Double Trouble by catescorner
Well, I hope you've all had a great Christmas!
That's one of the best things about Christmas break. You get the chance to relax and do things you just don't normally have time for. For me, it's been a slight attack of nostalgias for SGA. Blame my sister, who's been nagging me all weekend to write a tag for Search & Rescue.
It's another 'where's Lorne?' mystery that, to be honest, has always bugged me. I mean, the poor boy is buried in a collapsed building, suffers a broken leg, and when do we last see him? Hobbling heroically to safety, and then - pffft!
Surely he'd need more medical attention than that? So just because I miss Atlantis so much, and I was in the mood for some fun, here's my thoughts on how that episode should have ended.
This is for you, Alli - thanks for the nudge (subtle as a baseball bat), and hope you enoy it!
Double Trouble
Jennifer Keller was a doctor. She had a medical degree, and a wall full of certificates, to prove it. But faced, as she was now, by her two most familiar patients, she felt more like a kindergarten teacher.
Sheppard and Lorne. Her very own terrible twins. The last time they'd been in here together, she'd found them racing their wheelchairs round their beds.
Both were awake now, after their respective surgery. Sleepily docile enough, too, not to make a run for it - though in Lorne's case, that wasn't going to be possible anyway. So, time to lay down the law. And if that didn't work, she'd just fall back on plan B. That always worked.
Standing between their beds, Jenn folded her arms, and studied her two almost favourite patients with as stern a glare as she could manage.
"Okay, boys, listen up. I will be saying this once, okay? Once, and once only," she said at last, the pleasantness of her tone not just scuppered, more blown clear out the water by what she said next. "I know you're in charge of the big guns, and even bigger explosives, but you're on my turf now."
A pause to let that little reminder sink in, before she brought in some big guns of her own.
"My turf, and my rules. And I'm in charge of some very big needles, so beee-have. Capiche?"
It could have been the meds, of course, but Lorne, at least, looked like he was taking her seriously. Or maybe it was just pure terror, his finely honed sense of self preservation, that made him flash that ladykiller grin back at her.
"Capeachy, doc," he agreed, sliding for safety, just in case, a bit further down his bed.
Sheppard had seemingly agreed to be a good boy too, since Keller now strode back to her office. As soon as she was out of earshot, though, a mischievous voice blew that thought to hell.
"Hey, Lorne? Wanna go raid on those needles? I know where she keeps 'em."
'Oh, you have got to be kidding me!'
Opening an eye, Evan threw the full force of its glare in his grinning CO's direction. Trust Sheppard to think up a crazy plan like that. And trust him to be left to state the blindingly obvious.
"In case you hadn't noticed, sir, my broken leg is in traction," he said at last, pointing to said leg – feeling it only fair to remind his CO that he wasn't exactly fit to mount that raid either. "And you've got more stitchwork in you than my grandmother's quilt, so… thanks, but no thanks."
A typically logical argument. One, of course, that sailed miles over John Sheppard's head. Rolling his eyes, and from way too much experience, Lorne forgot about logic, and went for good old sarcasm instead.
"'sides, with all these wires and tubes, what are we gonna do, beam ourselves over there?"
"Hey, great idea!" John enthused, causing his long suffering second to groan in all too familiar frustration.
Higher command clearly had its benefits. When you got hurt, you got more of the happy juice. No fair, especially since he always got hurt dragging his gung ho CO's butt out of trouble.
"That's it. I'm putting in for promotion," he muttered, tossing a sour glare towards his IV.
There was only one way out of this. The good old fashioned military art of strategic withdrawal. Or, in his current situation, pulling his bedsheet over his head in the forlorn hope of escape.
"Go 'way, I'm sleeping."
A pause, before the dutiful afterthought.
"…sir…"
He'd hoped that would make his CO see sense, but… hell, this was Sheppard he was dealing with. And as he'd rapidly learned, sense and Sheppard just didn't exist in this galaxy, or any other.
"Aw, c'mon, Lorne! Live a little!"
'Damn, if he doesn't shut up, I'll get to those needles myself and sew his mouth shut.'
An appealing thought – but one that Evan Lorne, for all his bravery, would never say aloud. Instead he settled for straight common seanse, with a nice dash of sarcasm thrown in for good measure.
"No offence, sir, but I'd like to live a lot. And I'm too cute to be maimed that much."
Was there just the remotest chance that Sheppard would get the hint? Yeah, like hell.
"Hey, I'll protect you! Aw, come on! Where's that famous sense of adventure?"
A groan floated out from the bed beside him. An equally plaintive reply soon followed.
"Under ten tonnes of rubble. And if it's okay with you, sir, it's staying there 'til I'm outta needle range."
A pause. A few seconds of blissful silence, just enough for him to start drifting back to sleep. But then, miracle of miracles, John Sheppard made a sensible, serious suggestion. One that piqued enough of Evan's curiosity to make him tortoise his head out of his sheets, and study his CO with quizzical interest.
"Okay, how about a game of I – Spy instead? I'll go first."
I – Spy? Okay, that wasn't so bad. Surely not even Sheppard could turn a safe and simple game into 'Make Life Hell For Major Lorne?' God knew, he did that enough already.
He should have known better. A devilish grin made him groan with 'oh, crap' realization. Ten seconds later, to whimpers of 'why me?' protest, Evan Lorne's sheets flew back over his head.
"I spy with my little eye, something beginning with w…"