~ Stray Thoughts ~

Author's Note: The story takes place S2, between 'Condemned' and 'Instinct' - before Teyla called Sheppard "John" and before Sheppard called Rodney by his first name so often.

Another Author's Note follows the story.

Word Count: 3565

Characters: Sheppard, Rodney, Teyla, Ronon. Team adventure with some Weir.

Disclaimer: 'Stargate Atlantis' and its characters are not mine. I would not have left them under the aegis of those whose interest lay elsewhere.

SGA ~ SGA ~ SGA

"Think about it." Rodney McKay was putting forth his argument as the team strode through Atlantis halls on the way to the Gate Room. "If we weren't called out to investigate every blip on the cosmic map, I could concentrate on more important stuff."

"Like Cognitive Emergence Theory?" John Sheppard suggested. "There's no Nobel Prize in Math, remember?"

"There are many significant honors to be held in the field of Mathematics-" McKay stopped and regrouped in the face of John's level stare. "That's not the point...exactly," he admitted. "Consider if we could mathematically define thought and correlate it with what we know of Ancient tech and adapt that definition to control all the Ancient tech that even you can't-"

"We're the lead team, McKay," John interrupted as the group arrived at the Gate. John signaled Chuck to begin dialing.

"Exactly! It's a matter of resources. As the lead team we should only be sent out on significant missions."

"There aren't enough teams as it is to make first contacts, set up the infrastructure among allied worlds, supply aid, gather intel and everything else we need to do," John responded patiently as the chevrons lighted. "We can't just sit around and wait for what you think will be a nice, big, juicy blip. How're we gonna know if a blip is 'significant' unless we investigate it?"

"Just give it some thought," McKay urged.

"Don't have to give it thought," John answered. "If you don't wanna go on a mission, fine, 'long as you'll be okay with it if we take Zelenka to investigate an 'insignificant' blip and he ends up being the one to discover the ZPM factory," John ended with an overly innocent expression. McKay frowned at some inward thought and John smiled sneakily at Teyla and Ronon.

The wormhole engaged and McKay pursued his theme as the team walked into the puddle... "I'm just saying that we're called out-" ...and exited the puddle on the other side. "-to investigate every little thing and most missions don't produce fabulous discoveries." He paused to look around. "This can't be right."

They were in a room that seemed barely large enough to contain the Gate, DHD and space required for the kawoosh. The walls and ceiling were of seamless, smooth stone, as if an empty box had been engineered inside a mountain. The wall facing them had a door-sized opening in the center, through which could be seen another wall. Light filtered in from beyond the outer wall.

"You still reading that energy signature?" John inquired as he led the way from the Gate, shining his P-90 light around the room. The floor was smooth stone with a smattering of dirt, but not enough to mark any disturbance; it was impossible to tell when or if someone had been there before them.

"It isn't any clearer than what we detected with the long-range sensors," McKay replied after tapping keys on his tablet.

John stepped through the doorway and found the second wall was short on the left side, leaving another opening. Closer to the outside there was more dirt on the floor, but still no evidence that anyone had been there. John raised his P-90 and approached the light, eyeing the tendrils of mist creeping along the ground.

The team stepped outside into a field of white.

"Did Dr. Weir not say the description in the Ancient database contained such words as 'idyllic'?" Teyla asked.

They had emerged from flat stone, they were standing on flat stone, and around them was dense fog. Gray outlines of trees indicated a forest of some kind. John looked back and up at the structure in which they'd arrived. The stone surface disappeared in the fog, allowing no hint of its architecture.

"This is exactly what I mean! Why should the lead team stay? Send someone else to Planet Gloom," Rodney complained.

"McKay!" John barked, then took a deep breath. "Coming here was your idea. The last three meetings you've pushed to explore this planet based on the energy signal and what you claim are 'significant' references in Elizabeth's translation, including 'power'." John modified his tone. "We're already here, the energy blip is here, and we're gonna check it out." He gripped his P-90 and stepped forward while studying the ground. "Looks like a path and a path has to lead somewhere, right?"

"My point is," McKay persisted, "now that we've seen there's nothing of import, another team could do the follow-through."

John ignored the running complaint. "Any life signs?" The pace John set was slow due to limited visibility, but he felt an additional need for caution.

"No, so this is not a first-contact, and no sign of civilization despite the puzzling energy signal, and since we can't even see where we're going, what's the point?"

"McKay, do you ever shut up?" Ronon questioned impolitely.

"I am merely pointing out that our time, as the lead team, could be employed more profitably in other pursuits. And I fail to unearth a reason for staying if we can't see anything."

"Perhaps a wondrous thing is hidden by the fog," Teyla offered, "and we will see it when the fog clears."

"Could this be like the Mist Planet?" John asked.

"What?! Nonononono." McKay juggled his tablet and scanner and ultimately breathed in relief. "This is real fog, of the water vapor variety, although..." He tapped more buttons and checked his equipment. "There doesn't seem to be a reason..."

"On Sateda monsters hide in the mist," Ronon reported.

"Not helping, Chewie," John admonished.

"And we are not on Sateda," Teyla added reasonably.

McKay clicked more keys. "According to the planet's orientation it should be mid-morning and..." He tapped more keys. "Temperature, dew point, humidity. There's no reason..."

John peered into the mist alongside the path. "This is thick enough to be a pea-souper, even without the smoke."

"Thank you, Sherlock Holmes of Ye Olde London Towne," McKay snarked. "And it still doesn't explain the fog."

"We're probably in a valley," John retorted. "We'll either walk up and out of it or it'll burn off soon."

"On Sateda the predators like the low areas because the fog lingers. They break cover to attack and disappear again."

McKay mewed and John turned around. "Play nice, Ronon."

Fog had an interesting effect on sound. John knew his teammates were behind him, but the background noise of their presence was muted, Ronon's low teasing and McKay's fearful squawks at times sounding near or far, left or right, or muffled.

John tuned out the desultory conversation behind him and hastened the pace. The path was clear while the trees remained obscured. Fog swirled, creating a sense of isolation and quiet, a protective cocoon, like being in a soundproof room surrounded by peaceful white. The rhythm of John's steps had a hypnotic effect. Lost memories emerged, thoughts of people and incidents he hadn't considered in years, reminiscences buried in the ages surfaced to the muted sound of footsteps. John smiled inwardly and re-focused his thoughts on the nothingness in front of him.

Maybe McKay was right to dismiss the planet. John checked his watch ~ eleven minutes and nothing had changed. He could still see only the path, disappearing into fog and bordered by shadowy trees. He was just about to call the mission when the ground became rough and began to slope upward.

The fog thinned, but the path was shaded. Leaves rustled in a breeze so slight John couldn't feel it. Trees were ghostly shadows that had taken on a sinister cast. John wanted to laugh. A spooky forest, shrouded in mist; the setting was classic horror! He turned to share the joke- The path was empty. There was no one there. They'd been right behind him... Leaves whispered, a twig snapped somewhere in the forest. John began to retrace his steps, walking back into bright mist. "Ronon?"

Another twig snapped, seemingly in an opposite location, and branches rasped in an undetected current. "Here." Ronon's deep voice sounded distant and far from the breaking twigs.

"Teyla?"

Silence, except for leaves shuffled by an unseen hand. "I am here." The location of Teyla's voice could not be triangulated.

John emerged from the fog bank to find his teammates standing stock still, apart from one another. "What the hell happened to you guys?" he queried then called to McKay.

"You disappeared in a dense cloud," Teyla explained. "I stopped because I could not see you. You did not answer our calls."

"I was sorta wool-gathering," John admitted. "McKay, you any closer to defining the energy reading?" The mist parted before John as he walked over to McKay. Swirls of vapor clung to Rodney, who hadn't moved an inch. "McKay? You okay?"

"Clau-" Rodney cleared his throat. "Claustrophobia."

The man looked shell shocked. John patted his arm. "Yeah, I know. C'mon. There's a hill. We can walk outta this."

The fog bank had dissipated, leaving the path clear. John led his team up the rise, taking note of the dry leaves underfoot.

"McKay, anything on the energy pulse?" John asked.

"The signal isn't specific to a location. And now there's an echo." Rodney's voice was still shaken.

John hoped McKay wasn't paying attention to their surroundings. As they climbed, so had the fog cleared, but the light had dimmed. John turned on his P-90 flashlight. There was ground-level mist and stray wisps overhead, visible through bare branches. The carpet of leaves eventually gave way to smooth stone. The P-90 light flickered and went dark at the foot of a large staircase, the top of which was obscured by rolling mists.

"Life signs, McKay? Here's your sign of civilization. Something with old-world charm." John indicated the marble banister.

"No life signs." McKay looked up and froze.

"Good evening." The mellifluous rolling intonation and Hungarian accent caught John by surprise. Instantly recognizable and equally impossible. The elegant man in evening dress emerged from the fog, coming step by step down the stairs to join them.

"Good evening," Teyla responded politely in John's silence.

"Teyla." John made it a command. Teyla looked at him with a question that was mirrored in Ronon's face. "He isn't real." John knew it wasn't real, but how to explain? He casually placed both his hands to rest on his P-90. "He's a vampire. Actually, he's an actor who played a famous vampire."

Dark hair, dark lips, compelling eyes, a carriage so smooth he seemed to glide rather than walk. The not-real vampire raised an eyebrow and smiled at John. "You think you are wise."

John ignored Bela and addressed Teyla and Ronon. "It's a story. Earth mythology. Vampires are sorta like, uh... It's classic horror. Although for you guys it probably wouldn't be very entertaining. Too much like your day job," John concluded. He looked at a white-faced Rodney. "Back me up here, McKay."

"Enough!" The vampire raised his right arm and, palm outward with spread fingers, he gestured at John.

There was no contact, but John felt the blow like a sledge. He sailed backward several meters and slid to the edge of the stone clearing. The ground mist swirled over him as he rolled to his knees and tried to catch his breath, preparing to stand.

Okay, that was real. Real enough John thought he might've cracked a rib. How was it possible? He had no idea why he'd called upon a long-dead actor, but Bela had been manufactured.

Ronon had fired his blaster, but the charge had no effect. He drew his sword and sliced through the figure without resistance. The vampire raised his arm. Ronon growled and launched himself at the feeding hand while Bela smiled and held him at bay.

Gathering his thoughts John rose to his feet. The tingle of mist on his face normally reminded him of winters when he was a kid, ice-skating outdoors. The whole horror-setting-in-the-fog would be funny...if it didn't hurt so much.

John eyed the stand-off between Bela and Ronon, who was wrestling a large wolf. Teyla held her P-90 poised, ready to...do something. McKay was- Crap. John muttered in disgust, "Satedan mist monsters. Some of this is your fault, big guy."

John took a slow breath and felt his lungs expand. No broken ribs. "Teyla!" Teyla turned as John neared where Ronon held a large bat in a tense grip. "Distract McKay," John told her. "Get him to think about something else, something pleasant."

Teyla was confused, but she reached for McKay and forcibly drew his stiff form away from the mesmerizing sight of the battle. She held his face in her hands to establish eye contact.

Creeping mist vined around John's legs. Like pages in a book, he flipped through memories of every vampire movie he'd ever seen. Problem was, every film had its own mythology.

John checked on Ronon, and felt sure the man could hold his own ~ Bela was back. Teyla was speaking to McKay in soft tones. John hurried into the forest and pulled his knife. Low light made the search awkward, but he found a good-sized rock and a reasonable length of twig, which he sharpened to a point.

John chose the site and ran at his target, rock-hammering the wooden stake into Bela from behind. He missed the mark ~ the point was redirected by the ribcage. The vampire screamed, bared his fangs and thrashed like a bug on a pin. Bela turned and backhanded John, before he returned to the desperate, vicious fight with Ronon, changing from one form to another.

John rose stiffly from the fog, dazed, and sure of another bruised rib. What he needed was daylight. Memories of blue skies, picnics, various beaches easily came to mind, as if he could shuffle through a card catalog of past experiences. A particularly blinding day in Afghanistan came to the fore. Sand pricked his face, carried by a sudden wind. The sky lightened as low cloud-cover parted. A blaze of sunshine showered the clearing, bathing them all in golden warmth. The vampire disintegrated. Black dust and an unearthly wail were swept away on a gust as Ronon overcompensated and stumbled to the ground.

"Well, that was different," John murmured. He let out a breath and squinted at the pain behind his eyes. The fog closed in, graying their surroundings. Howling sounded in the near distance. John looked over at Teyla and McKay, immersed in their intense conversation. Rodney had jerked out of Teyla's grasp at the first lupine note and was staring into the woods.

John tiredly reached down to help Ronon to his feet on the way toward the other teammates. "Werewolves, McKay?"

Rodney fidgeted. His breathing was fast. "I can't help it. It's the fog. Everything's so...white. And every horror marathon I sat through as a child is as clear as yesterday. I- " He cleared his throat and straightened. "Of course, as an adult I can understand the purposeful effect of the filming styles and-" He stopped abruptly at the sound of more howling, closer than before. Even in low light it was possible to see how pale he suddenly was.

Teyla grasped McKay's hand and patted it. "You must be calm. Think of something very pleasant. I have been remembering trips to misty high-mountain meadows when I was a child. Perhaps a warm memory from your own childhood...?"

John shook his head violently at Teyla and made a hand motion to cut off her comments. McKay's fear had ratcheted up another notch. "McKay! Look at me!" John grabbed Rodney's elbow. "We all know you're gonna win the Nobel Prize. For your work on wormhole mechanics. I want you to compose your acceptance speech. I want to hear it before we leave."

McKay's usual expression almost re-formed, but another howl sounded, close enough the accompanying growls and snapping twigs in the woods could also be heard.

John took hold of Rodney's arms and shook him. "McKay! I want that speech and that's an order! Now let's go!" Rodney was pale, shaking, frozen in fear ~ of ominous fog and unseen werewolves, not to mention Satedan monsters; they could all end up being dead because of McKay's imagination.

Blue skies and wide-open spaces. Green fields and sunshine. John selected a particular memory and set a quick pace back into the woods, keeping the mist at bay. A gentle breeze ruffled new leaves that were barely obscured by light mist. Birdsong echoed along the path, interrupted by a low growl. John saw red, glowing eyes. He frowned in concentration, recalling a special view from his grandmother's kitchen window.

John maintained pace over thick green grass. Rolling verdant hills were visible beyond orchards of fruit. John tried to keep his bearings, turning often to check on his team. Behind them in the distance he could still hear howls, the kind to raise the hair on the back of his neck. He reasserted his memory of the view from his grandmother's kitchen ~ pasture, horses, vegetable garden. Tendrils of fog formed in the grass as he hurried past.

"Ho. Ho. Ho." The voice was sinister, loud, originating somewhere above, and accompanied by ground-shaking footsteps.

John looked up, up, up into a menacing face. "Rod-ney?!" The intonation made the question an order. John turned to find McKay engulfed in swirling mist.

Rodney was scared but defiant. "It's your fault!"

"My fault!? You've made the Jolly Green Giant into a man killer! This is not 'Jack and the Beanstalk'!" John pulled Rodney from the column of fog and the team increased the pace.

"You mentioned the Nobel Prize!" Rodney argued. "Hah. I've had that speech written for years! So I thought of the Banquet and who would be there. Have you ever been to an awards banquet? They serve minuscule portions of designer foods. No Bob's Burgers. And no seconds," he added petulantly.

The ground shook beneath them to the rhythm of giant footsteps. John closed his eyes to focus his thoughts, paging through memory. No green fields or vegetable gardens. He rubbed his brow and thought of the first light snow of the season. "What do burgers have to do with you-know-who?" he demanded. He slipped on the icy surface of the smooth stone path. Each breath created a puff of mist that mixed with the dance of snowflakes.

" 'Eat your asparagus! Eat your artichoke'," McKay parroted in a snide falsetto. "Have you noticed what Mr. Jolly looks like?" He didn't expect an answer. "A mutant mix of asparagus and artichoke! He's a cannibal! I had nightmares as a kid that I'd grow up to be a ghoul! And they always have those stupid vegetables at awards banquets! What's wrong with corn-on-the-cob?"

All this because of asparagus? How much control John had to exert depended on the strength of Rodney's fears.

Ronon slid in the slush and went down just as they reached the stone structure that housed the Gate. The snow disappeared but everything remained white ~ no sign of forest nor path in the heavy mist that kept a respectful distance from the structure.

Back inside the stone room John turned on his P-90 light and checked his team. Ronon had the cuts and scratches from his encounter with the various versions of Bela while Teyla displayed her usual calm. Rodney began an excited commentary as soon as he felt safe, having forgotten his previous terror.

"This is a significant discovery! The reason the power isn't localized is because the whole planet must be the system. Whatever is the controlling device reacts to the Ancient gene ~ it didn't respond to Ronon's thoughts of- uh, Sateda and Teyla was thinking about her childhood. The mist must be some kind of transport for whatever is required to manufacture on demand. If we refine our thoughts to say, making a Jumper, we could-"

"What makes you think anything is real?" John interrupted. He rubbed his temples. "Or can be removed from here?"

"Colonel, are you okay?" Teyla asked in concern.

"Yeah. I can still feel something doin' a little tiptoeing in my memory, but the headache's gone." John frowned at McKay. "When you can mathematically control Ancient tech ~ refined, precise, no margin or error, we'll come back. And not before."

Rodney looked as if he might argue, but he dialed the Gate.

SGA ~ SGA ~ SGA

"Nothing of interest?" There was a long pause after Weir's question. She raised a brow at their disheveled status. "Just a blip?"

John looked at his team, then innocently back at Weir.

Teyla tactfully said, "We could not see very much."

Ronon added, "Looked the same in most directions."

Rodney finally admitted, "It's not currently worth studying."

John concluded, "Let's just say it was one big headache."

Elizabeth Weir crossed her arms and watched the members of her lead Gate team scuttle away. She considered the fact that diplomatic skills were useful in eliciting information. She'd give them time to gather their thoughts before the debriefing and she would read their mission reports very carefully. What she couldn't infer from the written accounts she'd finesse out of the easiest subject. She went to check on her private stash of coffee. *~*

Author's Note: 'Green Giant' is a brand of frozen vegetables in the States. The logo is a "leaf-haired" and leaf-clothed, green-skinned giant, who smiles genially as he looks down on the little valley where delicious vegetables are being grown. On television there is animation and sound – at the end of the commercial the giant plants his hands at his hips and laughs jovially, "Ho, ho, ho," in time with a musical jingle. The character is commonly referred to as the Jolly Green Giant.

This story would have to take place early in the series. It's not Ronon's first mission, but it's before he knew for certain that Rodney talked all the time and before Teyla had much knowledge of Rodney's past (unhappy childhood). In the timeline of my stories this takes place after "Like Minds" and before "No Return".

The mention of 'Cognitive Emergence Theory' is taken from "NUMB3RS", which I also do not own.

I decided, spur-of-the-moment, to write a story that would benefit from the Halloween spirit. I considered All Hallows Eve and witches, but Rodney and Dracula seemed funnier. And then I had no story to go with the idea. Zilch. I finally came up with a bare-bones plot, but only had a few days to write and post it before Halloween. I like to let my stories sit a while so I can read them "from a distance" and "with fresh eyes", a luxury not possible for this fic. I give thanks to one of my followers, who agreed at the eleventh hour to read my story and let me know whether I was heading in the right direction to produce a fun, funky, spoof-spook fic. Thanks.

Thanks also to hifield, for telling me how to make changes in a story after it was posted. [I may go back and fix some formatting mistakes in earlier stories, back when each paragraph line break was added by hand! yikes!]

Thanks for reading.