A BEE IN THE BONNET
by NotTasha
Thank you for all your lovely feedback... sigh... I feel so happy :-)
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PART 8: LAWRENCE WELK

Rodney's movements were tortoise slow. One trembling hand reached out, grasped what he figured was a protected cable, and pulled himself along. His arms were like cooked pasta, and he progressed by inches – making his way toward the sliver of light that found its way into his darkness. He shook. The buzzing hadn't ceased, it continued as an irritating incessant whine.

For all his struggling, he never seemed to be closing on it. He'd rest, trying to stay awake, but he drifted. His head pounded, but the floor above his head no longer rang with footsteps. Whoever had been up there – was now gone. Pity, he thought. Yes, a big fat pity. Big pitiful pity. Pitty-pitty-pitty-pot. Bing tiddle tiddle bong.

He listened, wondering if the racket above him would resume so that he might try pounding for help, wondering if anyone was looking for him – but, after the initial cacophony, the world had gone quiet. Closing his eyes against the wretched ache in his skull, McKay wanted to laugh at his predicament – stuck between floors -- but his throat was too dry, and he felt too damn tired to even try.

Where was Major Sheppard? Rodney had continued searching the area, reaching around, trying to come in contact with another body in the black space, but there'd been no one there to keep him company. Apparently Sheppard made it through the transportation correctly – hadn't had a stray and utterly ill-timed run-in with a ridiculous allegory. Of course I'd end up stuck inside the floor. Why couldn't I have thought of something a bit more comfortable? Like I'd really rather be in Honolulu… or Russia… or Antarctica even.

And he sighed, thinking about how everyone on that frozen continent must have hated him. McKay knew that he was an arrogant bastard. It wasn't as if he disguised the fact that he was mentally superior to everyone. Was he supposed to hide his light under a bushel basket? People regarded his importance with undisguised irritation, disgust… hatred. It was no surprise really. He expected it. He'd lived with that disparagement his entire life.

But… he'd rather liked Lt. Roger Murphy… Dodge… Rodger Dodger. Murphy was everyone's pal, and Rodney had felt rather pleased that he'd formed a bond with the young lieutenant. Finally, he was with the 'in-crowd'! Not forever the outsider.

Well, Murphy made his feelings clear to Lt. Ford. Why am I always so stupid when it comes to understanding people?

McKay rather liked the Major, too, and Lt. Ford and Teyla and Weir. He wondered what they said behind his back. Did they barely put up with him? Just kept him around so that he could solve problems? He wondered what they were saying right now. Good riddance? Their lives certainly became more pleasant – no longer having to put up with an arrogant jackass on their team.

Yet, he'd been happy – with these 'friends': Ford, Teyla, Sheppard – it felt good to work with them. He'd felt 'connected', as if he was part of something bigger -- bigger than just McKay and his over-inflated ego. It felt good to work with them -- fun even. Together – they felt like a team – McKay felt as if he was part of that team. Was he wrong about them as well?

He liked Weir and her style of management – she had a tough job, but was excelling at it. He liked Grodin, too… and Zelenka. He'd liked working with them – same as he'd liked working with Murphy.

Perhaps they were all having a bit of a celebration now, glad to have finally rid the lab of the brilliant and self-important McKay – that arrogant bastard.

Why am I such an idiot when it came to things like this? He smiled humorlessly, imagining a party currently in full swing. Everyone would be there. Streamers and balloons, and Lawrence Welk with his orchestra and his 'champaign' tunes. Bubbles everywhere. Lawrence Welk… that just goes to show how out of touch you are. Well, maybe Dick Clark instead. He wracked his brain, trying to think of a more 'current' celebrity but came up short. It didn't matter anyways.

McKay lay his head on his arms again, too tired to continue forward. He kept his eyes closed and let out a slow breath, feeling the empty world spin around him, trembling still. Why did I have to empty my pockets of all my gear before I started this? Yes… well… you didn't want any of it damaged during the testing… but why couldn't I have kept the radio? Or a few Power Bars at least? And his stomach growled discontentedly as he thought of food. That was his biggest mistake. He usually planned so well for snacks. What he wouldn't give for a Power Bar at that moment – or a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup – or one of those big cookies that they had in the commissary back in Antarctica -- the ones with the big chocolate bits in them.

A nice tub of popcorn would be good now… cheese corn… no… wait… SmartFood Cheese Popcorn. Love that SmartFood. Makes your hands a mess, but there's nothing like it. Cheese… everyone loves cheese. Well, not everyone…

He knew he was in trouble. And he was thirsty as hell. This was not good – not good at all. His thoughts drifted too often, too far. He couldn't concentrate. He had to think though – if he wanted to survive this.

He had to find a way out.

Time to get moving again… and he pressed his hands against the floor and forced himself onward.
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A/N: and a one... and a two.. and a...