A/N: This story is a birthday gift for my good friend and brainstorming buddy, LoneRanger1.

Time period: After Trio but before The Last Man.

FYI - It's a very sneaky writer who gets the birthday boy to help with his own gift. Work it out.

Many thanks to ladygris, Shadows-of-Realm, dwparsnip and DaniWilder for their assistance with brainstorming and Beta-ing. Even if I didn't use your idea, it's been stored for posterity.

Feliz Cumpleaños, mi amigo!

Sandy

Never Tickle a Sleeping Dragon

Chapter 1

Cakewalks and Cabin Fever

"…and we have to go to M8X-585 why?" Rodney complained as he and John were gearing up in the armory. "We already know they don't have any advanced technology that could help us fight the Wraith. The MALP didn't detect energy signatures except geothermal from a moderately active volcano, nor did the team that made the Jumper fly-over." He picked up the Glock, checked the safety and shoved it into its holster while his other hand reached for extra ammo.

"Because Carter ordered us to, that's why." After zipping up the front of his TAC vest, John adjusted it more comfortably on his shoulders then ran a hand through his unruly hair. He usually kept it a little shorter but his hair grew fast and he hadn't had time to get it cut. For the time being he settled for extra gel to keep it in place. He checked his P-90, attached it to the neck strap and scooped up several magazines shoving them into various pockets on his vest. "All we're gonna do is make contact, smile, kiss a few babies, and see what they have that we can use and what we can offer them in trade." He left the armory followed by the physicist.

"I suppose it's too much to hope for that they have a few fully charged ZedPMs just lying around not doing anything like protecting the population from being culled."

"Maybe." They entered the transporter. "Relax. It'll be a cakewalk."

"You know, every time you say that someone, usually me, ends up getting hurt. Just for once I'd like everything to work out to where I won't have to save our asses at the last second with one of my brilliantly concocted and flawlessly executed plans."

"Don't worry, Rodney. We're not gonna be running for our lives again."

"You better be right."

"I am. You'll see."

Rodney wanted to believe him, but he was by nature a skeptic and advocate of the worst case scenario. In his mind, Murphy was an optimist, delusional and quite possibly psychotic. Saying a mission was going to be trouble-free virtually guaranteed that everything that could go wrong would go wrong. As he had on numerous occasions, Rodney hoped this would be one of the few times he was proven wrong.

In the Gate Room, Ronon waited alongside Sergeant Dusty Mehra, newly arrived on Atlantis and taking Teyla's place on the team during her pregnancy. They were joined in short order by John, Rodney, Sam and Jennifer, both women geared up in black mission uniforms. Jennifer carried a hand weapon and a field medical kit while Sam looked more than a little dangerous with a P-90 cradled in her arms.

"Colonel?" John inquired of his commanding officer.

"The information in the Ancient database indicates it's a matriarchal society so…" she shrugged one shoulder. "Jennifer's coming along to make it an even three and three."

Rodney scoffed. "Oh, that's a great reason to take someone who's only been on what, two offworld missions?"

"Four," Jennifer countered, "but who's counting?"

"You are, obviously. Not to mention the last trip the three of us took together didn't end well."

"Don't go falling into any abandoned mines, McKay, and we'll be fine." Sam resisted the urge to make an even snarkier comment though she did make a mental note in case she wanted to use it later.

Jennifer rolled her eyes but didn't respond to Rodney's sarcasm. He was right, but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of saying so.

She realized not long after she arrived on Atlantis that the physicist used arrogance and sarcasm as a shield to keep people from getting too close and to cover his anxieties and neuroses. He must have been hurt badly to be that afraid of getting close to anyone. Well, except John. Holding in a snort she thought how they were such total opposites yet somehow they'd become good friends. More than likely because each had something the other lacked.

After their return from M5V-801 they'd had that drink together. She'd thought they had a good time but he'd never followed up on the interest he'd shown. Granted, they'd been busy since then, but the least he could do is ask to see her when he came to get refills of his allergy meds, maybe even ask her on a real date.

The Colonel was a whole other barrel of monkeys. She wasn't a psychologist by any means though, like all medical doctors, she did have a basic knowledge of the inner workings of the human mind and how it can affect one's health. He pretended to be laid-back and untroubled, letting people think it didn't bother him to spend time on his own. But she'd seen the look on his face when he was sitting by himself in the bar or the Mess Hall. He wasn't as much a lone wolf as he wanted them to think he was. He wanted to be close to people but didn't know how to accomplish it without having to give up a part of himself.

It made her just a little sad for both men.

"You sure you should be doing this, Sam?" Rodney asked as they walked through the forest toward the nearest village.

Sam's leg had healed nicely but still had a tendency to tire if she overdid it. "I'm fine. The last time I was offworld was our trip to M5V-801. Cabin fever was setting in."

"Which was an abysmal failure, if memory serves, and you know it does."

"Relax, Rodney. She's been cleared for duty," Jennifer added. "I'm only coming along just in case."

"In case of what? A stubbed toe?" He glared at the medical doctor and she just rolled her eyes again making Dusty snicker. "What happens if you have to, I don't know do surgery in some dark, dank, germ-infested cave? You have an entire operating theater in there?"

Jennifer muttered under her breath, but no one could catch it. Didn't want to catch it to go by the look on her face.

"You don't play well with others, do you, McKay?" Sam asked not really expecting an answer. "Just don't argue in front of the natives."

Rodney took a deep breath to spout more rhetoric, but Dusty's gum popped and somehow it broke the tension, whether she meant it to or not.

At the Stargate, John had taken point with Ronon on their six and the rest in between, but by the time they'd reached the village the group was walking two by two. Sam was in front next to John, Rodney and Jennifer in the middle with Dusty and Ronon bringing up the rear.

When they neared the village they could see that many of the buildings were made of stone though a few were made of wood. To their left stood a castle. It was small as castles go, no more than ten thousand square meters, but it was by far the largest visible structure. It had been surrounded by a moat at one time but only a trickle remained. The drawbridge was in the up position and they could see that it had been barricaded for many years. One of the towers had lost its roof as if something had knocked it off and it had never been repaired. Here and there were scorch marks. Some were faded by time and the elements while others were much more recent. John pointed it out to Sam, but neither was certain if it meant that the residents were too poor to do the repairs or no one lived there anymore.

As they reached the first of the buildings at the outer edges of the village, they could hear the pounding of metal on metal of a blacksmith, children laughing, voices calling out to each other, animals of all kinds and other unidentifiable sounds. At least to people used to much higher levels of technology. They followed the sounds to a small square.

The group came to an open area filled with children of all ages running and playing. In the center was a fountain with a well next to it. Women and men were grouped around performing various tasks, washing, mending, working with leather.

Near the entrance to one structure, an older woman was spinning wool, her fingers deftly twisting the fibers into thread for weaving.

Others were cooking over fires while still more were kneading dough. A teenage boy carried the finished products inside on a large wooden board. The smell of baking bread had the Atlanteans sniffing the air hungrily.

The villager's clothing was something out of the Renaissance era, some woolen, but most were dressed in the lighter material of linen in deference to the warmth of the season. Earth tones were popular with flashes of brighter colors here and there. The men wore vests and several of the women had on dresses with laced bodices. Leather was in evidence as well. Belts, jerkins, doublets, baldrics, shoes, and so forth.

John was about to announce their presence when the children noticed them and stopped their game. They just stared at the oddly dressed strangers. A collective gasp came from the adults though the older woman never once ceased her spinning. She kept watching them with a guarded eye.

Sam stepped forward and addressed the children. "Hi kids. We're…" The children turned and ran from the square, some shrieking in fear. She shrugged and turned to the adults. "Hello, I'm Colonel Car…" Several of the men and women got up and quickly followed the children. The rest seemed too stunned to move. She turned to her companions. "What's that all about?"

With a shrug, John said, "Maybe they're afraid of you. I know I am." At her expression of disbelief he added, "Not now, but, you know, sometimes."

"Oh."

The villagers that remained watched warily as the group from Atlantis made their way to the other side of the square and down a cobbled street toward the center of town. Here, a larger crowd was engaged in similar tasks though there were also shops selling various items. One had a sign indicating its wares were food, drink and lodging though, from the reception they'd gotten so far, not many strangers came through.

When they were finally spotted, all conversation and activity came to a halt. Sam and John shared a confused glance as others came out of the shops to join their neighbors. After a few moments of stunned silence, whispering began. An older woman pulled a man close, said something that couldn't be heard by the team, and he took off running down one of the side streets. The eyes of the crowd kept darting from the strangers to something over their shoulders.

"Carter."

Sam turned and saw Ronon and Dusty standing in front of a painted metal statue on a pedestal. It was of a tall well-built woman in a short skirted outfit that, from the texture, was made of leather. The inlays on the front drew the eye to her breasts and epaulets adorned her shoulders. The ensemble was rounded out with wrist guards and knee-high boots. Her clothing and accessories were decorated with metal studs. In both hands, she held a gleaming metal sword high over her right shoulder. The handle was decorative without being ostentatious. On the insides of her wrists were symbols in the same script as the plaque at the base.

Her hair was held back in a braid that fell nearly to her waist and was painted to express strawberry blonde. The group moved around in front and bright blue eyes gave them a fair rendition of a certain Air Force officer's patented death glare.

They could only stare while Rodney, who'd seen that particular expression aimed in his direction on numerous occasions, most recently this morning, voiced what they were all thinking. "Sam, that's you!"

TBC