only remarkably well preserved,
but also amazingly comfortable. Half-hoping they might just leave him here to
indulge in hedonistic pleasure for a few more hours, he asked, “You want to do
anything else, or should we call it a day?”
“How’s your head?”
Automatically, he reached up to touch the bump, wincing when he touched it.
“Still hurts a little but nothing like before.”
Ronon turned to Radek. “You?”
He glanced at his bandaged wrist. “I will not be going bowling anytime
soon,” he quipped, “but I will be fit for duty in the morning.”
“Better be,” Rodney said around a huge yawn.
Radek ignored him. “And you, Ronon? How are you feeling?”
He gestured vaguely toward his bruised cheek. “This is nothing.”
“In that case, I must admit that all bruising aside, I am rather enjoying
this day,” Zelenka admitted with a smile. “I vote for continuing on.”
“Sounds good to me,” Ronon said, already hauling himself
out of the chair and bouncing on the balls of his feet in eager readiness for
something new to do.
Seeing that he had been outvoted before he even put up an argument, Rodney
gave his sofa a fond pat in farewell, then rolled his reluctant body out of its
depths. Straightening his clothing, he looked at Ronon. “So,
about that payback. Feel up to trying a couple of fun scientific
experiments?”
“Fun?” he repeated doubtfully, obviously feeling that ‘fun’ and ‘science’
were mutually exclusive concepts.
“Mm. We’ll start with something easy, since you
don’t know what you’re doing,” Rodney snarked,
deliberately mimicking Ronon’s words from earlier. He
considered the taller man for a moment, pondering. Then, a slow smile curved
his lips. “You used to build traps for the Wraith, didn’t you? Ever designed a
catapult?”
Radek looked alarmed when a matching grin spread across Ronon’s face. His two friends suddenly looked like a pair of mischievous little boys. “Don’t you think that might be dangerous?”
Chapter 5: Genius At
Work
“How about this?”
“Too brittle. The force of the release would break
it in half.”
“This one appears to be more flexible.”
“Hmm, maybe. Put it on the pile.”
“This piece might make a good platform for the ammunition.”
“Radek, we’re building a catapult, not a flying saucer.”
“What’s a flying saucer?” Ronon grunted.
“Um . . . ask Morgan in Hydroponics if he still has that copy of ‘The Day
the Earth Stood Still’. You’ll understand once you’ve seen it.”
“Morgan the guy who always looks like he’s about to
have a heart attack?”
“Yeah. It’s the goggly
eyes. It’s freaky how he never blinks.” A triumphant whoop came from the pile
of cast off odds and ends that Rodney had been digging through. There were
scraps of wood, plastic, fiberglass, metal and every other sort of material in
the storage room off the main science lab. No one ever knew when a seemingly
useless item might later prove useful. Rodney held up two long sections of thin
metal. “This will make the perfect brace for our cross-section.”
Radek came up with a boxy section of wood. “How about
this?”
“Looks like a good platform to me,” Ronon decided before Rodney could come
up with another flaw in his colleague’s chosen material. “Long
as we don’t fling anything too heavy.”
Rodney pursed his lips, considering the piece as he mentally catalogued it
with all of the other supplies they had put together. Then he nodded. “Good. A
few bolts and screws to hold it all together and we’re in business.”
“If you’re going to build a traditional medieval catapult, you shouldn’t
need bolts and screws,” Radek pointed out, smirking at the annoyed look on
McKay’s face. “Or can you not manage without modern aid?”
“You want to waste the whole day whittling wooden pegs and boring holes with
your handmade awl, Amish boy, you go right ahead. Ronon and I are going to go
have some fun.”
Chuckling to himself, Ronon gathered the assorted pieces of building
material into the box they’d chosen for their platform and followed McKay out
the door.
“Wait for me!” Radek protested, hastily scooping up a bag of empty artillery
shells, very similar to fist sized cannonballs, that had been included in
trade-goods from one of the first off-world missions. They were small, light,
and pretty much useless to the Atlantis expedition, as no one had been able to
think of a good use for them. Until now.
*~*~*~*~*
They had chosen one of the dozens of sea view balconies that surrounded
Atlantis. The towering glass parapets of the main hub of the city rose tall and
graceful above their heads. It was a beautiful sight, but the Satedan warrior and the two Earth scientists had no eyes
for its beauty today. They were fully absorbed in the construction of their
masterpiece.
With Zelenka’s right hand temporarily out of
commission, he could do little more than pass out parts with his left hand and
supervise, but that did not prevent him from taking a keen interest in the
project.
Rodney sat cross-legged on the deck, giving occasional directions with
demonstrative flails of his agile fingers, while otherwise busy with his own
piece of the construction. He was not shy about taking charge when a situation
called for it, barking crisp clear orders with a ferocity that could put a
marine drill instructor to shame, but truthfully, Rodney was much happier doing
the work himself. Right now, absorbed in explaining basic physics principals to
Ronon, who was an attentive student judging by the speed at which the catapult
was coming into shape, attention focused on building something from nothing and
elbows-deep in spare parts, Rodney McKay looked more relaxed than Radek had
ever seen him before.
Glancing at Ronon, the Czech smiled. He looked pretty happy himself,
enjoying the opportunity to learn something new that didn’t require anything
but strength of hands and precise attention to detail. Hands-on participation
was much more his style than sitting around a table talking and waiting for
something interesting to happen.
Handing the warrior a length of supple stretchy cord, Radek pointed out the
areas where Ronon should attach it to give the catapult arm its necessary
tension. The Satedan merely nodded and went to work,
obviously having figured it out already.
A few minutes later, Rodney scrambled to his feet, surprisingly agile for a
man who consistently whined in protest against any demand for exercise. He
looked over the finished construct critically, weighing, measuring,
perfectionist eyes searching for any hidden flaws. He grinned when he couldn’t
find any. Rubbing his hands gleefully together, he looked upon the bag of
ammunition with greedy eyes. “Who wants to go first?”
Ronon laughed. “I’m guessing you do, but I think we should let Zelenka go
first.”
“Why?” It was an unmistakable pout; a child being told that he must share
his new toy with a sibling.
“Cause he couldn’t do any of the building. He should at least get to try it
out.”
Rodney rubbed the back of his head, casting a jaundiced eye upon his fellow
scientist. “Oh, fine,” he huffed. “Just try not to hit anyone in the head this
time.”
Radek rolled his eyes and reached eagerly for a cannonball. Centering it
precisely in the middle of the platform, he grabbed the lever Rodney had built
into the side of the catapult and gave it a push. The flexible bands released
with a twang, sending the mechanical arm forward and flinging the small
projectile toward the miles-wide ocean before them. The bespectacled scientist
crowed with glee, delighted with the success of their creation.
They reset the machine and first Rodney, then Ronon gave it a try,
critically measuring the distance achieved and arguing over whose shot had gone
the farthest.
“Not powerful enough,” Ronon declared, nose
wrinkling as he squinted out over the sun sparkled waves. “It has to be
stronger if we’re going to get any distance.”
Rodney agreed. “We’re just not getting enough tension on the pulley. If the
enemy was storming our castle, they’d be halfway up the wall by now.”
“Is there anything we can do to increase the tension?” Radek asked, eyeing
the handmade device doubtfully.
Ronon shot him a questioning look as McKay, rather than answering verbally,
threw himself down next to the machine and start tinkering again. “Should we .
. .?”
“Let him play,” Radek advised, lounging back against the balcony railing and
making himself comfortable. “Trust me,
it will go faster if we do not interfere.”
The big man grunted and copied his pose. They watched for several minutes in
companionable silence, exchanging amused glances every so often as Rodney
grumbled, swore and made occasional sounds of epiphany, only to start growling
again a moment later. Finally, he sat up, looking surprised to find that he had
an audience. “What, are you just going to stand there? Help me straighten this
thing back out.” He had been twisting the catapult in incremental inches as he
worked on it, until it had become almost completely turned around. “C’mon, I want
to see if this works.”
Eager to assist, Radek grabbed another cannonball and stepped forward.
Unfortunately, he failed to notice the screwdriver Rodney had set down on the
deck until he landed on it. Fumbling for balance, he dropped the ball onto the ammunition
platform and reached out for something to steady himself. It was just bad luck
that he landed on the catapult lever.
The arm released so suddenly that all three builders fell back in alarm,
only to watch with open mouths and horrified eyes as the metal projectile shot
into the air with at least three times as much force as any of their previous
attempts, flying high and fast toward the control tower.
Protected by an energy shield, the majestic glass walls of the Atlantis
control tower had survived unscathed for millennia. It had taken three bored
men with a handmade catapult just over an hour to change that statistic.
Three sets of eyes squeezed shut and three sets of shoulders raised in an
instinctive flinch at the sound of glass shattering high above them followed by
a shriek of alarm. A moment later, Elizabeth Weir’s astonished face popped out
of the new hole in her office wall and looked around for the source of the
disturbance. The moment she saw them, her eyes narrowed.
Self preservation immediately kicked in. Ronon and Radek both pointed to
Rodney and endeavored to look blameless. Rodney’s eyes went as wide as saucers.
“I didn’t do it!” he squeaked. “Radek’s the one who
tripped!”
“Well you’re the one who left his tools lying around, and you’re the one who
gave the catapult more power!”
Rodney pointed an accusing finger at Ronon. “Only because
he told me to!”
Ronon snorted. “Right, ‘cause you always do what you’re told.”
“Enough!”
They leapt to obey.
“We are in so much trouble,” moaned Rodney.
The other two culprits could not disagree.
Chapter 6: The
Principal’s Office
Now, waiting for the men to arrive, she worked to compose her features into
a stern, impassive mask. They would expect her to be angry at the destruction
and perhaps disappointed by their reckless behavior, and she was, a little. The
problem was that she had been struggling not to laugh ever since she had
witnessed their guilty faces and attempts to pass the blame onto each other.
The effort to maintain a straight face grew even more difficult when the
trio arrived. They looked like nothing so much as naughty children caught doing
something they shouldn’t. She wondered at the bruises all three were sporting,
noticing that Radek had his left hand clasped protectively around the right
wrist, which was in a brace. The Czech’s eyes were fixed upon the carpet under
his feet and he was shuffling his weight nervously from side to side. Rodney
had his arms crossed over his chest; his chin raised in what would have been a
defiant attitude had his expressive blue eyes not been shining with anxiety,
embarrassment and honest regret. Ronon stood at attention, eyes fixed upon a
point over her shoulder; the seasoned soldier ready to accept whatever due
discipline she chose to mete out.
“Care to explain yourselves, gentlemen?” she asked calmly.
Unsurprisingly, Ronon remained silent. Radek looked up, opened his mouth,
then closed it again and shook his head. Both of them looked at Rodney, who
scowled, realizing that he had been left holding the bag.
“It’s your fault, you know,” he blurted.
“Yes. It wasn’t like I didn’t have plenty to do today, but you insisted that
I needed to take more time off and you’re the one who ordered me. Ordered me,”
he repeated, emphasizing the words with a wave of his hand, “to start working
out with Ronon. And then Radek joined us, and you can see how well that
turned out! So, when
“A catapult,” she interrupted quickly as he paused to take a breath. “You built
a catapult and just thought it would be fun to shoot cannonballs at my office?”
Reminded that he was not the injured party here, Rodney’s
eyes widened again. “No, no, no, no, we didn’t! I mean we did, but that
was an accident. We were shooting at the water, only the catapult didn’t have
enough tension to get a really good shot and Ronon wanted more power, so I
fixed it, only we didn’t get it turned back around before Dr. Fumbles here fell
over his own feet for the second time today,” he gestured absently at the
purpled lump on his forehead, “and fired without any directional calculation,
so the ammunition sort of took off on its own, and, um . . . well, you know the
rest.”
Rodney fell silent, squirming a little as all three of the others glared at
him for his attempts to shift the blame. In an unusually meek tone, he added,
“Sorry.”
Sensing a reprieve, Radek volunteered, “There are many uninhabited areas
around Atlantis that have undamaged glass panes. I would be most happy to take
a team down to recover one of them and supervise the replacement of your
window.”
“I’ll clear up the damaged glass in here,” Ronon offered.
More reluctantly, Rodney suggested, “I guess I’d better dismantle the
catapult before anyone gets hurt.”
This time,
Gaping with outrage, Rodney was reduced to incoherent sputtering. Ronon and
Radek looked no happier with their punishment, but realized that they were
getting off easily. A harsher base C.O. might have thrown them in the brig for
committing an act of vandalism, however unintentional. Grabbing McKay by both
arms, his two fellow culprits hauled him out of the office just as he began to
get his voice working again.
“This is so not fair!”
“Look at it this way, Rodney,”
As the door closed behind them, Dr. Elizabeth Weir finally gave in to the urge she had been fighting for the last ten minutes and laughed until her sides grew sore.
Chapter 7: The Horror of Hair Nets
Disassembling the catapult was much simpler than putting it together had
been. Just unhook a couple of bands, remove the screws and stack the pieces
neatly in a pile for later disposal. It should have taken all of five minutes,
but Rodney lingered over the task, removing each piece as delicately as if he
thought it might explode if handled too roughly. He managed to use up twenty
minutes on the task, then devoted another ten to
transporting the piles to his quarters. He told himself reasonably that they
hadn’t actually been ordered to destroy the catapult so it could probably be
reassembled and made use of again at a later time. They would just need to find
a more sensible location in which to try it out.
When the job was finally complete, Rodney wandered through the labs near his
quarters, vainly hoping to find something that would absolutely require his
personal attention. There was nothing. His staff was humming along in a hive of
happy productivity. No emergencies, no fires to put out, not a single vital
research consultation to be had.
He huffed unhappily. There was simply no justice in a galaxy that yanked him
away from sleep, meals and important personal projects nearly every day of the
week, but could not produce so much as one measly chemical fire when he really
needed one.
“Rodney McKay, report to the Mess Hall immediately. Rodney McKay, report to
the Mess Hall immediately.”
Rodney jumped as the firm order came over his earpiece. He scowled,
realizing that he was tuned in to the public broadcast band. That meant
everyone wearing a radio headset would have heard that. If he didn’t go,
someone would surely be sent to track him down and escort him. And then every
person in Atlantis would know that their mega-genius astrophysicist had been
temporarily demoted to kitchen boy.
Tapping his earpiece, he allowed every ounce of the irritation he felt to
ooze into his voice as he replied, “I’m on my way.”
~*~*~*~*~
“Nice of you to join us,” Zelenka greeted dryly as Rodney
slunk past the few occupants of the commissary and made his way into the
kitchen. The Czech was chopping vegetables, holding them in place with
his injured right hand while carefully, if somewhat clumsily, chopping with the
left.
Rodney froze, eyes bulging as he got a good look at his fellow detainees. He
was not quite sure whether he wanted to laugh or run screaming in terror. He
had realized the possibility of aprons, gloves and any number of unpleasant
tasks that might be required before he could escape. He had not even considered
that he might be required to wear, “A hair net?”
Zelenka self-consciously adjusted the sterile paper covering that surrounded
his wild brown hair. “It is not sanitary to handle food for the public without
one.”
“What’s the big deal?” Ronon grunted, biceps bulging as he hauled up the
enormous pot of water and peeled root vegetables he had been working on and set
it on the stove behind him. His long dreadlocks were also encased in a net, but
somehow the embarrassing item actually flattered him.
Rodney chalked up another point on the scorecard of galactic injustice.
“I am not wearing that,” he said flatly, staring down the amused-looking
Sergeant Judy Menlo who was holding out a small package. “I’m not.”
Menlo eyed him calmly and Rodney squirmed. The Sergeant was in her middle
years, squarely built and just barely over the minimum height requirement for
the
“I can’t cook,” he offered, defensively backing up a step as she advanced on
him with the net. “Burnt bread, sticky pasta, mushy vegetables, half raw meat,
is that really what you want? I’m not even a good peeler, wound up in the
infirmary with two skinned knuckles last time I did it. You want blood in your
mashed yaro-roots tonight?”
“He’s not lying,” Ronon offered, a small derisive
snort escaping. “Anything more complicated than heating an MRE and he’s
downright dangerous.”
Rodney would normally have been insulted by any such slight to his skills
but now he was happy for the negative support and nodded so hard his head
looked like it might fly off his shoulders.
“See? Even Ronon thinks I’m incompetent and he’ll eat anything!” A pleading
note entered his voice. “C’mon, Sarge, have a heart.
I’ll wash dishes, I’ll bus tables, I’ll even mop the
damned floors if that’s what you want.”
Reaching past him, Menlo hefted a large box into her arms and shoved it into
Rodney’s hands. “Trays, cutlery, napkins,” she said crisply. “Even stacks,
separate the forks, knives and spoons into individual piles. After that, come
back and get the fresh fruit, jello cups, milk
cartons, and orange juice bottles and set them in ice in the appropriate bins.
You’ll need to keep an eye on all of it as people move through the lines to
make sure nothing runs out. If it does, refill it.”
The triumphant smile Rodney wore began to fade and the amusement of his
friends grew when the task list continued.
“As people finish eating and leave, they’ll put their discarded trays in the
bins next to the garbage. As those become full, you’ll need to change out the
trash and recycling bags and haul the full ones down to the waste disposal
center. You’ll probably have to do that twice, once in the middle of shift and
again at the end. In the meantime, don’t let the dirty trays stack up more than
fifteen or twenty high. Just pick up the stacks and put them in the big dishwasher
down at the end.” She pointed to indicate which one she meant. “It’ll hold
around 75 trays if you load it properly. The next one over is for cups, glasses
and silverware. There are always a few stragglers showing up at odd hours day or night, but the main body of diners will be
finished by twenty-hundred, at which time you’ll wash down all of the tables
and straighten the chairs. Understood?”
Fighting the ridiculous urge to salute, he did straighten his spine and
stand at something very close to military attention. The challenge in the
little woman’s eyes was unmistakable. She smiled and wiggled the box containing
the hair net, clearly inviting him to make his choice. Either wear the awful thing and admit defeat, though likely getting
an easier list of tasks in reward, or stand his ground and let the Sergeant
publicly run him ragged all evening.
He could see Radek and Ronon grinning as they waited to see what he would
do. Ronon leaned down and whispered something to the Czech that got a head
shake and a smug look in return.
“If I do this, I get whatever I want out of the food stores when I’m
finished,” Rodney negotiated, “Including real coffee and at least one dessert
of my choice.”
Sergeant Menlo considered the demand. “My kitchen staff always gets first
dibs on fresh desserts. You do your work, no shirking and no whining about
unfair treatment, and I’ll make sure you get your fair share.”
“It better not be lemon pie or anything like that,” he growled, remembering
his earlier complaint to Weir. “You’ve been serving way too much of that stuff
lately and you know I can’t eat any of it.”
“No?”
She looked honestly surprised and Rodney’s eyes narrowed, considering. Menlo
had come through with a wave of replacement personnel on the Daedalus recently.
“I’m sorry, I had no idea. I’ll make certain there’s always another option
available,” she promised.
Rodney could almost see her making a mental note of it and a tense coil in
his stomach loosened. Hefting the box of trays he still held, he gave her a
tight smile. “Then we have a deal.”
“You still have to wear the apron and gloves,” she told him firmly. “Things
get a little messy around here, even for those who aren’t food-handlers and
cooks, and I insist that everyone be protected from splashes and spills.”
Setting his burden on the counter, Rodney accepted the heavy black full
length apron, slipping it over his head and tying it into place. Picking out
several pairs of latex gloves from the box, he stuffed them in the apron’s
pockets before pulling a pair over his hands with the familiar ease of someone
who has spent the majority of his life poking around laboratories. Without a
word, he picked up the box again and left to begin setting up for dinner.
“Unbelievable,” Radek stated, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “We are
all three being punished for something that was Rodney’s idea to begin with and
he still ends up getting his own way.”
“Told you he would,” Ronon grunted, hefting another pot onto the stove top.
“He’s stubborn.”
Radek sighed gustily and went back to chopping. There was no argument for
that one.
Menlo chuckled. “As soon as everything is ready to go, you two will be done.
My regular staff will handle the serving chores and clean-up.
Mollified by the reminder, Radek’s mood improved
at once. “I will be sure to remind him of that . . . regularly.”
“I don’t get it,” Ronon remarked, gesturing at his hair net. “The first time
I ever saw McKay he was wearing a bright orange plastic suit and hanging upside
down. Doesn’t seem too concerned about how he looks the rest of the time
either. What’s so bad about this?”
“It’s not very dignified,” Radek explained, “and it probably conjures up
memories of high school cafeterias. They can be quite frightening places,
especially when a person does not fit in well with other students.”
As the dinner preparation continued, Radek did his best to explain to an interested Ronon Dex the various horrors associated with adolescent education on Earth.
Chapter 8: A Good Day After All
Ronon and Radek had long since eaten by the time Rodney was finished with
his chore list, but they remained in the mess hall to offer support. To the
amusement of Ronon and the amazement of Radek, their partner in crime had gone
about his assigned duties without offering more then a few stinging retorts
toward diners who dared to mock the sight of a brilliant scientist emptying
garbage cans and clearing tables.
Rodney proved to be a surprisingly efficient worker and when he was
finished, Sergeant Menlo offered her sincere thanks for a job well done.
Pleased that she had kept her end of the bargain, Rodney took his meal out to
the table where his friends were waiting and dug in with gusto.
“Where did you learn to do all that?” Radek asked him, gesturing broadly
around the hall to take in the clean, tidily arranged serving areas and tables.
“Not that it is difficult, but I am quite certain that I was observing
experience in action.”
Reluctantly, he admitted, “I worked in a restaurant for a while during my
University days. The owner could only afford a few helpers, and he did the
cooking himself, so we took turns doing everything else: bussing tables,
waiting on customers, clean-up, the works. It wasn’t
the greatest job, but he was a nice old guy and he paid me enough for books and
expenses; the occasional night out.”
Radek smiled. “I did a University exchange program in the States during my Junior year. I took employment as a package delivery
courier. It was somewhat difficult as I did not have a very good grasp of
English and had trouble reading the street signs.”
“Hope you weren’t living on tips,” Rodney scoffed.
Not admitting anything, he added, “I quit that job quickly and moved on to,
how do you call it? Fast food?”
Eyes lighting up with glee, Rodney said, “You want fries with that?”
“It wasn’t hamburgers, actually. It was Kentucky Fried chicken. I used to
amuse myself trying to figure out the so-called ‘secret formula’.”
Rodney snorted a laugh and took another mouthful of the mashed root
vegetables with gravy and the fried whatever-fowl that had been served with it.
“KFC would be nice,” he mused. “Because whatever this bird the Athosians found on the mainland is, it’s definitely a long
way from chicken.” He washed down the food with a slurp of coffee, then took
another slower sip and heaved a blissful sigh. No decaffeinated, watered down,
crystalline pseudo coffee crap here; this was the good stuff. The all too rare fresh-ground ambrosia that he'd been craving like
a drug addict after a fix.
“Stew was good tonight,” Ronon commented. “Thick and filling, the way it
should be, not watered down to almost soup in order to make it stretch far
enough to feed everyone.”
Rodney paused in the act of sopping up gravy with a thick slice of bread. “That happen a lot where you’re from?”
“Often enough.”
Radek nodded. “We had our share of such meals when I was growing up. Too many mouths to feed and not enough food to go around.”
He smiled wistfully. “My mother always made certain we had something in our
stomachs, though, even if she had to go hungry herself in order to do it. It
made life a particular pleasure when I earned scholarships enough to go to
school, and was able to get a job rich enough to provide for them.”
The Czech squirmed a bit when he realized that Rodney was staring at him,
his expression difficult to read.
“Are you trying to guilt me out of this?” Rodney asked after several seconds
of intensively studying his colleague. He pulled the large beautiful slab of
chocolate cake that was sitting next to his tray a little closer. “’Cause it’s not going to work. I’m not going to give you my
very-well-earned dessert, just because you tell me you had a crappy childhood.”
He scowled. “I wasn’t suggesting you should.”
Rodney wrapped a protective arm around the cake plate as if to shield it
from their predatory eyes. “I’ve seen how much you eat, Radek,” he snorted,
shoveling in the last few bites of his dinner. “It’s no wonder everybody else
in your family went hungry. They probably didn’t have time to grab anything
before you ate it all.”
Radek pulled himself up straighter, ready to fire back, but stopped when he
noticed that Ronon was laughing. “What?”
“He’s got a point, Doc,” the Satedan chuckled. “I
been watching you today and I don’t know where you put it all.”
Radek blushed, a sheepish smile creasing his cheeks. “I am a growing boy?”
he tried.
Ronon stood, hauling the surprised scientist to his feet and draped a heavy
arm over his shoulders. The top of Radek’s head was
barely level with the warrior’s chest. “Explains a lot,” he grunted, giving the
small man a squeeze, then a hearty slap on the back that nearly sent him
tumbling over the table. “I gotta go. See you both in
the gym day after tomorrow for another sparring session.”
Having been enjoying the exchange up to this point, Rodney looked up in
alarm, a forkful of cake held suspended in front of his gaping mouth. “What?”
Ronon’s brow rose. “One lesson isn’t gonna do you
much good, ‘specially since you didn’t even finish it.
You need to keep training at least a couple times a week. Three or four would
be better.”
Radek grimaced but said, “He is right, Rodney. Even scientists keep
experimenting until we achieve the desire results.”
“Shut up,” Rodney snapped. When Radek held up his hands in surrender, he
turned back to Ronon and pointed an accusing finger at him. “You want me to
show up and become your practice dummy three times a week, but what do I get in
return?”
“What do you want?”
He pondered the question for less than a second. “I want you to meet me in
the Control Room the next time there are no off world missions scheduled. I’m
going to teach you how to disassemble and reassemble a DHD. I’ll reprogram it, break
it if you will, in a controlled environment and you will learn how to put it
back into a proper working configuration. We’ll keep working until you get it
right, then a few days later, we’ll do it again until I’m satisfied that you
can do the job right, every time. After that, I’ll drill you until you can
reprogram and reassemble a DHD in less than fifteen minutes. Then I’ll think of
something else.”
Ronon studied his face closely. A sly smile tilted the crooked mouth, just
daring him to protest. “I’m not stupid, McKay.”
“If I thought you were, I wouldn’t be suggesting this.”
The warrior paused, noting the seriousness shining in the scientist’s blue
eyes. It spoke of the same life-and-death need that had provoked Ronon to
suggest physical combat training for the science staff to Weir. He nodded. “Fair enough. What about him?”
Rodney gave Radek a dismissive shrug and returned to attacking his dessert.
“He’s not a bad student. He can help you with your homework.”
Just for that, Radek Zelenka shot out his left hand and snagged the uneaten
portion of Rodney’s chocolate cake, stuffing it in his mouth before his
superior could get it back. “I will see you tomorrow,” he garbled, grabbing
Ronon and beating a hasty retreat.
“Hey!” For a moment, Rodney considered giving chase, but there was really no
point. The cake was already gone. He look sorrowfully
at his empty plate, then picked it up and headed back into the kitchen.
~*~*~*~*~
Teyla Emmagen and John
Sheppard walked into the mess hall in search of a late-night snack, and found
the room empty except for one lone figure seated at a table near the kitchen.
Teyla gently shook the shoulder of the man
sleeping with his cheek pillowed upon one hand, the other clutched around an
empty fork, which was still lifted over a plate of half eaten cake. “Rodney?”
He came awake with a gasp, nearly stabbing John with the fork as he flailed
his arm in surprise. “Wha-?”
She smiled. “Do not be alarmed. I merely woke you to suggest you return to
your quarters to sleep.”
Rodney blinked and rubbed his eyes with the heel of one hand. “What time is
it?”
“Just after midnight,” John told him, taking a seat. “We just got back from
the mainland.”
“Why so late?” he asked around a yawn. “I thought you just went for a
council meeting.”
Teyla nodded. “It is not often that I have a
chance to socialize with my people. There was no pressing need for a quick
return so we stayed and talked far into the evening.”
Seeing the smile on Sheppard’s face, Rodney smirked, “You were telling bad
ghost stories to the kids again, weren’t you?”
“Some people like my ghost stories,” he said airily. “Looks like you managed
to find some trouble without us around to keep an eye on you. Anything I should
know about?”
He gestured to his forehead, reminding Rodney of the colorful bruise he
still sported. Rodney pressed the spot gently. “Head-butted
Ronon.”
“And you’re still alive? I’m impressed.”
“It was an accident,” he sighed, realizing that he might as well tell them
the whole story before they heard a more colorfully augmented version from
someone else. Any unusual event around Atlantis had a tendency to become
instant grist for the gossip mill. Sheppard and Teyla
were soon laughing as the tale unfolded and Rodney found himself seeing it all
in a humorous light as well, now that it was over. “So after Radek stole my
dessert I managed to sweet-talk the Sergeant into giving me another piece, but
the day sort of caught up to me while I was eating it.”
Teyla smiled fondly. “And that is why we found you
here, asleep.”
“Pretty much.” He shrugged and then winced, feeling
his unusual day’s activity in every single sinew. God, he was going to be too
sore to move by morning. “Ow.”
Sheppard chuckled heartlessly. “C’mon, Teyla.
Let’s get the weekend warrior to his quarters while he can still walk. We’ll
come back and see if Menlo has any more cake stashed around here later.” He
stood and grabbed Rodney by the arm, levering him to his feet. “Upsy-Daisy, Rodney.”
“Up your daisy,” Rodney muttered, and then groaned when his stiff body twinged and creaked in protest as his friends steadied him
and gave him an escort out of the mess hall. Moving seemed like a very bad idea
but he managed to keep his uncooperative body going forward with the reminder
that a hot soothing shower was only minutes away, and that there would be a
nice soft bed waiting just a few feet beyond that.
As he listened with only partial attention to John and Teyla
chattering about how much they had enjoyed their day on the mainland, Rodney
considered his own day off and struggled not to smile. He would never admit it
to anyone, but even with having suffered bruises, a lecture and the indignity
of kitchen duty, he had had a lot of fun today.
And more importantly, he now knew where Menlo hid the coffee stash!
THE END
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