"Will you give me the marker, jackass?" D tried unsuccessfully to grab the marker from Rodney's hand.
"No," Rodney extended his arm to hold the marker high in the air above his head, "You can't have it."
"I can't read your chicken scratch," D protested, moving closer to reach for the marker again, "Give it."
"There's nothing wrong with my handwriting," Rodney insisted, twisting out of the way, "You just want the marker so you can change the last equation."
"It needs changing," D huffed impatiently, "Give me the marker."
"I will not," Rodney kept the marker out of reach, "It doesn't need fixing."
"I didn't say fixing," D reached for Rodney's sleeve to pull his arm down, "I said changing."
"Changing," Rodney slapped D's hand away, "Fixing. Whatever. It's right like it is. Leave it alone."
"I can make it more right," D insisted.
"You can't make something more right, idiot," Rodney rolled his eyes, "What kind of language expert are you? It's either right or wrong."
"Rodney," D narrowed her eyes, "Give me the damn marker before I decide to take it from you."
"Because you're doing such a great job of that so far," Rodney scoffed.
"McKay," D warned.
"Nope," Rodney grinned smugly, "You might as well give up. You can't reach and I'm not giving it to you."
"You should know by now, Rodney," D smiled politely and reached up to flick Rodney in the nose, "I never give up."
"Did-did you…just…" Rodney spluttered, "Did you just flick me?"
"Yes," D flicked him again, "Give me the marker."
"Stop that," Rodney commanded furiously.
"Nope," D tried flick him a third time but Rodney jerked his head back.
"I said quit," Rodney smacked her hand away as she reached up again.
"I can do this all night, Rodney," D informed him seriously, "It'd be better for you if you gave me the marker now."
"Fine, you want the marker?" Rodney thrust the marker forward quickly, making a black streak across the bridge of D's nose, "There. You got the marker."
"Did you just write on my face?" D lifted her left hand to swipe it over her nose, eyeing the small smear of ink left on the back of her hand before she looked back up to Rodney incredulously, "You wrote on me."
"You flicked me first," Rodney took a wary step back, raising his hands in front of him with the marker still gripped tightly in his right, "Don't hit me."
"Oh, I'm not going to hit you, Rodney," D smiled her predatory smile and took an intimidating step forward, "I have a much more interesting punishment in mind."
When John walked into Rodney's lab five minutes later, he heard Rodney squealing and yelping in protest and his desk jostled with a loud thump. John moved around the desk quickly to see D sitting on Rodney's chest, his arms pinned in place at his sides by her thighs. Rodney was kicking his legs in a futile effort to free himself. D gripped his chin with her left hand, holding his red face steady as she drew careful lines on his cheek with a dry erase marker.
"What the hell, Vaughn," John wrapped his arms around D's middle and hauled her off of Rodney, "Knock it off!"
"I'm not done yet!" D protested loudly as John set her down several feet away from Rodney.
"Sheppard," relief came over Rodney's face as he scrambled to his feet, "Thank god. I thought she was going to kill me."
"If I was trying to kill you, Rodney," D shook the marker at him menacingly, "You'd already be dead."
"You were sitting on me," Rodney waved his hands through the air wildly, "I couldn't breathe. I almost suffocated!"
"I wasn't even putting my full weight on you," D argued hotly, "And you certainly had enough breath to wail like a freaking banshee."
"I wasn't wailing," Rodney glared at her furiously, "I was trying to call for help while you were viciously attacking me."
"All right, that's enough," John stepped in between them, "What the hell is going on here?"
"She started it," Rodney pointed an accusatory finger at D.
"He started it," D insisted at the same time.
"I don't care who started it," John held his hands up to silence them.
"But he-" D objected.
"Vaughn, you already have one bullet hole in you," John cautioned, "Do you really want me to give you another?"
D closed her mouth with an annoyed huff.
"Now, which one of you wants to tell me what…" John trailed off as he saw the black streak across Ds nose. He turned to Rodney, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the designs covering his face, "Rodney…there's a donkey on your cheek."
"What?" Rodney rushed over to the lamp on his desk, tilting the shiny silver to look at his reflection, "Damn it!"
"I haven't finished the donkey yet," D smiled sweetly, "He still needs ears."
Rodney's face flushed an irritated red as he turned back to D, "You wrote jackass on my forehead!"
"I don't see why you're making such a big deal about it," D scoffed, "It's not like it's permanent marker."
"You wrote jackass on my forehead!" Rodney repeated angrily, "And you drew an earless donkey on my cheek!"
"Because you are a jackass," D declared irately, "And you drew on me first!"
"Because you flicked me," Rodney yelled, holding up two fingers, "Twice. In the nose! Twice!"
"You wouldn't give me the marker!" D shouted back.
"You were trying to change my equations!" Rodney bellowed.
"Enough, children," John interrupted.
Rodney and D went back to fuming at each other silently. John scrubbed his hand down his face and took a deep, calming breath.
"Aren't there more markers here somewhere?" John gestured around the room, "Why are you two fighting over that one?"
"There's only one black one left and we're too busy to go steal one from someone else's lab," Rodney snapped, "And it's probably out of ink now."
"You're the one who insists on doing everything in the same color," D countered, "I have no issues switching colors in the middle of a line."
Rodney threw his hands up, "You can't just-"
"Stop," John ordered. He sighed resignedly and held out his hand to D, "Give me the marker, Vaughn."
D slapped the marker into his palm as she continued to glare at Rodney.
"Where's the lid?" John asked evenly.
Rodney withdrew the lid from his pants pocket and thrust it towards John.
John recapped the marker and shoved it into his own pocket.
"You two can have this back when you learn to get along," John pronounced.
"But we have to finish this," Rodney pointed towards the half-filled whiteboard at the center of the room.
"Will anyone die if it's not finished tonight?" John questioned.
"Well, no," Rodney admitted, "But-"
"No buts, Rodney," John turned to face D again, "Aren't you supposed to be in a sling?"
"You're not my doctor," D lifted her chin.
"That's a yes," John rolled his eyes, "Where is it?"
"I think it fell off my desk during the scuffle," Rodney grumbled, "It probably got shoved underneath."
"Why was it on the desk in the first place?" John asked patiently.
"She made me help her take it off," Rodney insisted quickly, "I told her she should keep it on, but she doesn't listen to me. It's her fault!"
"Snitch," D shot Rodney a fierce glare.
John turned around and stooped to pick up the discarded sling from under Rodney's desk.
"Got rid of the cushion?" John handed the sling to D.
"I tried to convince Carson to get rid of the whole thing," D huffed as she accepted the sling, "But he didn't go for it. He gave me this instead and told me I could take it off for two hours every day. I'm supposed to start physical therapy tomorrow."
"It's only been three weeks since you were shot," Rodney frowned at D, "Should you really be starting therapy already?"
"I heal quickly," D replied smoothly as she looked up at John, "If I put the stupid sling back on, can I have the marker back so I can change the last equation we were working on?"
"There's nothing wrong with-" Rodney started.
"No," John shook his head firmly, "You're both done for the night. It's 2530 already. You can finish it tomorrow."
"We won't have time tomorrow. Your team is on stand-by," D reminded them, "From 0630 to 2630."
"Which is why I stopped by to make sure Rodney was going to bed," John agreed.
"Changing it will only take a second," D stuck her lower lip out, "and it's important."
"It doesn't need fixing!" Rodney insisted.
"I didn't say fixing," D countered, "I said-"
"What are you working on?" John questioned.
Rodney and D exchanged a glance, but neither of them responded.
"What is it?" John narrowed his eyes at the two of them.
"We'retryingtodecidewhichjelloflavorisbest," Rodney's quiet words came out in a rush.
"Could you repeat that?" John spoke cautiously.
"Dr. McKay and I were attempting to create a mathematical formula," D stated neutrally, "using variables such as color, temperature, and constancy to determine a ranking system for the various jello flavors available here within the City."
"She thinks that green jello is better than blue," Rodney's voice was filled with bewilderment, "Can you believe that? Green. She's crazy."
"The green is better," D whirled to face Rodney again, "It doesn't get runny as fast as the other flavors."
"You two are fighting over jello?" John asked incredulously.
"Uh," Rodney's cheeks pinked.
"Kind of?" D blinked up at John, "It started out as a discussion about brain chemistry but we got a little side-tracked."
"Right," Rodney nodded, "Side-tracked."
"I'm having Beckett do a full work-up on both of you," John gripped D's left elbow and Rodney's right, leading them out of the room, "Including a drug test."
*AM*AM*AM*AM*AM*AM*AM*
Elizabeth scratched Nemesis' head as she and D waited for the conference room to clear.
"You do realize," D spoke carefully, "that when Lt. Young says he 'took part in a local peace ceremony' he really means his team smoked a bowl of kertiten with the village elders, right?"
"I figured as much," Elizabeth agreed easily, "I could still smell it on them."
"I'm pretty sure they were still high," D looked towards the doorway thoughtfully, "You might want to consider asking Teyla to write a report about the effects so personnel know what to expect when it's offered. Actually," D paused, "Halling might be a better choice. I'm fairly sure he's the main supplier of the leaf among the Athosians. If he agrees, we could have him sit down with a member of the medical staff to write a simple memo to distribute amongst the gate teams."
"You're not going to recommend prohibiting it completely?" Elizabeth wondered.
"AR-6 made it through the entire debrief," D shrugged, "Other than the peculiar smell and the dilated pupils, I didn't really notice any other effects. Kertiten seems to be a fairly common trade item in Pegasus and this isn't the first planet to incorporate it into some sort of ceremony. As long as there are no serious long-term effects from use, I don't see that forbidding the drug will accomplish anything. A few regulations might be in order though."
"I'll speak with Teyla in the morning to see what she thinks about Halling helping with a report," Elizabeth decided as she stood, "How long until Dr. Morrison's team is due to check in?"
"Not for another twenty minutes," D stood as she gathered hers and Elizabeth's tablets from the table.
"Let me do that," Elizabeth took the tablets from D.
"Elizabeth," D protested, "I am perfectly capable of-"
"Carson said you start physical therapy today," Elizabeth interrupted, "What's the plan for that?"
"I'll start with a few simple tests," D followed Elizabeth from the room slowly, Nemesis padding along next to them, "to assess the current range of motion and muscle tone. After that's complete, I'll begin exercises designed to strengthen any weak areas."
"And how is the healing?" Elizabeth asked softly, "Honestly."
"Broken ribs have healed completely," D answered quietly, "My skin has begun forming scar tissue. My lung and the surrounding tissues are well on their way to forming internal scar tissue, but it'll be at least another week before that happens. Four weeks from now there won't be an external scar anymore and another two weeks after that the internal scar tissue will be gone as well. It'll be like it never happened."
"Like it never happened," Elizabeth stopped at the top of stairs in the gate room, "Have you run into any…issues?"
"I assume you mean any questions," D raised an eyebrow as she stopped next to Elizabeth, "about how I'm able to heal so quickly and completely from what should have been a fatal wound."
"Yes," Elizabeth shifted closer to D and lowered her voice, "Any problems?"
"Since you talked to Caldwell and he agreed to keep quiet about everything, not really," D shook her head, "Carson made a big deal in front of Teyla about me requiring more energy to heal than most people."
"Hence the feeding schedule," Elizabeth nodded, "and strict meal planning."
"Exactly," D rolled her eyes, "I don't think I've ever eaten so many calories in such a short time frame before. I suppose it helped, but it wasn't really necessary."
"Anything else?" Elizabeth questioned.
"A few strange looks from Marie because of the rapid healing," D answered easily, "But I'm pretty sure she suspects that I've been getting someone to use one of the healing wands on me, healing a little at a time."
"I thought Carson determined that using the wand on you would cause problems," Elizabeth said cautiously, "You haven't been using it anyway, have you?"
"No, I haven't, but I'm fine with letting her think that," D assured her, "I agree with Carson in his assessment. Any artificial acceleration of the healing on a cellular level, like the wands, would actually cause me not to heal completely. I'd end up with permanent damage wherever it occurred."
"So if you did try to use it on your wound…" Elizabeth prompted.
"I predicted it would only cut three weeks off my recovery time," D clarified, "But I'd end up with both internal and external scar tissue. My lung capacity would never be the same and I'd lose about ten degrees of motion in my shoulder. I'd rather wait the extra three weeks for my body to heal itself properly."
"I understand," Elizabeth nodded, "I'd probably do the same in your position."
"Elizabeth," D tilted her head to the side as she studied Elizabeth's face, "My injury was not your fault."
"I know," Elizabeth agreed quickly.
"Do you, ma'am?" D asked gently, "I will heal."
"You wouldn't have to heal if it wasn't for me," Elizabeth looked down at Nemesis as the cat leaned up against her leg, "Carson said if anyone else had received the same wound, they wouldn't have survived."
"Three minutes and fifty-two seconds," D stated evenly.
"What?" Elizabeth looked at D curiously.
"It took me three minutes and fifty-two seconds to drown in my own blood," D held Elizabeth's stare as the other woman blanched, "My heart stopped for one minute and twelve seconds. It took two minutes and eleven seconds to transport me to the surgical suite. I was in surgery for twenty-four minutes and eight seconds when my heart stopped again, this time for three minutes and six seconds. I was in surgery for another seven hours, nine minutes, and fourteen seconds after that. I was kept under sedation for twenty hours and thirty-seven seconds before I woke up."
"D, I didn't…" Elizabeth started hesitantly.
"It will take me six more weeks to heal completely," D paused, her quiet voice unwavering when she continued, "It took me exactly four seconds to determine that you were not to blame for my injuries, ma'am. And I will continue to remind you of that fact for whatever length of time it takes for you to believe it completely."
"That may take a while," Elizabeth admitted.
"As long as it takes, ma'am," D repeated firmly.
"Shouldn't I be the one reassuring you?" Elizabeth asked wryly, "After all, I shot you, not the other way around."
"I suppose the whole situation can be chalked up to one too many lessons at the shooting range," D shrugged, "I guess I shouldn't have taught you so well."
"I guess not," Elizabeth smiled softly.
"Unscheduled off-world activation," Chuck shouted as the symbols on the gate began lighting up.
Elizabeth checked her watch, "Dr. Morrison's team?"
"Too early," D shook her head, "Morrison's almost as strict about schedules as I am."
"Guess we'd better go see who's calling then," Elizabeth turned to head up the control room.
