Rodney shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying not to scratch at the gazillions of tiny insect bites covering his forearms and lower legs. He was stuck in the large conference room for an afternoon of long, boring meetings. First had been the mission debriefing about that morning's mission. John told Elizabeth about the hot, sweaty, fruitless trek across a prairie to an abandoned Ancient outpost—which was completely empty. Someone had dismantled it and carted off all the technology years ago.
On the way back to the gate, Rodney had stumbled over an insect mound, hidden in the dense, tall grass, and had been immediately swarmed by a low-flying, black cloud of some kind of malevolent, biting, ant-like insect. Their bites burned like fire and he had unwittingly screamed like a little girl, firing into the mound with his P-90, which enraged them even more, until he finally outran them or they lost interest in the chase—he wasn't sure which. Ronon and John were having a field-day at his expense now, snickering and snarking and even Teyla was trying hard to keep a straight face. Her normally serious expression occasionally giving way to a hint of amusement.
They would have been very sorry if he'd gone into anaphylactic shock. Luckily for all of them, he hadn't reacted to the bites like he would have to bee venom. He decided he'd better start keeping an epi-pen in his tac vest from now on, though, just in case.
Carson wasn't any help. He gave him some worthless cream and sent him on his way. Rodney suppressed a groan and cringed. He hoped he wasn't in for any nasty surprises from the bites. God, he hated biology. It was so revoltingly messy—not neat and tidy and intellectual like physics. He could go a lifetime without seeing another bug and be perfectly happy, never missing them. He considered throwing that in Sheppard's face, but consoled himself with the knowledge that he was being the bigger man.
"Do you have anything to add, Rodney?" Elizabeth asked.
She, at least, wasn't laughing.
He glared at John and Ronon. "No, no. They said enough," he grit out.
"Ok. Teyla, Ronon, could you please send in Dr. Beckett for the senior staff meeting?"
They nodded and escaped, Ronon patting him on the shoulder with an amused look on his face, before walking out.
Then he had to sit and listen as Carson droned on about medical supplies, what they needed and what they could spare in trade, as Elizabeth made notes. Then he went through all the injuries and illnesses over the last week and how his numerous patients were recovering from their tedious afflictions.
Then it was John's turn. He was thankfully more succinct, outlining their supply of munitions. There weren't any impending threats hanging over their heads, so John didn't have much to say. They talked for a while about the rumors that there was some super-hero running rampant through the galaxy, saving people from local raiders and killing Wraith. Elizabeth told John to pin down where this super-hero hailed from so they could go check it out.
Then Elizabeth brought up the archeologist that had recently come through from Earth.
"Mm. Fainty McPuke's-a-lot?" he murmured with a smirk. But Elizabeth frowned and Carson rebuked him. So he sighed and listened to them talk with arms folded, surreptitiously scratching whenever he could. The itch was maddening.
Carson said he'd released her from observation after twenty-four hours and that she had recovered quickly from her trip through the intergalactic bridge. He said he couldn't find anything in all the testing he'd done that would indicate why she had such a reaction to gate travel.
"Hello. It's psychosomatic," Rodney put in.
"Well, that's what the doctors on Earth thought, but I'm not so sure. The way she describes her trip through the void is quite detailed—poetic even. I think there must be something to her story."
"Poetic? You said she passes out, throws up. What's poetic about that?" he asked incredulously.
"She says she can see the wormhole, Rodney," Carson said with exasperation. "She experiences movement through space."
He huffed and grinned with disbelief. "Yeah, right."
"You think that's impossible, then?" Elizabeth asked, frowning at him.
He tilted his head, conceding a little bit. "Well, no, not impossible. But pretty unlikely. Hundreds of people from Earth have experienced gate travel and here in Pegasus, everyone does it. We've never heard reports of anyone experiencing anything like this before."
"Maybe. But it's not a question we ask every bloody person we meet, now is it? You don't know that it isn't a rare phenomenon here or anywhere else. Oh—and she has a natural ATA gene," Carson commented, with raised eyebrows. "She's heterozygous dominant, like I am."
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Well, that would make it even less likely, then, wouldn't it? I mean, come on—they were the gate builders. Why would they rampantly use a technology that made their people sick? It's ridiculous. This woman clearly has issues."
Elizabeth held up her hand to put an end to the discussion. "Well, regardless, she's here and she's one of the most valuable linguists on Earth. We're lucky to have her. She has some interesting proposals and the IOA has very high expectations for her work. What kind of support staff have you set her up with?" she asked Rodney pointedly.
He shifted in his chair. "She's using one of my best computer specialists right now for her software," he said, annoyed.
"And?"
"What? She hasn't asked for anything else."
"At the SGC she supervised a team of scientists, dedicated solely for the purpose of researching artifacts and devices. Her work comes highly rated. They say she is thorough, cautious, brilliant. It would be foolish not to utilize those talents here as well."
"I've read her file," he said flatly, rubbing his shoe against one of his legs under the table.
"Give her a team, Rodney."
He sighed. They'd already argued about this and Elizabeth wasn't budging. He was thinking about rehashing it, bringing up some new arguments, but Elizabeth headed him off with a distraction.
"Ok, you said you wanted to talk about Arcturis? You said you have a new idea to make that work? Let's hear it," she said, staring at him unblinkingly.
He sat up and cleared his throat. He knew it was going to be hard to convince Elizabeth to have anything more to do with the project, which she clearly considered a dead topic now.
"Yes, yes. I came up with a new idea and I've taken the liberty of doing some of the preliminary math. I think it's doable."
Elizabeth leaned in, her brow furrowed. "What is it?"
"Well, the idea is. . . an alternate reality drive. I could create a drive, to be installed on one of our ships or a jumper, that would propel the occupants through the dimensional rift so they could map and explore all the relevant alternate realities."
"And the purpose of this would be? How is this related to Arcturis?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.
"Well, our last experiment with the interdimensional bridge worked. It was successful—except that we tapped into an alternate reality that was inhabited by some of our counterparts." He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "If we could map these realities and come up with a way to use the bridge to connect with a reality that's uninhabited, then we'd be golden, wouldn't we?"
John leaned forward. "Except Rod said his whole galaxy was about to explode, Rodney. Doesn't it seem unlikely that there would be an entire galaxy that was uninhabited?" John asked, looking uncharacteristically thoughtful.
"Yes, yes. I know what he said. I think I've found a way around that."
"You think?" Carson asked, frowning.
"Well, there's no way to be certain unless we try. That's why it's called experimentation," he said impatiently. "Look, I can do this. I know it sounds ambitious, but it could be the answer to everything. No one could stop us if we finally got this right. The Wraith would be like bugs to us if we had that kind of power."
"Bugs, huh?" John asked, smirking, clearly referring to the morning's excitement.
"Har har," he replied before John made some other joke to take the focus off his work. "I'm serious and this is important," he ground out. He looked at Elizabeth expectantly.
She was sitting up straight in her seat, looking contemplative. "No," she said, firmly with a small shake of her head.
"No, what?"
"No. You will not pursue an alternate reality drive."
"What? Why not?" he demanded.
"It's inherently too dangerous. There are plenty of other, more pressing problems that you can devote your efforts to."
"There is nothing more pressing than energy generation, Elizabeth. I can do this. I can make it safe. If it takes me years to create the math—I can do it."
"No," she repeated sternly, and started to gather her things together as though concluding the meeting.
He tried taking a softer tone to appeal to her. "Wait a minute. Don't just dismiss this, Elizabeth. I know I've made mistakes. But this is bigger than all of us. This is huge. I can make it work. I know I can."
"Rodney, I don't doubt that you could. But at what cost? Arcturis is your achilles heel. I'm protecting you from yourself. We're not desperate enough to try something that incredibly risky and I don't believe we ever will be. It's not worth it."
"But, I—"
"This conversation is closed. You will not devote any more time to this project. The project is dead." She got up to go.
He watched her leave and muttered, "Damn it," under his breath. He'd been afraid she would react this way.
"Sorry, buddy," John said as he got up to follow Elizabeth out of the conference room. "I know you were just itching to work on this project," he said with a smirk.
"Very funny," he said without humor, feeling completely deflated. He grabbed his laptop and walked out in a huff, intending to take a long walk through the city to cool off and think of some new strategies that might convince Elizabeth. But he hadn't gotten far before he changed his mind and headed back to his quarters to draw a bath in an attempt to soak the itch out of the insect bites.
Emily hurried to the mess. She'd just shaken herself out of a work-induced trance and realized that the evening hot-meal service was almost over. If she didn't hurry, she'd be stuck with sandwiches again, like last time.
When she arrived, the food was still warming in its chafing trays. She grabbed a tray and started making some selections when a woman came up beside her, making selections of her own. The woman was a little shorter than Emily with light brown skin and exotic eyes.
"Excuse me, are you Dr. Freedman?" the woman asked with a smile.
Emily furrowed her brow and said, "Yes?"
"Dr. Beckett has spoken of you. I recognized you from his description. I am Teyla."
"Oh. Teyla? Teyla Emmagan? Of Athos?"
"Yes. Has someone been speaking of me as well?" Teyla raised her eyebrows.
"Oh. Oh, no," Emily stammered. "I read a report about you—" She picked up her tray and edged over a bit.
Teyla looked surprised and followed her.
"Oh, well, about everyone here in Atlantis. I read every report I could get my hands on before I came." She paused. Crap. She was terrible at this. She stuck out her hand. "I'm Emily." Teyla looked slightly amused and like she was about to return the gesture, but Emily snatched her hand back and said, "Oh, crap, that gesture doesn't mean anything to you, does it? I'm sorry."
Someone was clearing their throat behind Teyla and Emily realized she was holding up the line. She made a few more selections and grabbed a bottle of water. Sitting down with a heavy sigh at an empty table, she pushed her fingers through her hair, feeling ridiculous and inept.
Emily looked up to see someone setting down a tray across from her. It was Teyla, she realized with surprise. Teyla stuck out her hand, smiling, and Emily shook, smiling ruefully back.
Teyla took a seat and began to speak, "Dr. Beckett tells me you are an archeologist? Please forgive my ignorance—what does this mean, exactly?"
"Oh, there is nothing to forgive," she said, shaking her head and regarding Teyla thoughtfully. "Well, on Earth, typically, an archeologist goes to a location that is known to be the site of an extinct civilization. We excavate the site to recover and examine material remains—tools, pottery fragments, graves and so on. We study them to gain a better understanding of the lost civilization and its culture."
"These objects have been buried in the soil, over time?" Teyla asked, looking at her curiously as she took a bite of food.
"Usually, yes. Within the Stargate program, however, my job is quite different. No digging. We focus on recovery and understanding of objects, mostly pieces of technology, that are brought through the gate. We will eventually set up dig sites in the Milky Way, I suppose, but for now, well, we've barely scratched the surface of what's out there."
"You are a linguist as well?"
"Yes. A large part of my work has always been translating texts and documents. . . ." Emily looked up to see a giant of a man setting his tray down next to Teyla. His head was crowned with an enormous mop of dreadlocks and he had a somewhat sinister-looking goatee. His attire looked entirely handmade and while his imposing stature was disconcerting, she couldn't help but narrow her eyes at the stitching, wondering what the materials were and how the garments had been constructed.
"Hi," he said gruffly, briefly making eye contact before concentrating on his food.
"Ah, hello?" Emily squeaked, realizing with dismay that three more people were joining them. Dr. Beckett was setting his tray down next to her, she noted with some relief. Her eyes darted around and her heart came to a stop. There was a man with spiky, tousled, dark hair that she didn't recognize, and there was. . . McKay. She fuzzily became aware that Dr. Beckett was speaking to her.
"—met Teyla and Ronon. Have you had the opportunity yet to meet Colonel Sheppard or Dr. McKay?" he was asking.
Ronon? Must be Ronon Dex—also from this galaxy, she remembered, glancing at him again. His story was fascinating. She itched to bombard him with questions about his time running from the Wraith.
She glanced at Beckett, who was looking at her expectantly and she blinked, rewinding her mind to what he had just said to her. "Oh, um, no, I haven't." Her gaze slid cautiously to McKay. He was focused on his food, just like Dex.
"Ok, then. This is Lt. Colonel John Sheppard and Dr. Rodney McKay," Carson said, gesturing. Sheppard nodded at her and McKay looked up, grimacing at her. Beckett was continuing, "This is Dr. Emily Freedman, our new archeologist."
Emily realized she had read about all of these people in mission reports. This was Atlantis' flagship team, the Pegasus version of SG-1. McKay's team. So, she was finally meeting McKay.
Suck it up, she told herself sternly. Quit acting like a shambling fool and be smart, professional. Be. . . charming or something. Smile, dammit!
She smiled timidly. "It's a pleasure to meet all of you," she stammered. "Please, call me Emily."
"Rodney, quit scratching," Beckett admonished. Emily glanced sideways at him curiously.
McKay looked miserable. "I can't. It's so damn itchy. That cream you gave me was worthless."
"You'll give yourself cellulitis," Beckett said censoriously.
McKay's eyes went wide and he stared at Beckett. "Oh, that sounds bad. What's that?"
Carson frowned. "A nasty skin infection. Come down to the infirmary after we're done here and I'll give you something else to put on it."
"Something stronger?"
"Obviously."
"Oh, thank God," McKay said, clearly relieved.
Teyla looked at Emily and said, "Dr. McKay was. . . accosted by a swarm of flying insects today on a mission." She was nodding solemnly.
"Oh, really? I hate going off-world," Emily offered, her eyes darting at McKay.
"They wouldn't have accosted him, if he'd kept his gun in its holster," Ronon commented gruffly, looking amused.
"Hey, I'll have you know, they were accosting me before I ever touched my weapon," McKay growled, glaring malevolently at his team members.
"Right," Sheppard put in.
Was he smirking at McKay? Wow. That was weird.
Emily cast an inquisitive eye around the table. Everyone seemed to be trying to contain amusement, except for McKay, who seemed to be angry and frustrated.
"You're all going to be very sorry when I start dying a slow, agonizing death from the deadly venom they probably released into my system," McKay spat out.
"Rodney—" Beckett started to say.
But McKay cut him off, "Or, or—there are gazillions of alien larvae crawling out of my skin, consuming everything in their path. Who knows what these things are capable of!" He was looking at them with wild, tortured eyes.
Emily furrowed her brow. "Perhaps it would be wise to send a team of entomologists to this planet to take a look at these insects," she ventured.
McKay glared at Sheppard and Carson and held out a hand, gesturing at Emily. "See. The voice of reason," he said. Then he looked worried, thoughtful. "Oh, God, I should really do that." He started to reach for the radio on his ear.
"Rodney," Teyla said, in a very maternal fashion, stilling his action. "My people have encountered these insects before. They are harmless. Children are commonly afflicted with their bites when playing in the tall grass. The itch will subside in a day or two. Nothing bad is going to happen, I assure you."
"Don't you think you could have told me that sooner!" he exclaimed in disbelief.
Ronon huffed and grinned. "Yeah. She could have. But I'm sure glad she didn't."
Emily surveyed the others. Carson was looking down at his tray, his lips twitching. Sheppard and Ronon were openly smirking at McKay. McKay was shaking his head and looking resentful. Poor guy, she thought empathetically. She knew exactly how he felt, she realized, watching him shoveling food in his mouth and staring at the table morosely. He looked up at her, then, and she glanced away, startled.
They sat in silence for a few moments. She looked at Teyla, the only one with a sober expression besides McKay, and wondered if she should address her as such, or as Miss Emmagan. She had introduced herself as Teyla, though.
"Teyla," she started, nervously. "I am curious about your culture. It's my understanding that it's a matriarchal society? Is this correct?" She finally stuck her fork into her food and took a bite.
"Indeed it was—long, long ago. We are more. . . egalitarian now, I suppose, but the preponderance of our leaders, even over the last several generations, have been women."
"Oh, that's just fascinating," Emily mused. "That's quite rare in the Milky Way. Is it more common here?"
Teyla looked thoughtful. "No, I do not believe it to be common here, either," she said, taking another bite of food.
"Would you be willing to discuss this with me sometime, in depth? I. . . It's really more anthropology than archeology, I suppose, but I would like to learn more about your cultural norms, history, et cetera."
"Certainly. I would be honored to share these things with you," Teyla said, smiling.
Emily returned her smile brightly. But something about Teyla's manner suddenly made her ask with dismay, "Someone's already done this, asked you these questions, haven't they?"
Teyla tilted her head to the side and blinked slowly, "Yes, actually, they have. But I do not mind—"
"Corrigan!" Emily spat out, without thinking. "He came with the original expedition, but didn't stick around. He never filed a complete report, either!" she said angrily and eyed Teyla with a frown, feeling dejected.
Teyla smiled indulgently and said. "I could do him one better and take you to New Athos, where you could meet an elder and ask your questions of many of my people, not just myself."
"Oh, that would be lovely," she breathed with excitement, before she remembered that would mean she would have to go through the gate. She was formulating some kind of polite refusal of the invitation when she was distracted.
Sheppard was clearing his throat. "So, I hear we have something in common? How does that work, Carson? Are we all related or something?"
Beckett paused with his fork in the air, considering. "I suppose it's possible, but very unlikely. Quite a number of the Ancients escaped to Earth and it's unknown where they settled, precisely. Geographically speaking there is little way to tell, since you Americans are typically from all over the globe, but I suppose it's possible we could share a common ancestor. It would be interesting to map the gene and see if there are differences between the three of us, but that would take a lot of time and resources."
Sheppard made a face like that was more information than he was really asking for. "So, you've been in Atlantis for about a week now, right? What do you think of it?"
The others were watching her intently. "Well, you know—it's incredible, really. My quarters. . . are beautiful. The working environment is a great step up from the SGC—it's nice to have ocean views and actual windows with sunlight after working underground, surrounded by concrete walls for five years. The work is. . . absolutely amazing."
He nodded at her and turned back to his food.
She hesitated. She should follow that up, she prodded herself. "Dr. McKay?"
McKay regarded her warily.
"Ah." She realized her mouth was open. Shut it and talk, she yelled at herself inside her own head. "Well, of course, I realize you are a busy man and, ah, I can see that you are preoccupied right now, but, ah. . . ."
"Yes?"
Oh, crap. He looked annoyed. Spit. It. Out. "Well, I was promised that a small science team would be at my disposal to work with me on the devices I've been studying, like I had at Stargate Command."
He let out what looked like a long-suffering sigh. "Yes, yes, I know all about your aspirations to steal more of my personnel. You've got Walker—isn't that enough?"
"You mean Walters? Steal? No, no. The IOA promised. . . I mean. . . what?" she floundered.
"Oh, I know they let you play scientist over at the SGC, but we take things a little more seriously around here. Just focus on your translation work and leave the real science to me, ok?" He was waving his hand in dismissal.
Her cheeks were flaming and she felt anger slowly mounting. He was having a bad day. This was not the right time to bring this up, she realized with regret. "I can see we'll have to discuss this another time," she said hotly.
"If you insist," he replied derisively.
She openly scrutinized him, frowning, disbelieving that this was the same man from the dreams. Where was that warm, crinkly smile now? So, the gossip was true. He was surly and arrogant. Damn it. What did that mean? Twenty or thirty years from now she could expect to be saddled with that? No, thank you.
"Rodney, I think Elizabeth—" Beckett was saying.
"Stay out of it, Carson," McKay warned.
She glanced at Dr. Beckett who frowned at McKay and then turned to look at her sympathetically. She looked down at her tray, struggling to keep her emotions in check. After a moment, she resumed eating, keeping her eyes cast down, wondering how in the hell she was going to manage all this now with a hostile employer to contend with on top of everything else. Dammit! She had traversed an entire galaxy for this? How incredibly stupid was she? The table fell silent for a few long minutes. Everyone focused on their food.
She fidgeted a little. The silence was so uncomfortable. Why didn't anyone say anything? She sighed, knowing she wouldn't be able to help herself from filling it. She glanced at Teyla again. "I hope you don't think this is too presumptuous. But. . . if I could make it to New Athos, I wonder if it would be possible to visit at a mealtime, to taste a traditional dish of Pegasus, maybe even observe native preparations, if possible?"
Teyla smiled. "That isn't presumptuous at all. We share nourishment with visitors as a matter of custom."
Beckett looked intrigued. "So, Emily? Do you like to cook, then?"
She snorted softly and sat back, feeling suddenly relaxed, drunk with disbelief, knowing that her entire journey was a farce and that now she would have to pay for her naiveté with two years of service in another galaxy—if she could survive that long.
"Yes, but I'm not very good at it." She smiled ruefully at him. "I've been known to bake a batch of brownies or cookies, now and then. I can follow a simple recipe, like that, of course. Anyone can. But actual cooking, you know, of really delicious food, is really more of an art, though, isn't it? It takes practice, skill, intuition." She shook her head. "Despite my interest, I don't really have the free time. And when you're a work-aholic like me, of course, cafeterias are like manna from heaven."
"Amen to that." McKay interjected.
She glanced at him, bemused by his comment, and went on, "It's hard to justify the time, but I do sort of putter around in the kitchen occasionally. It rarely turns out well and usually I have to order pizza or something. I used to watch some cooking shows from time to time—watch enough Food Network and you do pick up things."
"I always thought the only good thing on that channel was Iron Chef." Sheppard said indolently, leaning back in his chair.
"Iron Chef?" Teyla asked, her eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Well, it's this show from Japan," Sheppard replied. "Totally intense. Two chefs go head to head, like a battle, to see who's better at cooking with the secret ingredient, which they reveal just moments before they start cooking. They take it very seriously." He nodded his head solemnly.
"A chef battle? Two people cookin'?" Ronon cocked one brow and exuded consternation. He shook his head and his gravelly voice muttered, "Earth is weird."
"Television sounds like such a strange form of entertainment to me," Teyla mused, shaking her head as well.
Emily stared blankly at Ronon and Teyla. These two people were warriors. Warriors. She was sitting across from. . . Xena and. . . Conan the Barbarian. Scratch that. No. No. She was sitting across from two people far cooler than Xena and Conan could ever be because they were real people. And she was talking about cooking shows? They're right. Earth is weird.
"You're right. Earth is weird," she found herself saying, looking at them with fascination. "We're really stupid, Earthlings are, because we're isolated. We—they—don't know that all of this exists outside their little sphere. They think their great blue ball is it—they really, actually, think they're alone. So they make up all these things that they think are important—crazy things like television, just to fill the time, to relieve the boredom. So many people I know back on Earth are doing truly great things—tremendous things that will benefit humanity. But if they knew about you two, they could do so much more, couldn't they? If they knew about the Wraith, the Ori, the Goa Uld, they wouldn't be sitting back watching television, would they? No. No. Their world would expand. The scope would be different. They would be transformed. They would fight for you, for your people. Maybe not all of them, but many, many would. I wish they could know. If it were up to me. . . they would."
Emily blinked and realized she'd just said all of that, rather passionately, out loud. She squirmed in her chair and looked down at her food. Ronon and Teyla had been staring at her as she spoke. They probably thought she was rabid or something. She really had to learn to keep her lips on tighter rein.
"Did it change you, when you knew?" Ronon asked, his low voice sounding a bit softer, she thought.
She looked up, surprised to see Ronon and Teyla watching her speculatively, no trace of amusement on their faces.
"Yes. It did," she said quietly. "Deciphering things isn't a game any more for me, like it used to be. I used to think of my work as an endless series of puzzles. I thought it was cool to be paid a living wage to get to live outside for part of each year, dig in the dirt, work out mysterious codes and learn new languages. Now. . . well, now lives are on the line. If I make a mistake, someone could get hurt. It matters now. Translating a Phoenician codex or finding a Minoan sculpture is fascinating, but it doesn't change anything, won't help anyone. But. . . translating an Ancient document or figuring out how one of their devices work—that could actually change many lives for the better. My work is important," she said evenly, without resentment, and made sure she didn't so much as glance in McKay's direction.
McKay clapped a couple of times. "How noble. You see, this is what a liberal arts education will get you. Lovely sentiments, but, ah, not a lot of actual progress." McKay was nodding slowly in a dramatic fashion, speaking sardonically, his eyebrows raised. "Little Suzy Homemaker here, might have—"
"Shut it, Rodney," Beckett barked peremptorily.
"Yeah, shut up McKay," Ronon growled, and jabbed McKay in the side with the heel of his knife.
"Ow!" McKay yelped. "Son-of-a—! What the hell was that for?"
"No reason. 'Cept you're an ass. I'm going to get more food." Ronon stood, frowning, and nodded at Emily, then walked away.
Emily watched, bewildered. The others all had various forms of thunderous and disapproving expressions pointed at McKay. What just happened? Why was McKay being such an ass and what had made them tell him so? He was their friend, clearly, but they wouldn't suffer him to hurt the feelings of a stranger? What, had they liked her ridiculous speech?
Dr. Beckett patted her hand. "That was lovely, Emily. Don't listen to Rodney. He's a bloody beast on a good day and today I'm afraid he has a bee in his bonnet."
Rodney was glaring at Beckett. "Are we about done here? Because I think I might be bleeding in a couple of places from the scratching." He was distractedly rubbing his sleeve against his arm.
Beckett patted her hand a couple times more, saying, "Yes, Rodney. Let's go. And while we're there, let's see if we have anything for foot-in-mouth disease, shall we? Ya wee nippet gomeril."
Emily gasped with understanding, finding herself pressing her fingers to her lips and trying hard not to smile or giggle. She realized she wasn't entirely successful as she watched Beckett and McKay rise to return their trays.
"Oh, ye got that, did ye now?" Beckett chuckled. "It's going to be interesting having a linguist on board, I see."
Emily fought the amusement she felt, afraid it might bubble over into hysterical laughter. Her rattled nerves were making her feel a little unhinged. She looked up from her tray to see Teyla with wide, curious eyes, watching her.
"What did Dr. Beckett just say?" Teyla asked softly.
Emily drew a shaky breath. "Oh, um, he, um, just called Dr. McKay a. . . very small, incredibly bad-tempered. . . fool." She pressed her lips together and glanced at Sheppard who nodded with a ghost of a smile and kept eating. Teyla made a face like she was both amused and impressed.