This is a sequel of sorts to a previously posted story, A Season of Unfortunate Events: The Miserable McKay. Both stories stand alone, but they are definitely set in the same slightly off-kilter universe, and you may find that you understand the attitude of this story better after reading the first one. Not that you have to do what I say; what am I, your mother? Warning: this story contains serious irreverence!

Thanks as always to my wonderful betas, historygirl and Madigirl, who neve, ever fail me.

ETA: Anyone who has kept up with Season 3 knows that certain aspects of this story have been thoroughly Jossed. Meh, who cares? This is now an AU!

What it came right down to was that life in the Pegasus galaxy was, basically, about poking.

"Your people call it that, too?" Ronon asked him, raising an eyebrow in mild surprise.

Rodney sighed and fixed him with a pained expression. "Sorry, I forgot that you're basically an id with hair. No, I was not referring to sex, although yes, some people do call it that. I, however, was talking about the amount of energy we expend on the act of searching, the constant quest for finding something, anything we can use to defend ourselves or power the city. We occasionally refer to such activities as 'poking around.' Sometimes I feel as though that's all I ever do. Poke, poke, poke." He unconsciously provided a visual demonstration of this explanation by pressing some of the bricks in the wall of the ruins that he and the Satedan were examining.

Well, to be accurate, only Rodney was examining. Ronon was content to stand by and watch his teammate's efforts with a half-amused expression. Rodney was briefly reminded of the faces of the high school bullies who used to loiter in the halls and smirk at him as he hurried to chess club. But at least with Ronon, he knew they were both on the same side.

"Careful," smirked the larger man. "Remember what happened on that mission last week?"

Okay, they were generally on the same side. "That wasn't my fault! There was absolutely nothing to indicate that those bricks concealed a mechanism for dispensing a security restraint compound all over anyone in the immediate area." He stopped and looked thoughtful. "Odd that it bore such a strong resemblance to silly string, though. Sometimes I really wonder about the Ancients, you know?"

"We could do with a wee bit more finishin' up," Carson growled, pacing warily with a P-90 at the ready, "and a lot bluidy less idle chitchat."

Rodney merely stared at him. "Oh, yes sir, mister chief medical officer, to whom I clearly answer. Tell me, when did they call you up for active duty, anyway?"

"Ye jest don't take off-world missions sariously enough, Rawdney. Et's gonna be yare death one day, lad."

"No, I suspect that accent's more lethal than anything in these worthless ruins. Why can't we ever find ruins that are less, well, ruined? Why don't we… Okay, what are you doing?"

Carson glanced up from ejecting and replacing the clip to his .9mm. "What does et loo' li'? I'm checkin' my pistol."

"Well… stop. It's disturbing. As is this suddenly regressive brogue. You sound like a Highlander flashback, for crying out loud. Just go off and relax and think doctorly thoughts for a while, hmm? Some of us have actual business here."

Carson stalked away, muttering unintelligible Scottish epithets. Rodney frowned after him, then looked at Ronon. "Why is he even on this mission?"

"What do you mean?"

"Allow me to elaborate: Whyy iis hee onn thiis miisssioon? He's a doctor, for God's sake."

Frowning, Ronon looked perplexed. "Yeah. So?"

"So? Well, as a doctor, he clearly doesn't belong on an off-world mission where the purpose is exploration. Now, if we were here to transform people into another species or to inoculate three-quarters of a population to death, then Carson's presence would make sense."

"Well, you're here, and you're not an explorer."

"Yes, I'm not an explorer, but then neither Magellan nor Columbus would have been much use in finding ZPM's. They'd have probably tried to melt them down into jewelry or something."

"Never met either of 'em. Are they scientists?"

Sighing, Rodney answered, "Yes. Their current area of specialization is advanced decomposition."

Ronon just shrugged. "Well, I gave up tryin' to understand who gets sent on what mission. Gave up tryin' to understand lots of things, really. I just go out and try to make sure you all don't get hurt or captured."

"Which proves exactly what I'm saying. You have a purpose off-world. I have a purpose off-world. Teyla fights and deals with natives and otherwise doesn't speak. Sheppard orders us around and makes ridiculously bad plans. Carson's like a fifth table leg: doesn't really add anything and gets in the way if you try to stretch your legs."

A flurry of activity across the ruins drew their attention. Carson stood with his back plastered against a wall, then lunged around with his P-90 pointed through a doorway. He repeated this action several times, obviously practicing.

"Gotta give him credit," Ronon said. "He's got lots of enthusiasm."

Heaving a sigh, Rodney started to pack up his equipment. "So do cheerleaders, and I wouldn't trust them with guns, either. Firearms, that is. Anyway, it's time to call it a day. There's nothing here to find." Flicking at his radio, he said, "Sheppard, Teyla – all done here. We're ready to move out when you are."

Sheppard's voice responded. "So soon? What did you find?"

"Not a thing. It's a technology wasteland."

"Thought you said those ruins were Ancient."

"They are, but surprise! Even the Ancients didn't leave hidden artifacts in every place they inhabited."

"Well, we've found stuff in other ruins."

"Yes, and we'll find more stuff in other ruins later, I'm sure. Look, let me try to put it in terms that you'll understand, Colonel – we're on a galaxy-wide Easter egg hunt, and there just aren't eggs hidden in every bush and tree stump we look in."

"What about that ramp at the stargate? You said that indicated—"

"I said that it looked fairly recent and indicated a reasonably advanced civilization. I did not promise a basketful of Ancient peeps and Cadbury crème eggs."

"Fine, whatever. I prefer the caramel ones anyway. We'll meet at the gate in ten. Ronon? Keep Peter Cottontail there hoppin' down the bunny trail."

"Will do." It didn't seem to matter to Ronon that he had no idea what Sheppard was talking about.

"I'll take point!" Carson shouted, running to the front of the threesome.

"Right, you do that. When you get shot, we'll be warned to find cover."

Carson sneered. "Fall in, Rawdney. Weak link in th' middle."

Ronon snorted. Rodney glared at the dreadlocked giant. "Thanks for the support, Og. See if I cover for you the next time you club a mate and drag her off by the hair."

Ronon just chuckled and gave the scientist an affectionate push to get him moving.

ooOooOoo

They were making their way over rocky terrain to get back to the gate, Carson glancing all around constantly like a paranoid paintball combatant. Rodney watched it for as long as he could stand.

"All right, that's it! What the hell has gotten into you, anyway?"

"I doon't knoo wha' yare talkin' aboot."

"Again with the Rob Roy accent! I swear, Carson, I just don't… Hey, what's that?" He plucked from the doctor's pack a bulky paperback that was only half-tucked into a pocket. "'So You Want To Be A Commando. Aha! Finally, the light begins to dawn."

'Gi' me tha'!" Growling, Carson yanked the book away.

Laughing, Rodney said, "So, it's a tough-guy thing, then. The going off-world, the 'look at me, I'm waving a gun,' the thickened brogue. FYI, though? While I'm sure you're aiming for Sean Connery, you're coming off more Jimmy Doohan. 'Ah ca' hold 'er togetha', Captain! The wee bairns, they ca' ta' n'more!'"

Carson was red-faced and poised to angrily respond when the sound of gunfire erupted ahead of them from the direction of the stargate. "Carson! Ronon!" Sheppard barked through their headsets as the three of them bolted toward the sounds of battle. Rodney scowled a little, noticing that his name wasn't among those called.

Teyla and Sheppard were crouched behind convenient large rocks, returning fire coming from the tree line that bordered the clearing where the stargate was located. Running toward their teammates, Rodney, Ronon, and Rambo… er, Carson, sprayed P-90 fire liberally in the direction from which the enemy fire was coming.

"Rawdney!" Carson shouted. "Wha' th' bluidy hell did ye do this time?"

"Me? You were with me practically the whole time! Did you see me do anything to cause this?

"McKay!" Sheppard was cupping a hand to his mouth. "Dial it up!"

Right. He's forgotten that no one else ever took it upon him- or herself to phone home. "No, no, don't get up!" he yelled testily on his way to the DHD. "I'll take care of it."

The wormhole engaged shortly, and Sheppard signaled for them to start falling back toward the gate. He glanced at Rodney. "Who'd you piss off this time?"

"Nobody! Well, maybe Carson. But this? Not my doing, I swear."

On Sheppard's signal, Teyla and Carson ran into the wormhole. Sheppard sent Ronon and Rodney on, firing into the woods and then turning toward the gate himself. All three men were going to hit the event horizon at almost the same time.

Just as he was inches from that escape, Rodney felt something slip around his right ankle and yank hard backward; tugging him away from the gate and reeling him in like a hapless fish down the ramp. By the time he'd come to rest sprawled on the ground, the wormhole had closed.

The breath had been knocked out of him, which lent a certain extra validity to the fish analogy, what with the gasping and flopping. A pair of legs came into his line of sight to kick away his P-90, and he followed them up the rest of a male body until the entire survey culminated in revealing a face. A familiar one.

Slithering activity all around him on the ground jerked Rodney's attention to his immediate surroundings. He was shocked and horrified to see the shiny ramp he'd been admiring earlier today dismantling itself into strips and strings that looked like flexible Lego constructions. Currently, a strand of these writhing objects was wrapped around his ankle like steel cord. As a terrifying realization began to dawn, he gaped upward again.

"It's good to see you again, Dr. McKay," said Niam (of the Replicators-Last-Seen-Drifting-In-Space Niams) with a sinister smile. He reached down toward the man on the ground. "May I give you a hand?"

Rodney decided that a scream was an entirely appropriate reaction.

tbc