NOTES: For McWeir fans who've been waiting for my promised lighter story, this is it. I hope you like it. For those of you who aren't McWeir fans, please give it a try; you might like it, too. I enjoyed the little mentions of Stackhouse's team throughout season one, and since they fit perfectly into my plot, I'm using them. According to the imdb, Stackhouse's teammate from Japan is "Yamato." Which leads to the question: who the heck is picking the Japanese names? Kusanagi and Yamato? Couldn't they choose something a little more believable? Anyway, there's been no mention of ranks for Yamato or Lumano, so I guessed. While Mr. Mallozzi has suggested there was no Chef in the original expedition, I suspect Mr. Mallozzi has never tried to feed 100ish people three meals a day. If he had, he'd know it would be idiotic for them to not have taken at least one person whose sole responsibility is to cook, so my story has a Chef. (I think not taking a quarter master is foolish, too.) Since this is set during season one, I'm using season one sets. So, please, no reviews saying "but her office is big." Originally, it wasn't. Thank you, PurpleYin, for betaing this!

DISCLAIMER: Stargate: Atlantis and all things associated with it belong to other people. Dr. Tamura's mine, though.

SPOILERS: through Poisoning the Well

RATING: T

UNION

PART 1

PRESS

Between his tactful nature and extensive international experience, Sergeant Stackhouse was turning into quite the ambassador for Atlantis. Of course, one of the skills of a successful diplomat is knowing when to seek the influence of a higher authority. Dr. Elizabeth Weir couldn't help but smile as she reviewed his report in preparation for her trip to Valoosa.

We arrived just after dawn, Valoosa time. The closest settlement is about 5km south of the Gate. They use the patchwork method of farming we've seen on other planets. We were able to identify three different fruit crops, some sort of ground crop and possibly a shrub nut. I dared Cpl. Lumano to try some of the fruit, but he chickened out.

The town is called Keth. Their buildings are mostly above ground in wooded areas. It's a nice enough place, though I wouldn't want to live there. The locals are friendly, but they have some odd notions. Seems Valoosa's axis is at an extreme angle, and its orbit is fairly elliptical. So the seasons are pretty severe. This makes them even more uptight about time than other agrarian worlds we've visited. Dr. Corrigan finds it fascinating; I find it inconvenient. They insist we come again with our leader at what will be approximately 1400 hours tomorrow for some sort of end-of-planting celebration. If we can manage that, they seem willing to trade with us. I'm up for it if you are.

We talked with the "overseers" of Keth; metal headbands indicate their office. His name is Uvry, about 5'10", brunette, scar above his left eye, buff enough, seemingly fond of the color gold and hard cheese. His wife is Bess, about 5'6", brunette, plump, likes shiny fabric and pickles. They talk to each other in half sentences and finish each other's trains of thought, but they're easy enough to follow. They're the main ones you'd be speaking with.

These people are really into population growth. It's their cultural response to the Wraith, but I'm sure Dr. Corrigan's report will give you enough details on that. So they're interested in folic acid, infant nutrition and medical aid during their "birthing season." They'll trade food for these things. Their harvest won't be ready for months, but they're willing to share the surplus of their perishable spring crops in the meantime. Halling says they're good for it, and he has already offered us a fancy gold jar filled with pickles to smooth things along. I recommend boots that can get mucky.

Having had no way of knowing what they might face once they arrived in the Pegasus Galaxy, Elizabeth had packed a variety of clothes, but the only shoes she had that were meant to handle muck were her military boots. Even to eyes unaccustomed to Earth clothing, she knew they'd look strange with her suit. Fortunately, the women of Atlantis had become fairly close-knit. Dr. Tamura was the same size and busy with lab work that week, so she was happy to lend Elizabeth field boots for the cause, particularly if it meant getting her hands on new edible plants. The botanist's interest was not merely professional; Dr. Tamura was also a capable cook who often filled in on Chef's days off. With the Athosian harvest still some weeks away, Elizabeth was looking forward to expanding the city's food options as well as finding out what their resident gourmet might make of fresh fruits and vegetables.

With less than twenty four hours between the return of Stackhouse's team and their scheduled participation in Valoosa's celebration, the results of their medical exams had to be a bit rushed, but Carson gave them all a clean bill of health. Elizabeth was nearly as grateful for not having to endure potential inoculations as she was for Dr. Tamura's boots.

Based on Dr. Corrigan's assurances they would be well fed during the festivities, she'd had a light lunch only to realize afterward, in her enthusiasm to prepare, she was left without much to do as she waited for their departure time. Elizabeth had just finished reviewing the anthropologist's report for the third time when she sensed someone enter her office. There was only one person who did that without knocking or asking for her invitation.

"Your first away mission?"

Glancing up from her monitor, she smiled at her Chief of Science. His expression was apprehensive, his shoulders tense, chin tucked, as though he was expecting a conflict. "Yes, Rodney. Here to give me a few pointers?"

"You're not taking a gun." It was neither a question nor a statement, more of an accusation.

How did he manage to find that out? she wondered. ...And why?

Shutting down her computer, Elizabeth turned her full attention to the astrophysicist. "They're potential allies, and I'll be accompanied by four armed men, three of whom are career military." She stood up and gestured at her pant suit. "Besides, where would I put it?"

He looked her up and down, unable to hide a brief grin and an appreciative gleam in his eye, a gleam that was especially inappropriate given the fact that she was his superior. She'd caught that fleeting look a few times before. But he'd never said anything, and there was no rationale for reprimanding someone because of a look. To do so would likely be more detrimental to her than to him, for it would suggest she was too sensitive and not concerned about more important issues. It was one of the double standards of being a woman in power.

In a way, it was almost comforting. Not only did his glance reveal Rodney was just as human as any other man on the base, it reassured her she was a woman. Certainly, she was not the only woman who'd been subjected to that assessing gaze. So in that light, his regard for her wasn't unique, but he was the only man who saw her as a woman and couldn't hide it. To everyone else, she was the untouchable leader. To Rodney, she was Elizabeth. True, he'd call her "Dr. Weir" when the circumstance demanded it or he was feeling peevish, but he dealt with her as a person, not a position.

Aside from that, his responses were normally so transparent that she was certain it would be obvious if he meant any disrespect. Sometimes, she couldn't help but be amazed and even a bit envious how he expressed himself so openly, often using his whole body to help convey his point. Even more remarkable was that he usually seemed completely unaware of it. Being able to read him did not, however, make handling him a simple matter.

Elizabeth had put great effort into cultivating a comfortable relationship with the high-strung Canadian. It helped that he needed her approval as much as she needed his expertise, but to get the most out of him, she'd known she would have to accept all of him. He clearly felt personality was irrelevant when it came to the pursuit of their goals. Ultimately, he was right, but that didn't make it easy for everyone to deal with him. The resignations of a three lab assistants, two engineers and a department head during his first month in Antarctica were a testament to that fact.

Knowing direct criticism of his behavior would only have caused him to shut himself off, she'd chosen an indirect approach. She teased him. With a jesting smile or a disapproving frown, she would pose questions that would lead him to the perspective she wanted. As a man who valued his intellect above all else, he couldn't resist answering her questions. It was always satisfying to see the spark of realization in his eyes, and her slow progress with him did wonders for the morale of those working alongside him. When the time finally came for her to exert her authority over him, Rodney had accepted it because he knew she wouldn't criticize him unless it really mattered. Right now, she was confident she could coax him to see her point of view.

He jutted out his chin defiantly. "The armory has a few shoulder holsters, and Margaret Patal has one that fits around your waist."

The SAS officer had already volunteered the loan of her personal firearm, but Elizabeth wasn't about to tell Rodney that. Instead, she walked around her desk and pointed at her borrowed boots. "Based on the reports, I'm going to need these, not a gun."

"That's no excuse to go unarmed," insisted Rodney.

"I'm a bit surprised to hear you so adamant about this issue, given your past opinion of the military."

"Nearly being turned into a pincushion by deadly children and getting hit by a Wraith stunner will do that to you."

Nodding, she leaned against her desk, but her casual pose didn't inspire him to relax. "All right. But from all the reports I've read, a handgun doesn't do much good against a Wraith."

"That's not the point." He raised his hands, fingers splayed, to shake them for emphasis.

"And I don't recall you pressing Carson to carry a weapon when he went to Hoff."

"He's a physician, and we'd already established relations with the Hoffans."

"I'm a diplomat, and we've already established relations with the Valoosans."

Rodney turned away from her and began to pace the narrow confines of her office.

Why is he so determined about this?

She was tempted to point out that Major Sheppard had voiced no concerns, but she suspected part of her CoS's agitation was due to the Major not backing him up. If the Major had agreed, he'd be there, too, but bringing that up would only increase the scientist's irritation. "Look, Rodney..."

He spun to face her. "Let me go instead."

The idea of sending Rodney on a diplomatic mission nearly caused her to laugh out loud, but she managed to limit her reaction to a grin. "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

Brow furrowed, he took a step closer and jabbed a finger behind him. "Every time someone walks through that Gate, there's no telling what might happen on the other side. What is there not to be serious about?"

She could tell he was struggling to keep his voice at a normal volume, but his tone was still emphatic. Unwilling to be caught up in Rodney's stress, she cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. "You seldom seem this anxious when you go, yourself."

"You of all people should know appearances can be deceiving, Elizabeth. Besides, I have to go." He poked his sternum with vigor. "There are some things only I can do."

"And there aren't things only I can do?"

Her verbal checkmate caused him to step back. "That's not what I meant," he said defensively.

His awareness of his verbal blunder surprised her. "I know it's not. Why don't you tell me what you do mean?"

"I..." He glanced away, his hands fidgeting as they often did without something to occupy them. After a long moment, he looked back, anxiety peeking around his aggravation. "Why does it have to be you?"

Hardly an answer, Rodney.

"Why shouldn't I be the one to go?"

"Because there's only one of you."

It was as close to a sentimental statement as she'd ever heard from him. Some part of Elizabeth found it very endearing, in a Rodney McKay sort of way, but she just smiled. "And there's more than one of you?"

His hands flew up in frustration. "I'm not the only astrophysicist in Atlantis, and I'm willing to carry a gun! Elizabeth, if anything were to happen-"

"Nothing's going to happen."

"Yes, but if you were to-"

"I'll be fine."

The sound of someone clearing their throat caused both of them to turn. Sergeant Stackhouse stood at ease in the doorway that lead back to the control room.

"Yes, Sergeant?"

"We're ready to go when you are, ma'am."

"Thank you. I'll be right there."

But Rodney reached out and stopped the younger man before he could leave. "Stackhouse, maybe you can convince her to carry a weapon."

The Sergeant had hardly opened his mouth before Elizabeth cut him off. She wouldn't let anyone else get dragged into their debate. "Rodney, that's enough. Just let it go." She used a tone that would brook no argument and gave her CoS a frown.

With a sigh, Rodney let go of Sergeant Stackhouse's elbow. "Well...good luck, then, and be careful."

The Sergeant prudently said nothing, merely nodding and offering a stalwart smile. After all, what did he need to say? His team had the best safety record, one that put the Major's team to shame.

In an attempt to deflect some of the unease between them, Elizabeth offered Rodney a smile as she followed the Sergeant out of her office. "Try not to sink the place while I'm gone," she teased, but it only drew a grim huff out of him. She could feel Rodney's gaze follow her as she crossed the catwalk to Control.

Peter Grodin was manning the DHD. He offered her his tightlipped grin and a "Good luck" as she passed. Rodney and the younger scientist had relinquished dominion over the Gate systems once the control teams had mastered the Ancient equipment, so Elizabeth couldn't help but suspect Peter's involvement was due to the fact she was the one departing. Peter and Rodney had a valid reason to be concerned about her well-being. Despite the relative ease with which the academic and military components of the Atlantis team worked together, there were still ingrained tensions beneath the surface, tensions that would no doubt erupt if the expedition's leadership fell into military hands. Fortunately, the technical staff did what they could to not be caught in the middle. If the control team didn't mind and it made Peter and Rodney feel a bit more in control, a bit more secure about her safety, then what harm was there?

At the foot of the stairs, she and the Sergeant were met by the rest of his team. Half a head shorter, wearing the typical scientific beige and blue and carrying a golden jar of pickles instead of a P90, Dr. Corrigan stood out from his teammates. Not only were his appearance and stature different, the others all carried themselves with that comfortable readiness of military men. The anthropologist greeted her with a congenial smile. "Good afternoon, Dr. Weir."

"Good afternoon, Dr. Corrigan." She nodded to the other two. "Gentlemen."

"Ma'am." Corporal Lumano nodded in response. If he had any qualms about being partially responsible for the personal safety of the leader of Atlantis, it didn't show. Although none of the team members were out of shape, the Corporal was, by all accounts, the muscle of the team. Thanks to his brawn, they'd once procured an extra 25 kilograms of flour from a treaty that included the stipulation they could only have as much as they could carry.

The group was rounded out with Haruhiko Yamato, one of Atlantis' multinational military members. Calm, keen-eyed and laconic, according to Stackhouse's reports, the JSDF Lieutenant had no qualms being under the authority of a US enlisted man and had pointed out a number of details that had proven vital to the success of several missions. He gave her the unconscious half bow of a Japanese native and replied, "Good afternoon," with only the subtlest of accents.

Behind them, the Gate began locking in chevrons as Peter dialed Valoosa's address. Without a word, Stackhouse and Lumano took up positions in front of her to either side while Yamato and Corrigan took up the rear. They had done this many times before and gave the impression it was natural to them, no more remarkable than a ride in an elevator, but Elizabeth's heart was racing. This would be the second time she had ever stepped through the Stargate.

Glancing back, she caught sight of Rodney watching from the overlook where she usually observed the teams coming and going through the Gate. He was hunched over the railing, gripping it with a palpable ferocity, his mouth set in a thin-lipped grimace. Was it any wonder his teammates had steered clear of the Gateroom today? Something about him reminded Elizabeth of her father when she'd gone on her first date. The thought made her smile and calmed her speeding pulse. His expression softened in response, with worry overcoming the frustration in his eyes. "Good luck," he mouthed wordlessly. With a nod, she turned back to the Gate as the last chevron locked into place and the event horizon burst into existence with a dramatic whoosh.

Sergeant Stackhouse turned to her expectantly, never offering any doubt as to who was in charge. "Ma'am?"

"Let's go!"

Stepping through, she felt the cold and disquieting sensation of her body being demolecularized as the Stargate transported her to another world.