Author's Notes: Okay, last week I wrote a short little punalicious whumplet to cheer up some friends who were having a very crappy week. everybetty was a prime instigator, what with all the butt puns we were passing back and forth. Well, the beginning of this week she asked if there was going to be another Friday Ficlet (hint hint nudge nudge). At the time I said no. But I had a vision spurred on by an obnoxious crack from her, and it took root and grew...

I am convinced Beth is becoming a very bad influence.

I mean, jeez. I used to be a straight forward action kind of whumper. Now I find my fingers guided by the Snark Side of the Force and typing up scenarios that leave our favorite Lt. Colonel's assests exposed... Sorry, got distracted there for a moment, and it's all her fault. I used to be an innocent, straight-laced, pure, um, bunny hugging, ah, erm ... Oh, who in the hell am I kidding? You should see the drawing I'm working on because of her. Mmmmm, nice tight buns...

THANK YOU, MEI MEI! mwah

S'Not Fair

They could see the possible location of the strong power source up ahead between the blue-gray trunks of the hundred foot high near-cypress trees with the rotten banana colored – and shaped – leaves. It was a complex, fairly large, and was definitely Ancient in design.

What was left standing, that is.

Rodney was glued to his LSD and missed the fact that the dry trail they were following through the spongy ground between the bases of the trees veered left. His right foot disappeared with a squelch into bog, he let out a startled yelp, and the only thing that kept him from pitching forward into more bog was Ronon grabbing the handy little loop on the back of his tac vest and hauling him backwards. Rodney didn't even say thank you – instead he shook his foot and grimaced as some of the tepid water worked its way down into his boot. "Have I mentioned how much I hate swamps?" For punctuation he slapped at an insect on his neck.

"Numerous times," John said from point. "And it isn't a swamp."

"It's a bog. I know. I know. You've said it a dozen times."

John smirked and saw Teyla roll her eyes. "Would you prefer to be hiking a kilometer through a steaming jungle?"

Rodney gave his foot one last shake and resumed the trail. "And how am I supposed to believe a clammy, squishy bog is an improvement over that?"

"Fewer insects," Ronon said.

"No snakes," Teyla added. "So far."

"Our deodorant is still working," John said with a thoughtful nod.

"Okay, that is a plus, I will give you that much." Rodney went back to his LSD. "But I still don't see much of a difference." He and Ronon joined the others where they stood on a slight rise. "According to this, the power source is about forty meters in."

There once was a wall around the compound, but trees and a thick vine that resembled purple kudzu had either buckled or pulled most of it down. Only a couple buildings seemed intact – the rest were just plant covered piles of rubble. One tower rose above the complex and only seemed to be missing the very top. Vines covered a good chunk of it, and one stunted tree grew from the top of the broken spire to replace what was lost to time.

"It's in there," Rodney said with a twitch of his chin.

"Can you tell where, exactly?" John asked.

Rodney made a few adjustments. "It's above ground, maybe ten, fifteen meters."

"Okay, let's hope the place is more stable than it looks." John adjusted his grip on his P90 and continued along the dry path. It took them right into the remains of the complex and wound its way along higher ground in a haphazard fashion. They began encountering flowing water between the hummocks of dry land, and in a few places had to actually jump across the shallow stream that ran through the place. By the time they got to the building they were finding fewer dry areas. At least the water was fairly clear, and they could see the muddy bottom easily.

It took a few minutes to find an entrance into the tower – it was a gaping hole lined with vines – and John snapped on the flashlight on his P90. "I'm not liking the looks of this," he said as he shined the light into the building.

Teyla joined him, her own light adding to his. Rodney just forced himself between them. They scanned the vegetation covered walls of a small room. "I agree," Teyla said. "There could be severe water damage."

John tested the edge of the hole. The material didn't crumble in his hand like old water damaged concrete would. "Eh, we might be okay. I'll go first. I want at least ten feet between us at all times, people, just in case the floor is weak." He turned his head towards Rodney. "Got that?"

"Yes, yes, yes," Rodney replied. He held up the LSD. "I have a fix – fifteen meters in, twelve up."

"Okay. Teyla, you follow me." When Rodney started to protest John held up a finger. "She's lighter than you, and has faster reflexes."

Rodney opened his mouth, then shut it and nodded/bobbled his head. He stepped aside and made an after you gesture to Teyla.

"Thank you, Rodney," she said with a smirk.

"Going in." John carefully stepped over the broken lip of the wall and placed a foot on the floor. He slowly shifted his weight onto it. The floor didn't creak or groan, so he brought his other leg in. His first few steps were slow, careful, and he tested every one until he was nearly in the middle of the room. "Okay, so far so good. Teyla, come on in." He picked up his pace slightly and headed deeper into the tower while the rest of the team came in.

The central part of the tower was so dark it seemed to just swallow the wimpy light of his flashlight. Well, Rodney said the place had power…. He concentrated on light, and low and behold a sickly yellow glow filled the place. It wasn't very bright – it was more like candlelight than anything else – but it was enough to see by. He shut his flashlight off but kept his P90 ready as he did a slow turn and scanned the new room. "I don't see any stairs, but I see what might be an elevator." He heard someone coming up behind him and he turned enough to see Rodney. It didn't surprise him. "Stay back!" he hissed and edged away.

Rodney made a face. "Floor is fine, Colonel Paranoid." He held up the LSD and scanned the room. "I think there are some stairs over there behind those vines." He started to head that way. "The power source is directly above us." He was grinning. "I think it just might be a Zed …."

A loud crack cut his sentence off.

"Freeze!" John said through his teeth as he held up a hand.

Rodney took one more step before he stopped, his eyes going wide as a low moan reverberated up through their feet. "Not moving!" he whispered and crouched slightly as if it was the ceiling that was the problem.

"Ronon, Teyla, stay in that entryway. Rodney, start shuffling back that way. Slowly."

"Shuffling." He took one step and paused, then another. There was another crack and the floor vibrated.

"Oh, shit," John said as he lunged for Rodney and shoved. Then the floor dropped out from under his feet. For a split second he saw the bottoms of Rodney's boots as his belly hit the exposed edge of the new hole, then he started to slide backwards. He flattened his palms and tried to slow his slide, but he went over the edge and barely caught it in time. He could hear the rest of the floor behind him falling away and splashing into something below. Actually, not really splashing – it sounded more like, well, plopping.

"Sheppard!" Ronon yelled. "I can reach you. Hold on!"

"Not going anywhere, buddy." John head a faint thump, then some shuffling as he hung by his fingertips. The big guy was probably inching forward on his stomach like he was on ice instead of an unstable floor. He glanced down, but the light wasn't reaching into the hole, and he had no idea how deep it was. Wait a minute …. He blinked as did see a fading pale yellow glow. The floor groaned, a second later the section John was holding onto broke away, and the last thing he saw was Ronon's hands grasping at empty air.

If it was a typical Ancient building, he had a rough idea of how far he'd fall and tried to stay loose. What he landed in was definitely not water, and was not quite three feet deep, kind of thick, and unpleasantly warm. And the smell….

Ronon's head popped over the edge. "Sheppard?" Then he flinched back and covered his nose.

John was trying really hard not to breathe. "I'm … all right." He barely choked the words out, and was glad the stuff, whatever it was, never made it above his neck. He started to get to his feet, and it felt a lot like fighting his way through Jello. Really rotten, lukewarm, nasty Jello.

"Oh my God!" He heard Rodney called out a second later. "What did you fall into down there? Month old ass?"

That did it. John was holding it together, but the image that produced was just too much. He leaned forward, hands on knees, and puked up what was left of breakfast. When he finished, he almost wiped his mouth, and that set off a bout of dry heaves. He spit several times before he choked out, "Thanks a lot, McKay." His eyes had adjusted to the weak light and he found his P90 sticking out of the glop not too far away. He pulled it free, shook it a few times to get the worst of the stuff off, and turned on the flashlight. It glowed a vague lavender and he wiped away a substance that had the consistency of, well, snot. Sticky snot. Streamers of it arched between his hand and the light and became faintly luminescent. A few more gags wracked his body as he snapped the stuff away from his hand. Another light joined his, and John glanced up to see Ronon shining a mini maglight down at him.

"Oh, man – that is just … nasty." He had a grimace on his face that was beyond disgusted.

John looked down. The stuff was neon lavender, and where he stood faint glowing yellow ripples radiated out from him. He raised his own light and saw the stuff coated the walls more than halfway up.

And it seemed to be eating them away.

He spotted the door, but the surface appeared to be melted smooth. "Uh, guys, I think it would be a really good idea to get me out of here as soon as possible."

"We can make a rope from the vines outside," Ronon said. And disappeared. Some more small chunks broke away from the edge and pelted John.

"Hey, careful!" he yelled up as he backed away from the edge and centered himself in the hole. He heard some shuffling, more dust rained down, and Rodney's head popped over the edge. "What the hell are you doing? Get back."

Rodney was holding his nose and grimacing as he shone his own mini maglight down into the darkness. "It's stable," he said, voice nasally. "Ronon and Teyla are cutting vines. Shouldn't take long." He let out a strangled giggle. "That really is nasty."

John flipped him off then tried cleaning some of the viscous glop off. He had to stop and gag after every other swipe as new waves of the stench rose up. Yeah, month old ass was an apt description, with a undertone of settling pond in August. He was pretty warm and sweat was starting to bead on his forehead, and he would have given his left nut for a towel. He heard a faint double beep from above, and when glanced up he saw Rodney was filming him on his portable DVR. "What the hell!" He pointed up at him. "Oh, you are so dead."

Rodney just giggled. "This is just too good to pass up – Colonel Sheppard up to his knees in luminescent purple alien snot."

"I will shoot you."

"Are you sure you want to be saying that while I'm recording?"

"McKay…."

Rodney just giggled some more and zoomed in.

John was seriously considering lifting his P90 when he realized he was starting to get beyond just warm – he was ratcheting up into unpleasantly warm. "Uh, Rodney, could you tell them to hurry?"

"Why, is there something down there with you? The Loogie from the Phlegm Lagoon? Maybe Snotzilla?"

The heat was making its way into the mildly uncomfortable zone. "I'm not joking around, Rodney. This shit is starting to burn." He looked up, and there must have been something in his face to convey his rising panic because he saw Rodney's grin falter.

"Um, okay." His head backed away, and a moment later he was yelling at the rest of the team. By the time he peeked back over the edge, John's clothing was actually starting to smoke. "They're almost … done. Oh crap."

"Yeah, no shit," John gritted out. He was sweating like a pig, and it was taking every ounce of control he had to keep from scratching at any exposed skin that had the goop on it. By the time the makeshift rope dropped down to him he was in starting to hurt, and every exhale was a hiss through his teeth. He wrapped the length under his arms and around, tied it off, and yelled, "Get me the hell out of here!" He immediately started to rise, and when he was halfway up he heard something fall into the stuff. The P90's light was still on and pointing down, and when John glanced that way he saw his BDU's had become basically very ragged cargo shorts and the Vibram soles of his boots sat on top of the crap, the leather uppers and what was left of his cotton socks and pants legs slowly disintegrating in a bright yellow glow. "Oh, that is not good," he muttered. A moment later his head bonked the ceiling. He got his arms up over the edge and started to haul his own ass out of the hole. Some of the floor broke away, but not very much, and as soon as he was on good stable floor he scrambled to his feet. His team was standing there, mouths open, as he charged past them leaving a trail of smoking cloth in his wake.

He had his tac vest off before he even reached the hole in the wall, and once he got through that he made a beeline for the widest, deepest section of the stream he could see and just jumped in. He couldn't tell if the water was cool or not he was in so much pain as he scrubbed frantically to get the sticky stuff off of his skin. His BDU's just pulled apart like so much wet toilet paper, and he knelt in the cool mud and gasped and swore and panted. A second later he could feel more hands on his back attacking the stuff there. Each touch was both heavenly and terrible, and finally his body had had enough. He just fell forward, and for a second his head was underwater. Then he was flipped over, and when he shook water out of his eyes he saw Ronon standing over him. He tried to say thanks but all that came out was a strangled gasp, and when he tried to wipe his face Ronon grabbed his wrist.

"Don't – you might get it in your eyes." He glanced up. "McKay – you have anything dry?"

"Um, yeah." Rodney quickly shucked his pack and started digging through it. He came up with a spare t-shirt a moment later. "I, uh, would like … oh, here." He looked very worried when he handed it to Ronon, who in turn gave it to John.

"Thanks … buddy," John gasped out. He wiped his face and leaned his head back against the bank. He tossed the shirt over his shoulder. "Oh, crap this hurts." His voice was tight and he bared his teeth briefly.

"Here, I believe this will help," Teyla said and came into view. She was wading in the stream as well, and held a double handful of mud. She gently applied some to the bright red rash that was already forming on his neck. "I noticed it took the sting out of my hands when they started to burn."

John sighed – it really did seem to help. He started digging up handfuls of the stuff and just plastered it on his chest and arms. He looked down and saw all that he was wearing was his gun belt, dog tags, watch, and – after a closer look – just the elastic from his boxers and his wristband. "What the hell?" He glanced at Teyla in horror then quickly sat up. Teyla diplomatically started covering his shoulders with mud.

"Huh, interesting stuff," Rodney said. He had found some plastic baggies in his pack as well and was scooping up piles of still smoking cloth like they were yard bombs left by a dog who'd eaten toxic waste. "Doesn't seem to affect synthetic material." He held up the baggie and peered closely at the contents. It was still bubbling away into a black sludge.

"Yeah, interesting," John said through his teeth. Parts of him were burning that hadn't burned since college, and the thigh straps on his holster felt like barbed wire. He got to his knees and took the belt off. The watch followed, and the elastic he just snapped off and tossed into the water. Sweat was still running down his face, and when he reached for Rodney's spare shirt he could see tiny wisps of smoke already starting to rise from where he touched it. He let it lay right where it was.

Rodney noticed it at about the same time. "Oh, man – that was one of my newer ones, too."

"I'll buy you … a ten pack," John said as Rodney bagged the shirt.

"Can you stand?" Teyla asked.

"Yeah." It took him a couple tries, but he did manage to stand without swaying too much. The pain was getting tolerable – it wasn't going away by any means – but the mud was really helping. "I'll, um, get this side." He looked down. Getting mud meant bending over, and he had a feeling if he tried he just go over. Then he heard Ronon clear his throat and he turned his head that way. The big guy handed over a double handful of mud with an incredibly cheesy smirk. "Uh, thanks."

"Don't mention it. Really."

John put the first glob on his stomach and suddenly flinched as another glob hit another part of his anatomy. "I, ah, can get that part, too." He didn't dare look at Teyla – his face and ears were red enough already, and it wasn't from the spreading rash.

"Very well. We will get your legs."

When did he get so good at reading his team that he could tell, without even looking, that she had a shit-eating smirk on her face as she said that?

It didn't take long to turn him into an earthy, slightly boggy smelling version of Br'er Rabbit. Getting up onto shore with some dignity was a challenge – his legs were wobbly and he almost face planted twice before he found his balance. He was starting to shiver, and was glad when Rodney handed him one of the flimsy foil space blankets. He wrapped it around himself as best he could – at least he wouldn't have to walk back to the 'jumper wearing nothing but mud and his dog tags.

"Will you be able to make it back?" Teyla asked in concern.

"Yeah, I can do it." Like hell he was going to have them pack him out like this. Even the feel of the blanket was almost too much. Being draped over a shoulder? No way.

The team made quite the interesting sight as they walked the kilometer walk back to where the 'jumper was parked in a small clearing. Teyla, wet and muddy, led the way. John followed, a miserable silver blob hunched over, very brown legs sticking out from underneath the blanket. Rodney for the most part stayed right beside him, except for the one time he fell back and took a surreptitious picture of the colonel. Ronon, just as muddy and wet as Teyla, took up the rear, a perma-smirk on his face and a long branch with Sheppard's intact gear hanging off the end flopped over his shoulder like some Dali-esque hobo's pack.

They had to stop several times for John to rest – the pain was growing as the mud dried and the path didn't follow the stream. He did make it to the 'jumper on his own two feet, barely, but every other shallow breath was accompanied by a soft vocalization that wasn't quite a moan. The second they stepped inside he sunk to his knees and started to topple forward. Teyla caught him and John bit back a strangled scream. She lowered him to the deck, and everywhere his body touched felt like acid had been scrubbed into his skin with sandpaper. "Get us home, Rodney," he gasped out. "N'fly in a straight line. Kay?" Then, thankfully, he passed out.

-oOo-

John woke up with a strangled yell, and the only thing that kept him from swinging was the fact he was wrapped in a regular blanket as well as the foil one. His skin felt dipped in lava, but he was frozen to the core and shaking, and every twitch made the burning worse. Then he became aware of something pressing against his face and it felt like he was suffocating. That renewed the struggle.

"John. John! You're on Atlantis now. You are safe."

It took a moment for him to recognize Teyla's voice, and another to decipher the words. His eyes fluttered open and he saw her worried face above him. He tried to say something, but all that came out was a muffled moan, and that was when he realized they had an oxygen mask on him.

"Okay, people – gently," Keller said from somewhere near his feet. He felt hands under his shoulders, his hips, his legs, and as they lifted him he blacked out from the pressure against his skin. After that everything was in just bits and pieces – snippets of conversation where he could hear voices but his brain just wouldn't translate the words, pain flaring horribly and forcing him back into darkness, more conversations in hushed tones until a wonderful warmth sparked in his frozen center and spread outwards, and the pain as well as all sound completely disappeared for a time.

When he finally started to come to his senses again he thought he was in a fish tank. He could hear water burbling, but it also felt like there was a cool breeze blowing along the length of his entire body. The brain slowly started coming back on-line, and other things started to register through the fog. His skin still hurt, yes, but the breeze was keeping its bitching down to a tolerable level, and he was lying on something that didn't interfere with that soothing current. Wait … current. Not a breeze, but water.

And for some strange reason he was thinking about … breakfast.

Thinking was becoming a little easier and he decided to try to open his eyes. At first all he could do was get his left eyebrow to raise, then he managed a squint. Yup, he was definitely smelling oatmeal.

"Ah, I thought you were waking up."

John blinked a few times and focused on Dr. Keller. She was smiling wide enough her dimples were showing and she seemed incredibly … chipper. Good hell, he couldn't deal with chipper right now. He lifted his head, and his chin dipped into warm water. "W'the …."

"You're in a burn tank, Colonel." Keller sat on a rolling stool so she could be more eye level with him.

"Burn tank?" John's eyes got wide and tried to sit up, but he was so weak he just fell back against what felt like a hammock and barely sloshed the cloudy water.

Keller held a hand up. "Please, you need to stay in there a little while longer. That substance you fell into was acidic …."

"No shit."

Keller flashed him a quick little tight lipped frown. "And you have the equivalent of first and second degree chemical burns over ninety per cent of your body. Teyla and Ronon also have burns on their hands, but nearly as bad as yours."

"Oh." John lifted his right hand out of the water and blinked. It looked like he had the world's worst sunburn, and skin was already starting to peel across the knuckles. Now that it was exposed to air, the pain started to ratchet up. He quickly lowered it back into the water and sighed as it cooled off again.

"Your hands, neck, and lower legs are the worst, and, ah, a few other, um, 'delicate' spots." Keller was actually turning red.

John fought the urge to check himself, but the urge won after about three seconds. At least the water was really cloudy…. And, yeah, he was pretty … tender. "Anything else?" His voice cracked a little and he cleared his throat.

Keller rubbed her nose to hide her twitch of a smirk. "You had a bit of an allergic reaction to the substance as well, but it has been responding to a simple antihistamine. Your white blood cell count is pretty elevated right now, however, and that does have me worried. As soon as I'm sure all traces of that stuff are flushed from your skin, I'm going to start you on a broad spectrum antibiotic. You're going to be stuck in your favorite place for a little while."

"Crap."

Keller patted the edge of the tub and gave him a sympathetic smile. "My sentiments exactly." When John just glowered at her she flashed him her dimples. "I'll go hunt up some ice for you – you have a least another half-hour in there."

John lifted his hand briefly and sniffed. "Why do I smell like oatmeal?"

"Because that's what you're soaking in. Along with a dozen secret herbs and spices." When John just gave her a flat stare, she fidgeted and pushed a stray piece of hair that had escaped from her pony tail back behind an ear. "Okay. Ice. Be right back."

After she left John lifted both hands out of the water and just looked at them until the burn got too uncomfortable and they were shaking. He dropped them back, then tried to raise one foot. All he was able to do was get his toes out of the water, and they looked worse than his hands. He dropped his leg with a groan and let his head settle back. Who'd have thought purple – no – lavender alien snot that glowed would cause that much damage? He grimaced. This was the Pegasus Galaxy, after all. Weirder shit has happened – he tried to turn into a damn bug, for craps sake – but jeez…. Soft footsteps interrupted his thoughts and he lifted his head again.

Oh, hell – it was the Battle Axe.

She stopped and smiled down at him. John twitched a faint one back in return, because whenever he saw her smile, something involving rubber gloves and catheters always seemed to follow. But instead she gave him some ice and he briefly closed his eyes in bliss. He didn't relax his guard, however, and it wasn't until a few calluses scraped across very sensitive skin that he realized he was, well, guarding other things, too.

-oOo-

Twenty-four hours later John was wishing the burning was back because, quite frankly, the itching was infinitely worse. Even his face itched, and it didn't even have the rash on it. It was so bad he couldn't stand to even have a sheet over him – instead it was draped over the railings like a bizarre mini-pup tent. Laying on the bottom sheet was pure hell, and as long as he didn't move, it was tolerable. Barely. Even with the thick memory foam mattress that form fitted to him, it was still incredibly uncomfortable. And sitting up? No way. The more pressure on one area, the worse the itch. So flat on his back with a very wussy pillow was pretty much it.

Then the sick twisted bastards would make him roll over. And he'd itch. And eventually lose the battle and scratch. His skin was so messed up right now that the faintest scrape of a finger nail would raise blood, so not only did he have the nasty rash, and peeling skin, he had dozens of little scabs that would pull and itch some more. The Battle Axe had threatened him with restraints or socks over his hands if he scratched again. Neither one sounded appealing, so when the waves would come, he'd just clamp his lips together, scrunch his eyes shut, and go over the pre-flight routine of every aircraft he'd ever flown. In order.

That also kept his mind off the multiple patches of missing hair all down his body.

He was up to the Blackhawk when he heard the curtains around his bed rattle. He cracked open an eye and saw Rodney and Ronon step into his 'room'.

"You up to visitors?" Rodney asked.

"Not when you're grinning like that," John replied. His voice was really rough. On top of the itch from hell, he was catching a damn cold, too.

Rodney ignored him and just bounced on in. Ronon at least had the decency to close the curtain. John's makeshift tent was pulled down a little and Rodney got his first good look at the rash that covered his friend from pretty much the chin down. "Oh, man – you look like an entire first grade class with both the chicken pox and measles."

"Thanks," John drawled. "That helps keep the mind off the itch." The last work came out pretty forceful.
"You're welcome."

"Asshole."

Rodney just giggled. "I have some good news for you."

"Harrison's back from leave?"

"Huh? Who's Harrison?"

"The nice nurse," Ronon replied.

"The one with the Southern accent?" When Ronon nodded, Rodney just went huh again. "No, I don't think so."

"Damn," John muttered.

"Anyhow, we went back to the planet…."

"You what?" John partially sat up, then fell back with a groan. "Rodney…."

"Hey, Woolsey approved it. And we went back with some engineers. Guess what we found?"

John had his eyes squeezed shut. "If I was there, I'd have to say my boot up your ass." The words came out through his teeth as he tried to keep from scratching. He wound up grabbing the railings instead. His hands still hurt like hell, but it kept them occupied.

"Har har. No, we found a ZedPM with a forty-three per cent charge." Rodney beamed happily and did his quick finger snaps. "I would have liked it to be better, but hey, I'm not complaining. Oh, and we got some of this." He dug in a pocket and pulled out a vial filled with neon lavender goo.

John opened his eyes and flinched. "Get that away from me."

"Don't worry – it's sealed." Rodney shook the vial, and the stuff glowed yellow. "Say hello to your nemesis. Biology identified it as a type of slime mold. I suggested the name Mucilago sheppardosa."

John scrunched his face up and lifted a hand long enough to flip him off. "Well, I guess that's better than alien snot." He thought a moment. "Not by much, though."

"Yup, and this little puppy just loves cotton. Dr. Efimov got a little tiny speck on the sleeve of his lab jacket, and in two minutes it had eaten a patch the size of a quarter."

"You should see your weapons, Sheppard," Ronon said. "Cleaned them right up – look like new. Your vest, though – still smells like ass. Major Lorne is threatening to burn it."

"Tell him to go right on ahead." He noticed Rodney had edged a little closer and trying to get a better look at his, well, misery. "What?" he snapped.

"Nothing, nothing." Rodney grimaced in sympathy. "Man, you look like a, a giant Twizzler."

"With mange," Ronon added.

"Oh, that's good."

John reached up and pulled his tent up a little ways. "You know, if you're going to start with that pun crap again you can just, just go away."

"I haven't been able to come up with any for this. But I do have to say, I bet you could blend in on a Saturday night at Red Lobster right now."

"And if you weren't so scrawny, you could be Hellboy's stunt double." At the moment, that was Ronon's new favorite movie, and he started calling his gun Big Momma.

"You're not helping, Chewie," John growled. Ronon just smirked back at him and crossed his arms.

"And all those funny looking dark red spots. You know – they kind of look like ants." Rodney shuddered dramatically. "Gyah. Imagine if they were, crawling all over you, their little feet tickling what's left of your overabundant body hair, their little pincers…."

John let out an unintelligible bellow and his hands came up, crooked into red peeling claws. He couldn't decide if he wanted to scratch, or wrap them around Rodney's neck…. "Nrrrgh! McKay – as soon as I can wear clothes again, I am going to hunt you down, drag you back to that planet, and dunk you – repeatedly – into that pit until what is left of your hair is gone!" He let out another bellow and sank back into the mattress.

The curtain suddenly parted, and the Battle Axe glared in to see what the commotion was all about. Rodney flinched visibly and lost his grin. Ronon even backed up a fraction. Then she fixed her gaze on John. "Hands," she said.

John immediately raised them. "Not scratching."

She nodded, then returned her attention to his visitors. "If you two cannot behave yourselves in here, then you can leave. The Colonel needs his rest, and provoking him is not going to help him recover."

Whoa, John thought. I might have to change my opinion of her. But then she fixed him with a warning glare and promptly took that thought back. She left, and all three of them let out sighs of relief.

"Um, yeah," Rodney muttered. "That woman scares me." He cleared his throat. "We'll see you later." He held up the vial. "Dr. Keller wanted to see this." He nodded spastically and ducked out the curtain.

"Later," Ronon said and lifted a hand. "Teyla was going to swing by after the little guy's nap."

"Cool." John lifted his chin at the big guy as he left. Then it was quiet, and no one was bothering him. He didn't even have to worry about the irritating beep of monitors to annoy him – they tried sticking the patches on but the adhesive was too much for his abused skin and immediately raised nasty welts. He tried to get as comfortable as he could, and it took a few minutes for the, thanks to Rodney, 'phantom bugs' to quit crawling all over him. But he finally settled and closed his eyes. Now, where was he? Oh yeah, Blackhawk….

End Note: The Twizzler comment, the ants, and the socks were all from everybetty. She's wicked, I tell ya. Wicked.