Warning: I donot own Atlantis or the characters used in this story that are seen on TV. However, the characters you don't recognize are mine, so back off and get your own sandwich.

The fuzziness of her own teeth disgusted Sara, but what could she do about it?

There wasn't a snowball's hope in hell that they'd let her get her toothbrush out of her bag, and they'd absolutely freak if she tried to snatch some floss. These people were far too suspicious and paranoid for their own good, she decided, and resumed attempting to scrape the offending build up of scum from her front teeth.

Blake, however, found her teeth picking more disgusting than the fuzz itself.

"Will you quit that? It's nasty," he complained.

The guard at their door looked in and rolled his eyes. These two prisoners had been nit picking and arguing the whole time they were conscious, and when only one was awake there was always a running commentary. If it were their strategy to drive him to distraction through blatant annoyingness, they would possibly succeed. Luckily, his duty shift was almost over; he pitied the next person that had to listen to them for eight hours.

"So… wanna play a game of itchiminihoi?"

"What the hell is itchy-my-hoi?"

Sara shook her head in frustration and sighed, "it's only the greatest game in the world! I learned it from a Newfie during summer training a few years back. It's great, I promise."

Black shrugged, "how do you play it?"

"Well," she paused, trying to remember the complexities of the bizarre game, "it was a combination of baseball and rock, paper scissors. It's great."

"Baseball and rock, paper scissors… interesting, but we don't have a ball."

Sara beamed, an amused gleam in her eye, "ah, but that is where it gets interesting! You see before yourself a square room, and you wonder… what part of baseball resembles a square tilted on an angle?"

Blake looked at her in utter bewilderment for a moment before slowly murmuring, "the diamond?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a genius here! Please, Henry, tell this fine gentleman what he has won!" Sara shouted in a mocking game show host voice, "a fine trip to the 'dungeon inn' hotel, where the rooms are small, dark and damp, and you have your own personal security guard! And talk about room service – all your meals are brought to your room. No charge!"

Blake couldn't help but snicker as she continued on, talking in that annoying voice about how wonderful this hotel was, the accommodations, the staff, the complimentary rats, and the amazing, grey unidentifiable mystery meat served with every meal.

It seemed like hours that she went on like that, making him laugh until his cracked ribs hurt and hit bumped and bruised head spun like a carousel. It ended due to two reasons; one, Blake started to pass out, and two, the guard that had been telling her to shut up opened the door and smacked her with the butt end of his rifle.

"I told you to shut up, smarmy little wench!"

Sara moaned from the place on the floor where she fell, a slightly trembling hand reaching up lightly to feel the agonizingly painful spot on the back of her head where he had hit her, checking for blood. The guard smirked at them, at Blake in his semi-conscious state on the cot and Sara crouched shivering on the dirty floor, then backed out and locked the metal door behind him. He laughed softly for a few minutes afterwards, relishing the silence that now prevailed.

It wasn't until his shift changed and the new guard came that Sara resumed her description of her game – this time without the game show host theme.

"Thanks," Blake whispered quietly to her later during 'lights out.'

She glanced over at him from where she sat in the dark, "what for?"

He shifted slightly, holding back a hiss of pain as his sore ribs burned at his nerves, and met her eyes, "for taking my mind off it."

Sara smiled widely yet sadly.

"No problem. I got your back, now get some sleep."

The younger man sighed and felt himself drifting into sleep, his eyes wouldn't stay open any longer. "You need to sleep too."

"Later," she yawned, but he was already asleep.

Sheppard groaned as yet another planet showed no signs of the missing members of SGA-9. Their little camping trip on another planet was really pissing him off.

"Okay, this is really getting to be a not funny issue here people! Doesn't anyone know where they were going?"

Aiden Ford looked around at the group of people around him, all shrugging or shaking their head's sadly. "Doesn't look like it, sir."

Sheppard turned to McKay, arms open wide, "why can't we just check something and see where they went?"

Rodney tilted his head to the side and snorted.

"Well, Major, maybe you hadn't noticed but we're sort of in a different galaxy and our little base here isn't run on a crapily made computer dialling program." The annoying physicist commented, "here we've got a real control centre with a real DHD and all together a much better set up than Earth."

"Ouch," Ford breathed, "that was harsh. I thought you worked on the dialling computer?"

Rodney shot an irritated smile at the young man and rolled his eyes. "Yes, I tried to correct the mess ups and all out flawed theories that the original staff had made, but they just tended to call me in whenever they really screwed up."

"Hm," Dr Weir came up from behind the good doctor, startling him, "and why was it that they all disliked you? Let me think… oh yeah! I remember hearing something about you insulting Major Carter, hitting on Major Carter, and a few other little discrepancies… mainly centring around… guess whom… Major Carter!"

The surround soldiers, engineers and scientists all had to struggle to keep a strait face – though few enough snickered or laughed out loud.

McKay's face flushed, but he had the good grace to smile too.

"Okay, okay… so I'm grumpy today. You don't have to take your annoyance of me out on an innocent."

Teyla, who was standing next to him, looked quizzically over at him.

"Whom do you mean?"

Rodney McKay grinned for a moment before clearing his throat and rubbing the slight stubble on his cheeks. "Me."

Another planet, another dead-end.

"Damn it," Sheppard growled. "Where did those goof-offs get to?"

Dr Weir smiled and patted his shoulder, "don't worry – they're going to get a good chewing out for this stunt when they get back."

Sheppard snorted, "You'll have to get in line."

"So how long do you think they're just going to leave us alone like this?"

Blake shrugged, still braiding a few loose threads from his sleeve together. "I don't know, maybe until we stop talking about dumb games, or we go insane from only talking about dumb games."

"Hmm," Sara fiddled with the makeshift bandage she had covered her torn scalp with, wincing as the sticky skin pulled away from the dried blood on the cloth. "So can you think of any other good games?"

"Well, I suppose I could explain the wonderful game of football to you."

"Um, right – I know that game," she sighed, looking at the nasty piece of cloth in disgust. The wound had started to heal now that the bleeding had stopped, finally, but the whole left side of her head still hurt like a bitch. "Actually, I should be the one explaining it to you. After all, you're the one whose country plays the sissy version."

Blake made a noise of surprise and mock horror.

"Gasp! Bite your tongue, infidel! All those who do not worship at the alter of the NFL are pagans and unworthy of the right – nay, the privilege – to claim to know the game of football." He cried out, in an insulted tone. "Thou shall burn in the fiery chasms of hell for your sacrilege. May the Gods of NFL have mercy on your soul."

Sara burst out laughing and Blake snickered loudly.

"Shut up you annoying, annoying bastards!"

Both captives fell silent immediately and looked fearfully towards the cell door where one very agitated and highly pissed off guard stood. The man's dark red face was the very image of fury, and the whole wild looking hair and frizzy beard didn't make him look much less intimidating, though it had been a source of amusement to Sara at first.

"He looks like my old neighbour, Harley. The first time we met him I was a kid and he scared the bejesus out of my brother and me. He was at least 6 foot eight, long red hair and a scary big red beard. Turns out he was just a big teddy bear, but we found out later that he had been friends with the Hell's Angels."

She had said that not long after they were brought here, but now she had quite a different view of this large, evil man. He was nothing like her kindly neighbour.

"Captain Rivers, they were on your crew, you have to have at least an idea of where they might have gone! You knew them better than their team," Dr Weir sat down next to the disturbed engineer. "Any idea, just something that they might have mentioned – even if it seems unimportant, it might help us find them."

Joan Rivers grimaced and tried hard to remember anything that might be relevant.

"I think once they mentioned that they'd like to go camping on that planet we found a month or two ago – Daos'ha, I think it was called."

Dr Weir beamed at the petite woman and threw an arm around her shoulder in a half hug, "thank you so much, Captain! Do you know the dialling address?"

Rivers' face fell and she looked to the base commander with big puppy eyes filled with anguish, "no, ma'am. I thought that you would."

Weir felt her own hopes fall back down a peg or two, but then smiled and told herself to buck up. "At least we know the planet name, we just have to ask around for the address. We'll have them home within a few hours and demoted before the day is over."

Rivers smiled and made a feeble attempt at a laugh, before taking her dismissal and returning to the sub-bay.

Joan Rivers is one of the characters I have in a few other Atlantis fic's I'm writing right now... so far she only has a side role in them, but I'm thinking I'll have to write a fic just for her. Joan is a brilliant Australian engineer that has been working with the SGC for a few years before the discovery of the Ancient outpost on Antarctica. That's all I can tell you for now, but watch for her later.