Chuck entered the locker room and came to an abrupt halt as raised voices signalled that all was not well with the mission prep. The control room technician hung back warily to get an idea of what was going on before completing the task he'd been given. One could really never be too careful when dealing with Colonel Sheppard's team. So much drama.

"I just wanna know," Sheppard was saying hotly, "how you two 'geniuses' came to the conclusion that a tinfoil hat was the answer to protecting our brains from the effects of the stargate."

"Oh, please," Dr. McKay snorted as he struggled into his tactical vest. "Zelenka is certainly no genius. And it's hardly a tinfoil hat, Colonel. It's not even real foil."

"That's kinda my point," Sheppard retorted, rattling a flimsy metallic-looking rectangle in his team member's face. "It's a piece of a damned emergency blanket! What the hell is that gonna do for us?"

"John," Teyla said calmly as she wrapped her head with a similar piece of reflective mylar, "Rodney and Dr. Zelenka have been working on this matter for two days. If they ar… if theyyyyyeerrrrr sure this will work, should we no… shouldunnnnnt we trust their scientific expertise?"

McKay frowned at her in open puzzlement and started to say something. Ronon smacked him on the back of the head. "Don't," he growled quietly, and the scientist left his question unasked.

Sheppard was gearing up to respond to Teyla's gentle rebuke when Chuck cleared his throat. "Colonel? Dr. Weir asked me to come check on you."

Narrowing his eyes, Sheppard repeated, a little dangerously, "Check on us?"

Swallowing, Chuck said, "To get an ETA, sir. She wanted to make sure the mission was on schedule."

"Why did she not…. didunnnnt she simply radio Colonel Sheppard herself?" Teyla asked.

"Dr. Weir seems to be having an issue of some kind with the radio," Chuck said. He hoped no one would ask for a more detailed explanation. Dr. Weir had refused to try a replacement earpiece and wouldn't explain what was wrong the old one. Why she had insisted he come to the locker room in person was a further mystery. There was nothing wrong with his radio.

Sheppard grimaced, turned back to McKay, and took a deep breath as though it burned all the way down. "I'm just saying," he said (with a trace of something Chuck preferred not to interpret as petulance), "it doesn't seem like reflective plastic film is gonna get the job done."

He stuffed the rectangular piece of mylar into a white helmet.

"What's that for?" Ronon asked. He had simply draped a piece of the mylar over his head and secured it by tying some of his dreadlocks behind his head.

"It's a helmet from an F-302," Sheppard answered.

"Not what I asked."

"I'm using it to keep the stupid tinfoil in place," Sheppard snapped, carefully donning the helmet. "Once we get out there, I don't want to worry about it coming undone. Chances are we won't have a lot of time to fuss with our hairdo's when we're ready to gate back."

"Nooo problem, Captain Overkill," McKay said, tying what appeared to be a bootlace into a bow under his chin. "And to think you were making fun of my solution."

"You're strapping a colander to your head, Rodney," Sheppard said flatly. "There's overkill, and then there's… whatever that would be called."

"I'm just trying to keep the 'tinfoil' in place, just like you."

"You've already got the silver stuff duct-taped to your head," Ronon said.

"Fine!" McKay snapped. "I was trying to avoid saying this, but since you've insisted on making my customized headgear an issue, let me explain that I am simply trying to make sure my brain remains as untainted as possible, since it is the brain that everyone inevitably turns to in a crisis." He put his hands on the colander and wiggled it to test its stability. "If an extra layer of material will ensure that, looking a little silly is a small price to pay."

"Does looking like a moron cost extra?" Sheppard said.

"Sir," Chuck said quickly, "should I tell Dr. Weir…?"

"Oh-ho," Sheppard said, "you can tell Dr. Weir–"

"Tell her," Teyla cut in smoothly, tying off her piece of mylar into a rather stylish headscarf, "that weyerrrrrr nearly ready, and that weyulllll be in the gate room shortly."

Chuck nodded to her gratefully and turned around. As he left the room, he heard McKay say, "Seriously, is she okay? Because she sounds kinda– Ow! Stop that!"

So. Much. Drama.