Once the alien troops realized their commander was being held hostage, they were quite agreeable about leaving Atlantis. It seemed Hans wasn't just the commander of the army, he was the leader of the Uluru, and a popular leader at that. The aliens packed up their things, collected their people (sans the ones trapped in the aquarium), and promised to return the captive Lanteans immediately. In return, Evan agreed to return Hans to them, once all his people were safe and accounted for.

Sheppard was the first to come back through the gate, his eyes flicking around the room to take in the situation. "McKay. Lorne," he greeted cautiously as more people poured in behind him. He eyed the burn marks on the walls and the shattered glass around Doctor Weir's office. "How's your Christmas been?"

"Not too bad, sir," Evan responded cheerfully, his relief at seeing his colleagues back where they belonged outweighing his guilt at the damage he'd caused. Well, Hans and his goons had caused. Evan hadn't really had much of a choice in the matter. "Yours?"

Sheppard scanned him with a strange look on his face, and for a second Evan thought he might be mad about the state of Atlantis until he once again remembered how ridiculous he looked right now, in his pajamas and bare feet. Plus, he was still covered in red spots, and had added a shiner and split lip to the mix, along with various other cuts and bruises. He shifted his grip on the alien rifle self-consciously as more people glanced at him curiously.

"Oh, you know, the party got crashed, spent the night locked up in a very uncomfortable warehouse, but we didn't let it kill our Christmas spirit," Sheppard answered casually, giving him a half smile now that he saw the situation was under control and his people weren't too mangled up.

"You're both insane," McKay interjected with disbelief.

Beckett pushed his way through the crowd forming in the gate room with a slightly panicked expression. "Is everyone all right?" he asked, his eyes searching for injuries.

"We're fine, Doc," Evan said, ignoring the scowl the doctor was giving him. He jerked his head up toward Ops, hoping to deter Beckett's attention from his bruised face. "You should probably check out Eaton and Clarke, though. They were under some kind of hypnosis, and I had to stun them."

"We are not fine!" McKay argued indignantly. "Not only was I pushed off a balcony earlier, I have been in close quarters with Major Pegasus Pox here for hours now. I'm already starting to itch." As if to prove his point, he scratched at his cheek. "Do you see a spot here?" he asked Beckett, pointing.

Beckett sighed in exasperation. "Rodney, it takes at least 48 hours for the first symptoms to appear after exposure." Before McKay could interrupt, he continued, "But you do have a point. Major, you should probably head to the infirmary so you don't expose everyone here. I would like to have a look at you before I send you back to your quarters anyway." While it seemed Beckett wasn't concerned that he was going to keel over anytime soon, he clearly wasn't buying that Evan was "fine" either. "I'll meet you once I've taken care of our lads over there."

McKay began to protest again, so Beckett added, "You, too, Rodney. I want to give you a once-over, and while you're there we can do a blood test to determine if you've contracted the virus."

McKay grumbled something at the doctor's back as he shuffled past them up the stairs.

"Sir, the deal was that we send Hans here back once all our people were returned," Evan informed Sheppard, motioning with his gun toward the stewing man seated on the steps.

"Hans?" Sheppard asked, arching an eyebrow.

Before Evan could explain, McKay rolled his eyes dramatically. "Hans Gruber. He's been playing Die Hard all day. Thinks he's John McClane."

He missed the embarrassed glare Evan shot him.

"Taking on a city full of aliens single-handedly?" John said with a shrug. "Seems pretty accurate to me."

"Uh, I helped," McKay said defensively.

"However it went down, I'm looking forward to hearing all the details later," Sheppard said, smirking. He held out his hand for the gun, which Evan gladly handed over. "For now, get out of here before you give us all Pegasus Pox."

"Yes, sir," Evan agreed, but he took one last opportunity to crouch in front of Hans, who recoiled from him with disgust and unconcealed resentment. "I hope you get it, Hans," he said, patting the man's cheek as he flinched away. "A little parting Christmas gift to you."

"Just pray we do not meet again, Lantean," Hans hissed.

"I don't think I'm the one who needs to pray," Evan retorted. He leaned in a little closer, making Hans try to scoot even farther away. "Now get out of my city and never come back."

He straightened up and started to walk away, but then turned back to Sheppard. "Oh, sir, you should know, B-6 is sealed and flooded, and there's about twenty aliens trapped in there. And the bats from zoology are loose." He shifted his weight nervously, now remembering that he actually was to blame for quite a lot of the mess the city was currently in. A mess he couldn't even help clean up, given that he was supposed to be quarantined for three to five more days.

Sheppard raised a curious eyebrow. "Anything else?"

Evan bit his lip, wincing. "The Anti-Friction device is on in the east pier entryway. Not sure if they managed to get all their guys out of there. It might be a pain to turn it off. And, uh, you might want to avoid the engineering labs for a few more hours. Oh, and we kinda had to punch a hole in the jumper bay doors earlier."

"Sounds like you had quite the party," Sheppard said, no longer using the light, amused tone he had moments ago. No, now he looked pissed, though Evan still couldn't tell if it was directed toward him or just the fact that his city had been damaged. "Now I'm even more interested to hear about it. Later."

"Yes, sir." Evan knew a dismissal when he heard one and hurried to comply.

"What did you do to my labs?" McKay asked, horrified.

"Come on, McKay," Evan said, walking toward the door and purposefully not looking back. Sure, he might have gotten a little carried away with a few of his booby-traps, but he had taken on a hundred guys by himself. It could be excused, right?

"Seriously," McKay said, jogging to catch up with him, "what did you do to my labs?"

Evan winced again, imagining once he was over his Pegasus Pox, he was probably going to be paying for damages in lousy mission assignments and doing even more of Sheppard's paperwork for a while. He didn't need to add the ire of McKay to the list. "Trust me, Doc, your labs will be fine," he said. "They just need to air out a little."

McKay's brow creased as they walked down the hallway toward the infirmary. "Wait, did you set off a stink-bomb in engineering?"

"Technically, it's a 'Pheromone Repulsion Device,'" Evan mumbled, making air quotes around the device's given name.

"The Skunk Machine," McKay repeated as if he hadn't heard. "I can't believe it. Are you twelve?"

Evan shrugged, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied grin. Punishment be damned; he'd taken on a hundred bad guys today and won. They couldn't be that mad at him. "It got all the soldiers out of that wing and into the aquarium so I could trap them."

"And you let the bats out and used the Anti-Friction Device…" McKay continued, putting it all together. "Oh my God, you are twelve. No, not even twelve. You're eight."

"My sister introduced my nephews to Home Alone this year," Evan explained, his smile growing. He'd saved the city; who cared if he'd used child-like antics to do it? "She keeps telling me stories about how they're booby-trapping her house. Might have drawn some inspiration from it."

"Oh, I see how it is. Here you are making everyone think you're Bruce Willis, when you've actually been Macaulay Culkin all along," McKay snorted.

Technically, he hadn't told anyone about the Die Hard thing—McKay had come to that conclusion on his own—but he would let it slide. "Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal," Evan said happily, slapping the scientist good-naturedly on the shoulder.

McKay immediately recoiled from the touch with a yelp of displeasure. "I told you not to touch me!"

Evan laughed and shook his head, holding up his hands in a "my bad" gesture. The last twelve hours had been hellish, probably his worst Christmas to date, and yet nothing—not even McKay's hypochondria—could bring down his mood right now. Not only had he saved Atlantis, he'd lived to tell the tale. Survived the curse once again. Crossed off another December 25th from his calendar.

Next Christmas couldn't possibly be any worse, could it?

End

A/N: And that is the end of this slightly ridiculous Christmas tale. It started as an idea to do a fun short story with a couple movie references, and then it kept growing until it was twice as long as I ever intended. I'm not sure all my attempts to be funny landed, but hopefully it brought a few laughs.

I am so grateful for all the love y'all gave this story. I always say, I started writing fic just for my own entertainment, but it warms my heart to know someone else out there is enjoying the stuff I put out there. So, from the bottom of my ooey gooey heart, thanks for reading!

~Minnicoops