Puddle Jumping Chp 6

Dec 12, 2010 05:29

Title:Puddle Jumping
Author:Calamityjim
Fandoms:Supernatura/SGA/SG1
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Supernatural-Spoilers to season 5, SG-1, to season 9, and SGA, all seasons. Also Violence, swearing, pairings, and aliens
Disclaimer:Stargate belongs to MGM, Supernatural to the CW
Distribution: cross posted on fanfiction.net
Summary: Gabriel's solution to the apocalypse was unorthodox. Now Sam and Dean are struggling to survive in a reality they don't understand against forces that take a little more than salt to kill. First Story in the Rebirth Verse the Atlantis Arc.

Chap Summary- Dean doesn't make an enemy, Rodney makes a weapon, and Beckett makes a faceplant.


 AN- First,-nevermind

Second, Fic Recs: Because I can. "Red Tape" by Like-A-Raven-14 on ff is an awesome parody oneshot on an alternative way of stopping the apocalypse. It's hilarious and made me laugh out loud. And "in the closet" by Marlowe97 also on ff. Its on outsider's POV about being trapped in a closet with Sam and Dean. A little violent, a little serious, and a little funny it is a great way of presenting the boys through a strangers eyes. A long oneshot.

Third: This might be the last chapter of 2010. I have Uni exams coming up and then am traveling for Xmas, so no promises on posting more for this story til the new year. That being said I am putting up an Xmas themed one shot that serves a pre-tag to this story. It's short, it's rough, but I like it. It also doesn't feature any SGA peeps so it won't be listed as a crossover, which means you have to come to my main page to find it.

So Happy Whatever You Celebrate and Enjoy.

Previous Chapter

Puddle Jumping

Chapter 6

Beer and Bug Hunts

Ronon was a perfect bastard. The dude wasn't dumb enough to fall for a hustle, wasn't trusting enough to let Dean even touch the fancy gun he wore, and didn't have the decent sense to be a complete asshole so Dean could hate him.

They'd killed an hour and a bunch of ammo at the firing range. Ronon had hit every target with every weapon he had touched dead on while Sammy hadn't hit a single damn thing. To be fair he hadn't touched any guns either. Dean hadn't planned on being fair until he'd noticed the way Sam kept cradling his wrist, and the hints of darker bruises peeking out from under younger brother's sleeve. After that every target Dean hit was part of the face of the backwater hick who had damaged his Sam. And Dean hit all his targets.

He just didn't always aim for what he was supposed to.

Dean had pulled the same at the SGC for a while, until Johnny had whispered in his ear that teaching Dean to shoot would have delayed the trip to Atlantis. Dean's scores had doubled and his funds had halved. It hadn't been a huge loss. After all there was no point in hustling if you couldn't spend the money and not being able to leave the base seriously crimped Dean's shopping habits. Here he didn't have a stake in making the shots. There was no way they were going to give Dean a job with a gun and the locals didn't seem like they'd be inviting Dean to the weekly poker match. As long as he lost once in a while and never won by too much Dean could keep the gig up for weeks.

Target practice had been fun, but like all good things it came to an end far too soon for Dean's liking. One of the pitfalls of intergalactic outposts was that things like ammo were tightly rationed.

After they'd been tossed from the range Ronon had dragged them halfway across the city. Dean hadn't paid much attention to where they going. It wouldn't have really mattered if he had. Shit like that always got all twisted in his head until he figured it out for himself. Sam was the walking map of the family. The kid could trudge through a building blindfolded and draw a floor plan.

Sammy was freaky like that.

Which was why Dean was the only person surprised when he found himself back on the pier where he and Sammy had spent the night doing manly bonding. Ronon crossed the dock to lie on his stomach. He reached a long arm down, feeling along the metallic edge before grabbing a cord and heaving. He let out a soft grunt as he pulled at the cord on last time, a netted bag jumping from ocean onto the dock.

Dean grinned as he took in its contents. "The fishing here always that good?"

Ronon gave a smug smile back, reaching into the bad to pull out a can of ocean-chilled beer. "It's Sheppard's." He gave the can a toss and Dean deftly snatched it out of the air, waggling his eyebrows when he caught Ronon's evaluating look.

"Does the colonel know he's sharing his cache?" Sam asked, slightly concerned.

Ronon shrugged. "He'll figure it out eventually." He held out a beer to Sam who pursued his lips pensively, staring at the can like it was giving him an ethical dilemma. Knowing his little brother it probably was. Sam was always uneasy with how much they had had to steal in their previous life, going with it only because the rationalization of taking what they needed was true. While Lenore had been a crap mom she had at least always had the funds to take care of them.

Coming to a decision Sam snagged the offered beer. Dean raised his brows, a little surprised. Sam's eyes flicked to Dean's shoulder before coming to rest on his face, Sam's expression perfectly neutral. Dean smiled out of the corner of his mouth. Leave it to Sam to drink someone's beer out of revenge.

Wait.

Dean frowned at his brother and Sam's face cleared into a perfectly innocent look. The one he wore when he was guilty as sin. Dean scowled.

That beer-stealing bitch!

Ronon pulled another beer out of the sack before he tied the thing off and gave it a light kick overboard. The bag hit the ocean with a crash before sinking into the improvised cooler. He cracked open his beer, holding it out as foam rushed out of the can and splatter onto the ground. "How'd you hurt your shoulder?" he asked before taking a sip.

Dean sputtered on his beer, the sip he'd just taken spraying all over the deck in an attempt to stop it from slipping up his sinuses. Wiping his chin with the ball of the thumb he took another sip, trying to project an air of dignity. "What makes you think I hurt my shoulder?" he asked with a calm that was in total contradiction to his earlier

"You two were talking about it." Ronon took another sip, watching Dean intently.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "We never said anything."

"Doesn't change the fact that you were talking."

A cold rage filled Dean, the icy tendrils burying themselves deep in his innards. It took everything he had not to crush the can he was holding into oblivion and stuff it down Ronon's throat. Dean felt exposed, violated in a way he hadn't been since the siren had hijacked his mind and his mouth.

Despite his efforts the can in his hand began to groan in protest.

It was drowned out by Sammy's delighted laughter. "You're the first person to catch what we were talking about!" Sam sounded astonished in a way Dean hadn't heard in decades and the elder Winchester found himself relaxing at the sound, awash in pleasant memories. It reminded Dean of Sammy's first library card. The kid had practically geekgasmed when he'd discovered that the thing let him bring home books for free. Dean could still picture Sam holding the tiny piece of cardboard with the awe and wonder that came with being seven years old. Less than a year later that wonder would be poisoned with knowledge of true evil.

Ronon snorted in disgust. "Lantians don't notice much."

"But you do," Sam answered back, his tone flooded with understanding and in that moment Dean got it. His own gut eased as he saw the way Sam saw Ronon and understood why his brother wasn't upset by the man's glimpse into he and Dean's world. There may not have been ghosts or demons to fight in this new reality there were still monsters, still hunters, and Ronon was undeniably one of them. While it didn't make him a friend or even an ally it did create some common ground, and Sammy was all about the common ground. The girl.

Ronon shrugged off the comment. "You haven't opened your beer." He was right. Sam hadn't. Instead of drinking the damn thing he was using it as an ice pack for his wrist.

Dean looked at his brother sharply. "Do you need to go visit Dr. B?"

Sam scowled. "Only if you plan to show him your shoulder."

Dean held his hands up peaceably. He understood Sam's reluctance. The Scottish doctor was a little too curious about Sam to be trusted.

Ronon crossed his arms. "So, how'd you hurt your shoulder?"

"Same way Sam hurt his wrist."

"Liar."

Dean sighed. Ronon really was part hunter, which means that if Dean didn't fess up the man was likely to beat the truth out of him. While Dean was no slouch at hand-to-hand and confident he could hold his own against the taller man, he didn't have a pain kink and keeping the information secret wasn't worth the bruises he'd get protecting it. "It was Sheppard."

Ronon turned, looking out over the ocean. "He's been sick."

"So the whole psycho killer vibe isn't his usual bit?" Dean was skeptical. The dude was military, after all. It was part of the job description.

"No." Ronon frowned, clearly troubled. "Sheppard's a cool guy."

Dean could sense a personal history behind the comment. It was force of habit more than curiosity that caused him to dig. "How'd you meet?"

Ronon's lips twitched into a predatory grin. "I shot him."

"Yeah?" Dean grinned back, not doubting Ronon for a moment. After all, with the way he'd met Johnny he had no room to judge. "How'd he take that?"

"He was impressed with my gun. McKay wants to take it apart to try and make more."

Dean let out a bark of laughter. "Dude, everyone is impressed with your gun. That thing is fantastic." It had incinerated the targets at the range.

Ronon smiled darkly. "You should see what it does to the Wraith."

Dean caught the way Ronon's lip curled and the underlying snarl in his voice as he spoke of the aliens and any doubt that Ronon would have been a hunter had they met at a different time vanished. He used the same tone that Bobby Singer spoke of demons and Gordon Walker of vampires. The same tone that Dean spoke of angels. Out of respect and a need to avoid intimate touchy feely conversations with strange space barbarians Dean desperately dredge his mind for a new and safer topic of conversation.

The need to do so was cut short by a soft clink. Dean and Ronon both spun at the sound.

On the deck lay Sam's beer, the can twisted and split like John Hurt's chest. Instead of blood across the cafeteria, beer and foam had splashed all over the deck, the white bubbles sliding further away from the initial explosion as the wind spurred them onwards.

Sam stared down at his hand, the appendage still curled like he was holding a can against his bruised wrist. His face was covered in a frustrated confusion, as though he was having problems accepting the fact that the beverage was no longer where it was supposed to be. He blinked slowly, like the act could somehow cause time to reverse and allow reality to right itself. The wind tugged at Sam's dark hair, revealing eyes that seemed to glaze even as his face drained of all color.

Dean swore and rushed to his brother, his own beer forgotten. He wrapped a firm hand into Sam's collar, pulling his brother forward as Sam began to collapse. With a move he had perfected from far too much practice Dean pulled sideways, twisting so that Sam fell safely into his lap instead of crashing into the hard ground, his unseeing eyes up staring at the azure sky as Dean gently rocked his body.

"I'll go get help."

"Don't!" Dean shouted sharply. Ronon stopped in his tracks, giving Dean a disbelieving look. "Don't." Dean repeated, calmer and more controlled. "Sam'll be okay. He just needs a minute."

Ronon looked at Dean with undisguised disbelief. "Beckett will still need to see him." His tone was uncompromising.

Dean took a deep breath. "I swear to God if you tell Beckett I will take your fancy gun and beat you to death with it." Sam made a strangle rasp so Dean ran his fingers through Sam's hair and gave a soothing mutter, hoping that the comforting gestures reached his brother's mind in whatever nightmare it was watching. "I know he looks sick, but he's not. He's fine. Just give him a minute."

Dean didn't know what it was, whether it was his tone or something else, but Ronon took the few steps back to where he and Sam were sitting and he squatted down, his face a mask of concentration as he watched Sam's form. Dean let him fade into the background, concentrating on the feel of his brother in his arms, silently measuring Sam's breathe as he watched his brother give the occasional twitch. The first sign of Sam coming back from his future adventures was always a hitch in his breathing. This time was no exception.

Next came the fighting. Dean always hated this part because it gave him a glimpse of how freaked out Sam was by whatever he'd seen. This time wasn't as bad as the last, but it was all relative. Sam settled for jerking and twisting, but he didn't try to kick and claw his way out of Dean's grip.

As suddenly as they started Sam's struggles ceased, morphing into rapid blinking. "Dean?" Sam murmured the same way he had as a child just waking from a nightmare, trying to gage if he was really awake or about to be pulled under the bed by the shadows.

"I gotcha, Sammy," Dean spoke softly, helping ease his brother into a sitting position. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." Sam's voice didn't tremble as he spoke the sentiment, which meant that it might actually be true. Dean helped him to his feet, waving off Ronon's help. He was mollified by how little weight Sam needed to place on him to get to his feet.

"All right. You've had enough adventure for the day. Time to get back to the room." Dean's tone was light but he hoped that Sam was thinking clearly enough to catch the undertone.

"What was that?" Ronon's stare was intense, as though he could will the Winchesters to speak.

Both Heaven and Hell had learned the hard way that you couldn't will the Winchesters into doing anything. "It's nothing a little rest won't cure. Now let's go back to the room."

Sam shook his head. "No, Dean. He needs to hear."

It seemed that Sammy was in the mood to have a repeat of Ellen. What the hell was with his brother and sharing deep family secrets with complete strangers?

"Hear what?"

Dean subbed at his temple. Dammit Sam. "After we get back to the room." Hopefully by that time Dean had come up with a creative excuse to counter his brother's insanity.

"Dude, I'm-"

"You shut up," Dean grumbled. Sam was still pale and the sweat on his brow had nothing to do with the sun. Visions hit Sam hard when he was on the top of his game and they had forgone sleeping in favor of star watching and chick flick moments. The next time Sam wanted to talk about his feelings Dean was going to shoot him.

With Ronon's gun.

The walk back to the room was too slow for Dean's liking, though he could have ran to the room and it still would have been still too slow. It didn't help that the city was humming in the back of his skull. Atlantis had to be the puppy that had taken to humping his brain.

First, there were no ghosts here and Dean knew this because he'd checked. Thoroughly. When he was ten. It had turned out to actually be electrical problems every time. Who would have thought, right?

Second, there was little bubble of popping delight every single freaking time he opened a door. There was no way an alien possessing him would be that excited about so simple a task. Dean was a bit afraid to do more than that. If opening a door made the city that happy, what the fuck would happen if he tried to adjust the lights?

When they finally made it to the room Sam darted in, placing the beds between he and Dean as he waited for Ronon to enter, successfully preventing his brother from saving Sam from the stupidity of his own actions.

The door clicked shut and Ronon rested against the frame, trapping the Winchesters in the room with him as he waited for answers.

Sam didn't make him wait long. "I have visions of the future."

"Right." Ronon turned to Dean, looking for an actual explanation.

"Sammy thinks he has visions of the future. It's a side effect of the seizures." Dean gave what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug.

Ronon frowned, clearly believing Dean about as much as he believed Sam.

Sam huffed and put on his bitch face. "Dean, grow up. This is serious." Dean couldn't help but see a five year old stamping his foot explaining the importance wrapping plants in plastic so they could eat sunshine.

The illusion shattered when Sam turned his head and crossed his arms, his gaze focusing on Ronon. "John Sheppard is turning into a bug. In order to try and save his life you and your team are going to go to the planet where the bugs live, sneak into their nest, and try to steal some eggs. It's going to go wrong. As Dr. Beckett approaches the eggs the bugs are going to get agitated. Then they're going to get pissed. They'll attack. You'll make it out. Walker and Stevens won't. They're going to be eaten alive. The bugs are going to wrap themselves around their bodies, attaching themselves to the neck, arms and legs. The grenade thrown into the cave will hurt, but it won't kill them. The bugs are going to drain the life out of them over the span of ten minutes, and they are going to be awake for the entire time." Sam flared his nostrils, his energy running high. "You don't believe me now. Fine. I get that. This is crazy, right?" Sam gave a small, hopeless smile. "I just hope you change your mind before someone dies."

Ronon stared at Sam, flicked his gaze to Dean and then left the room without a word.

The moment he was gone Dean spun on his brother. "Dammit, Sam! What the hell were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that maybe I could save the lives of two people. Now come on. We have work to do." Sam moved to their duffle bags, shuffling through the clothes to pull out a journal.

"Doing what?" Dean grunted, still pissed but his curiosity piqued.

Sam rolled his eyes. "You really think these people are going to save themselves?"

Dean thought back to the hick from the mess hall and gave a harsh chuckle. "I think they can use all the help they can get."

x-x-x-x

Rodney McKay was having a bad day. To be honest, in his considerably informed opinion, he was having a bad life. It was a bi-product of being the smartest person in two galaxies. In addition of having to deal with the issues that only his intelligence could solve he was also forced to continually deal with the stupidity of others.

But today was especially bad.

It had started early because some idiot, probably Kavanagh, hadn't calibrated the system for their system patch and because no one else could figure out that when something was smoking the best approach was to turn it off, McKay had been called in. He'd spent an hour installing a new patch and fixing the damage the inferior one had caused. By the time he had been done all he had wanted was a gallon of coffee but he had made it to the mess hall some idiot, probably Kavanagh, had drank the last cup and hadn't bothered to tell anyone. McKay had been forced to waste precious time he could have been using to search the database for the secrets of Zed-PMs waiting for the coffee to percolate. When he had gotten to the lab he had begun to go over the previous day's data. A massive unexplained power surge the previous afternoon had forced McKay to hunt down Radek for an explanation. The cheeky Czech had explained that Cadwell had delivered genes users who were possibly of the Sheppard variety. If it were true it meant that there had been a severe breakdown in communications somewhere or Elizabeth had willfully not informed McKay of new personnel who could greatly aid in the furthering of scientific knowledge. If it were false it meant that Radek was so afraid of McKay that he had resorted to lying to save himself from the consequences of his actions, which meant that Rodney would need to find a new second in command because he didn't have time to be sparing people's feelings and couldn't deal with inaccurate information. This would cause all sorts of problem because Zelenka was one of the few people in the city who wasn't entirely stupid. If it turned out the Czech was lying Rodney intended to make him suffer the way he would have to suffer as he searched the personnel records. He'd partner Radek with some idiot.

Probably Kavanagh.

It must have been the stress of these events that had led McKay to agree to Carson's suicide mission to save Sheppard. Because going to an Iratus bug infested planet with the intention of sneaking into a nest to steal some eggs so Carson could perform the voodoo magic he insulting labeled as a science to try and save Sheppard was most definitely a form of suicide. McKay had been there when the insect had wrapped itself around Sheppard's neck. He'd been there when they had stopped the colonel's heart in order to save his life because nothing else worked on the creature.

On the positive side of things, if Rodney was dead he wouldn't have to deal with the frustration of attempting to find a human being worth his time to replace Radek. On the negative, he'd be dead and Atlantis would probably be destroyed with hours of the city getting that announcement. That and he'd win his Noble Prize posthumously, which really defeated the purpose of the Noble Prize because the thing was all about bragging rights and the dead didn't get to brag on account of having no vocal cords because they'd rotted away because they were dead.

Then again, if he didn't go there'd probably be a mass mechanical failure because Major Lorne would probably park near the only thing on the planet that could disrupt Ancient circuitry and one of his goons would try and fix it, causing the entire thing to explode which would happen to set off some undetectable yet highly volatile gas in the atmosphere, triggering a chain reaction that would cause the planet to burn up, killing all life, including the Iratus bug, and leaving Rodney with no team and no way of finding more Iratus bugs because the Ancients couldn't be bothered to organize their own data base, condemning Sheppard to continue his transformation into an insect and knowing Earth the IOA would probably request that Sheppard be shipped back to be studied in Area 51, but on the way to the base he'd break out of his restraints, kill the person driving his van, escape into the wild where he would feast on the occasionally hiker until one of his victims managed to escape, make his way back to society just as the retrovirus took hold of his system so he could continue to cycle of violence, spreading the disease until Earth was full of mindless man-eating bug people, which would mean that Rodney would never be able to justify shipping Kavanagh back, no matter how big of an idiot that man was. Which was why Rodney had volunteered to go. It had nothing to do with the fact he and Sheppard were having sex.

Absolutely.

Nothing.

Okay, maybe it had a little to do with fact that he and Sheppard were having sex. They weren't in a relationship, per se, because then John would be gay, not that John wasn't gay but he wasn't allowed to be officially gay in Atlantis because he was still a member on the United States Air Force and unlike its enlightened Canadian counterpart the United States still had some ridiculously redundant notions regarding hetero-normative social practices.

Besides, it was all Elizabeth's fault! What did she think was going to happen if she locked them in a room together? Though it just went to show how truly stupid the rest of the world was. Rodney couldn't believe they thought it had taken he and Sheppard an entire week to kiss and make up. They'd done that on day four. The other three days were spent kissing and making out.

So Rodney had agreed to help Carson help John and probably get himself killed in the process. While Beckett had gone to round up his things and Lorne had gone to round up his goons Rodney had been sent to round up his team. He'd found Teyla doing the whole Athosian Zen thing she did in her quarters and then had gone to the gym, expecting to find Ronon making meat out of Sheppard's marines. When that had failed he'd gone to the usual haunts. After three stops Rodney had given up and just radioed the giant, telling the man to meet him in near the labs. Ronon had showed, Rodney had explained the plan in its entirety, and Ronon had turned around and left without a word.

McKay hadn't been able to decided between being shocked that Ronon hadn't been jumping at the chance to kill things or pissed that the man had marched off without a word while John's life was on the line, so he had decided to play it safe and go for being both.

He was in the middle of chewing out a new recruit who had decided that "Don't Touch" actually translated into "Go Ahead. Touch me. You know you want to. Who cares that I might explode and kill you and everybody in a thirty-foot radius? Touch me" when Ronon reappeared.

"Here." The Runner held out what looked like a piece of scribbler paper and Rodney snatched it with a scowl, the newest member of the idiot brigade forgotten.

Instead of cave doodles the piece of paper held a comprehensive design of what looked to be a weapon. Rodney frowned as he studied the picture, rapidly assembling the components into a 3D design within his mind's eye as he slowly sank into a chair, flattening the paper out. "Where did you get this?" the scientist muttered as he played with the plans, taking a pen and drawing over some of the rougher bits. The design was clever and creative, if a pointless, and Rodney wanted whoever had drawn it in his engineering department. Someone on this base had a talent the Rodney wasn't making use of the scientist was determined to change that.

"Can you make it?" Ronon asked, completely ignoring Rodney's question.

"Why? It's just a giant water gun. A highly pressured water gun that could probably strip your flesh from bone, but still just a water gun. We have bullets. What out there could this thing possibly kill that bullets can't do and do more efficiently?" The Rodney caught the words that had been written in one corner and his question was answered. Salt water. "It's for the Iratus bugs," Rodney whispered in wonder.

Rodney jumped to his feet, pointing at his nearest minion. "You!" A young woman with thick glasses and a dark ponytail paled as she pointed to herself. "Yes, you!" Rodney would have rolled his eyes but he didn't have time. "Contact Dr. Weir. Tell her I'll need two more hours before we can depart. Go. Now!" The women went scurrying to the door. Rodney tapped his radio. "Zelenka, come in!"

"Now what do you want?" came the expected grumble. Apparently Zelenka was still sore about this morning.

"You. Here. Now."

There was a beat of silence. "You will have to be more specific, Dr. McKay."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Science Lab seven. We have two hours to assemble a water-gun to keep the Iratus bugs from killing me."

"Oni nejsou jediná věc, které musím zabránit, aby tě zabila." There was an exasperated sigh on the other end. "I am on my way."

Rodney looked down at the paper again, his pen dancing over the design.

Maybe it wasn't a suicide run after all.

x-x-x-x

John was in his room, listening to the heartbeats of the guards outside his door. Steady thumps. No fear. Good men. His men. They listened.

Elizabeth hadn't. She wasn't going to let him go. Risking his men for his life. Wrong. Supposed to be the other way. His life for his men. Not this.

His men were outside, beating steadily. They weren't afraid.

Not yet.

x-x-x-x

Elizabeth sat in her office, trying to will herself to calm down by taking deep, slow breathes.

It wasn't working.

She was still furious with Steven. She understood on an intellectual level that the man truly did think that he was helping by actively doing John's job, just as she understood that he didn't get it. He wasn't there to replace John. He was there to keep the seat warm. She could appreciate his enthusiasm and how he must be feeling, having been given a taste of the position he had longed for so long despite the circumstances. If it hadn't been for Elizabeth's efforts Cadwell most certainly would have replaced Colonel Sheppard. But that did not excuse the thoughtlessness of his actions. By changing protocol mere hours after his self appointment he was telling the city the one thing Elizabeth had been trying to assure everyone wasn't going to happen, that John wasn't going to die.

Elizabeth slumped forward, her eyes focusing on the carving on her desk, tracing the grip of the four women with her eyes. It had been a gift from her mother before she had passed away. To serve as a reminder that everyone was connected. Elizabeth had thought she had understood what that had meant, what being linked with other people felt like back when she had lived on Earth.

It wasn't until she had come to Atlantis that she had realized how wrong she was.

The people here were as one. They either rose together or fell together, and time and time again everyone here had shown their ability to be selfless and courageous, many of them sacrificing their own lives so that others would survive. Now they were hurting together as John hurt, and there was nothing Elizabeth could do but have faith in her people, as she had had to do so many times before.

Elizabeth let out another deep breath, her anger seeping out with the air. What's done was done and when John recovered they would all file this away as just another bad day. Little was to be accomplished by worrying about it and Atlantis didn't stop just because Weir was stressed.

With that in mind she straightened her spine and grabbed her computer, determined to get something done.

As she pulled the tablet forward a heavy envelope slid forward, tipping off the edge of her desk. With a frown Elizabeth leaned forward uncomfortably, using one hand on her desk to balance herself. The fingertips of her other hand scraped the cold linoleum as they worked their way under the heavy material. She grasped it and pulled it back into viewing, giving it a blank look before the images of two young men finally came to mind. She cringed, realizing that once again she had forgotten about the mysterious young men Jack had sent to her care.

She cracked open the paper, hoping perhaps that some of the uncertainty surrounding them would be dispelled.

x-x-x-x

Carson's mother would scud him if she knew what he was doing right then.

Not that Carson could even blame her. If he figured out what he was doing he'd probably scud himself. The trick was to not think about it. He wasn't really wandering through a forested planet that held the species the Wraith had evolved from. Oh no. He was going for a gander in a forest that held lots of biodiversity. That's right. Any one of these marvelous plants could hold the secrets to curing a variety of diseases such as multiple sclerosis, Alzheimer's or cancer. Perhaps one was a topical anesthetic, or a fever reducer. Maybe one was an anti-irritant. Hell, he'd settle for finding one that made a half decent tea.

But the little fantasy he'd built to protect himself from having to deal with the current situation crumbled when Ronon plunged his hands into pumpkin colored dung, gave his fingers a sniff and declared it fresh.

The doctor stared at the cave entrance, watching the craggy rocks as though they were giant teeth ready to swallow him the moment he stepped through the opening. It was easy to imagine that the flakes of viridian moss gripping the dark minerals was the rotting flesh of previous explorers, and that the foul stench wafting into the fresh air was the odor of alien digestion.

Lorne glared, cutting off a Rodney tirade before it was in full swing. It was a sign of just how dire things were that Rodney fell into silence instead of protesting the nature of the universe. A quiet Rodney was the equivalent of Hell freezing over.

Lorne shifted, disconcerted by Rodney's lack of protest. "Okay people. What's the plan?" he asked, trying to fill the heavy silence.

Beckett humored the man, even though he had explained the all too simple plan several times since the briefing. "Well, we go in there. We take get the eggs. We get out." Hopefully in one piece.

Lorne nodded. "All right. Teyla, Ronon, you're on point with me. Walker, Stevens, you take our six. Docs, you're in the middle, so try not to get eaten on my watch. Move ou-"

"Oh no you don't!" Rodney cut in. He waved a furious hand at the grunts that had come along. Donald Walker and Mark Stevens both watched the hand warily, obviously concerned about being the center of McKay's attention.

They had reason to be.

"I did not delay this little field trip expending my genius and reassigning my minions from their valuable tasks and utilizing the precious resources of Atlantis just to have you place the people who are currently carrying the most effective weapons we have in the back!"

"McKay-" Lorne interjected, only to be cut off again.

"Seriously, how do they recruit for the military these days? Is it a checkers tournament or do you people just thumb wrestle for promotions?"

"McKay!"

"My cat has a better sense of strategy than you and he likes to like his own genitals-"

"Rodney!" Beckett shouted.

"What?" McKay snarled indignantly.

"You haven't told us what it does."

Rodney blinked owlishly at Carson, like he couldn't quite believe the statement that had come out of the man's mouth. "Obviously, it kills Iratus bugs."

Lorne rolled his eyes. "Yeah, we get that. But how?"

Rodney seemed to light up at the question, his hands flying wildly as he described the functions of the large silver cylinders that were strapped to the two marines. "The tanks have been pressurized to spray a solution of water, sodium, monomeric acryl amides, and acrylic acid groups through a focused nozzle. The solution added to the water fuses the water molecules together, increasing the force from which they are fired bringing the total pressure exerted to close to five hundred pounds per square inch. The tanks themselves hold close to thirty litres of fluid but once it's gone the things are useless."

Teyla blinked, lost by Rodney's jargon and rapid speech. "I do not understand," she admitted with hesitation, looking for someone else to translate the explanation into plain English.

Ronon gave a dark smile. "It's the super soaker from hell."

Teyla's confused frown deepened, marring her smooth tan face with wrinkles. "Super soaker?"

"Great," Lorne nodded. "They shoot water. That's just wonderful." He sounded less than enthused.

Rodney glared and opened his mouth to launch into another explanation, or a rant, but Carson headed him off. "It doesn't just shoot water. It's firing salt water."

"Exactly," Rodney snapped his fingers. "The Iratus bug was highly reactive when dumped brine on it during our first encounter."

Lorne looked at Beckett, then back at Rodney. "Fine. Teyla and Walker, you take our six. Stevens, on point with me and Ronon. Docs-"

"Yes, yes, in the middle," Rodney waved dismissively, pulled on his night vision goggles, and fell into place just a head of Carson.

Carson took a deep breath before setting foot in the cave, trying to hold on to as much fresh air as he possible could before he was forced to inhale the putrid scent of Iratus waste. It took all his years of medical training to not gag as he dragged in the acid decay, the smell burning his sinuses.

He gripped the sample collector tighter.

Harder to ignore was the chittering noise floating in from ahead. It sent gooseflesh down his spine and he couldn't help but think of that God-awful movie Mason Braden had made him watch. He had to blink away the image of thousands of scarabs eating people alive as they made that same clicking noise. He looked for something to distract him from his fears and landed on McKay, who was popping the collar of his of his BDU.

"Ya can't honestly believe that that'll help, do you?"

Rodney pulled his collar closer to his neck. "When they go for you first you won't be so skeptical."

Beckett could only shake his head. For being a genius Rodney certainly had his daft moments.

"Beckett," Lorne called, "are we in the right spot?"

Carson swallowed before answering. "Aye. The database says the eggs are in a central nest. It should be pretty obvious."

"Should?" Rodney whispered harshly. "We're in here on a 'should'? And you wonder why I think you practice voodoo."

Beckett's soothing reply was lost as the group took a step around the corner.

The entire cavern was filled with Iratus bugs. Most of them were squirming on the floor, crawling over on another with little care. The occasional bug dropped from the ceiling with a lazy flit of its wings. In the strange emerald hue caused by the goggles the sight was absolutely eerie. Beckett forcibly reminded himself that it was his retrovirus that had made the colonel sick and that it was his responsibility to make amends. Running from the cave screaming would accomplish nothing.

Beckett focused, his eyes latching on to the tear shaped sacks hanging from the ceiling.

"How are we gonna get them?" Lorne hissed, frustrated by the volume of bugs underneath the sacks.

"Did I not just explain that we have a very big, very effective weapon against the Iratus?"

Lorne and Stevens exchanged a look and the sergeant nodded. "Okay, Beckett. When Stevens fires you go in, take what you need, and get out. If I say abort, you abort, you got that."

"Aye," Beckett answered grimly.

Stevens let out a shuddering breath. "Three," the marine counted down. "Two. One." He pulled the trigger.

A thin, horizontal slash of water sprayed from the weapon and the cave erupted into screams as the Iratus under the beam struggled to move away from the alkaline solution. Those unfortunate enough to take flight into the rushing water were shredded by the intensity of the spray.

Beckett ignored all this, moving forward with a speed cultivated through years of emergency calls. Like in the ER he cut out of the sounds of the dying, focusing on the task at hand. With an unusual carelessness he thrust his sample collector into the nearest sack, grunting as it fought to pierce the out skin of the pouch.

Sweat gathered on his brow as he pushed, frustration mounting as the tip refused to penetrate. Then a firm hand wrapped over his, adding strength to his own and the metal clamp pushed through. With a deft touch Beckett operated the trigger, opening the claw and snapping it shut moments later, hopefully full of the precious eggs.

He had no time to check as he was dragged towards the exit by his helper.

"Go! Go! Go!" Lorne's shouts echoed above the shrieks and Carson stumbled, trying to help whoever was pulling him along.

"Walker!" Stevens was shouting, his voice laden with fear. The screams died off and there was a collective angry hiss.

"Shit!" Walker cried, but Beckett couldn't see what was wrong. He was too busy fleeing.

So he didn't see Teyla and Stevens running behind him, or how Walker dropped the hose, his hands shaking as a wall of bugs rose up towards him. He didn't witness, but would later hear about how Ronon grabbed the water gun, tore it from Walker's back and pushed the marine ahead, spurring the man into retreat.

He did, however, feel the explosion as the Runner shot what was essentially a giant aerosol can with super heated laser.

There was heat, pressure, and then the world was moving by at an alarming speed. It stopped suddenly and dramatically as Beckett slammed into warm flesh.

With a groan the doctor rolled over, blinking up at the suspiciously sunny sky. He heard coughing and another moan from somewhere close by before Teyla's face filled his vision.

"Are you hurt, Dr. Beckett?"

"No." Carson was a wee bit surprised to discover that it was true. "I'm just a bit shaken." Worry cleared from Teyla's visage as she gave a relieved nod. "Everyone else?"

"We're all good, Doc." Lorne's voice floated from somewhere to his left, as did a harsh coughing.

"Speak for yourself," Rodney grumbled. "You didn't have anyone land on you. Carson broke my ribs. I'm at risk for osteoarthritis you know." Rodney's complaints were cut off by more hacking and the sound of spitting. "I think I swallowed half the planet."

"Glad to hear you're fine, McKay," Lorne responded unsympathetically.

Teyla helped Carson to his feet, allowing the MD to survey the scene. Everyone save for Rodney was standing and while no one taking top prize in the local fair, everybody looked well enough to make it back to the Jumper under their own power.

Medical assessment done Carson frowned, realizing his was forgetting something. While the delay in thought made him realize that he was probably slightly concussed, that was quickly outstripped when he spotted his steel pole lying on the ground.

"Feck," he murmured, dashing towards it. His hands wrapped around its cold grip as nausea swam through him.

"Dr. Beckett?" Teyla crouched by him, worried. He brushed off her concern, checking the trap. The results made his eyes water, so he closed them and titled his head back. "Carson?" Her anxiety was more pronounced.

"We did it," he muttered gratefully. "We got the eggs."

x-x-x-x

Confusion Clear Ups

Ocean beer- I have a relative in the military and he spent the summer working in the near the Rockies. When he was off duty he and his buddies would go splashing around in this glacier creek that ran by where they were living. They ended up taking their laundry bags, which were these netted sacks, filling them with beer and dumping them in the river so they could have glacier fresh Kokanee.

John Hurt- Actor who played Kane in Alien. Spoiler Alert. Dude whose chest explodes first.

Sciency Improved Water- Actually called Super Water, used in water jets, which are used in cutting metal. Yes. That's right. Cutting metal. The solution basically binds the water molecules to a rib so that when it sprays you don't have molecule clusters free floating, which means the water hits with a great force. Basically it's hitting someone with a bag of marbles vs hitting something with a bag of marbles that you have glued together. No give= greater force. (This is why cars crumple. The give in the frame exponentially slows down the force with which the passenger is moving. It's also why stunt people jump off of buildings onto boxes).

Oni nejsou jediná věc, které musím zabránit, aby tě zabila.- They are not the only thing I have to keep from killing you. Huge thanks to Katuska for the translation into Czech and the explanation that Czech=|=Slovak.

30 litres = 8 gallons (give or take.)

Scarab Movie-The Mummy Returns.

Scud- Tan, bless, spank. Take your pick. Next Chapter

stargate: atlantis, crossover, puddle jumping, supernatural, .fanfic, stargate: sg1, rebirth verse

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