MISCONSTRUED - Part V - by NotTasha
Thank
you again for the feedback. You really do my heart good!
CHAPTER 14: LIKE A VIRUS
It had started from the moment the first scientists returned through the Stargate, bloody and hastily bandaged, under the care of the triage team and escorted by Marines. It started with their rumbling, discontented comments, and it spread like a virus.
Soon everyone was talking about what had taken place on that planet – how McKay had coldheartedly kept two of the team members too long in the tunnel. The pursuit of Ancient technology had clouded the physicist's mind one time too many and now others had suffered the consequences.
Dr. Weir had taken reports, had heard what everyone had to say. The official comments were fairly consistent -- the team had been working in the underground cavern; Dr. McKay had been at odds with Dr. Merritt throughout the day; McKay and Merritt had discovered something and an argument broke out; the earthquake hit and, during the evacuation, the argument continued; many clearly remembered hearing McKay shouting at Merritt to get the device out; Zelenka had spoken briefly with Corporal Alava, and Doctors Powell and Burnaby and had verified this information; McKay called Zelenka back; Moody had reported seeing Merritt, Zelenka and McKay in the tunnel together and stated that McKay was abusing Merritt in some way; Moody died trying to get the lagging scientists out; Merritt died because he'd been forced to remain; Zelenka was in a coma because he'd been called back; McKay had run when Merritt was in trouble – had run to the first hole he could find and left Zelenka to find something for himself while carrying the device. McKay was the only one of this group currently awake and recovering.
Weir listened, trying to remain dispassionate, trying to question and not accuse, but none of the reports made sense. "Are you certain that's what happened?" she'd ask them.
"I know what I heard," she'd get in response – and several of the interrogated scientists had crossed their arms and looked at her with arrogant expressions.
But she didn't believe it… not entirely. The scientists were Merritt's chosen team – loyal to him. Of course they'd show him preference. And there had always been a marked rivalry between the various factions in the science department. But the military involved confirmed what the civilians told them. There'd been arguments, there'd been shouting from McKay, demands that Merritt get the thing out during the worst of the quake, even Lt. Ford confirmed it.
"Yes, Ma'am," the lieutenant responded, looking unhappy to say it. "I did hear Dr. McKay shouting at Dr. Merritt."
"Do you remember exactly what was said?" Elizabeth asked hopefully.
Ford thought a moment and shook his head. "It was just… you know… the way they are. They'd been annoying each other all day. Dr. McKay seemed really irritated with Dr. Merritt, kept saying his theories about the place were no good." He paused and then defended, "And I think Dr. McKay was right about most of it."
Furrowing his brow, Ford continued, speaking quietly, "When the earthquake started, I heard McKay shouting, I heard him yell at Merritt, telling him to remove the device. I heard him shout for Dr. Zelenka to come back because Merritt couldn't handle it by himself. But… that's just the way he is," Ford defended. "When he gets excited, he tends to…"
"Get a bit abrupt?"
"Yeah, I guess that's one way to say it. It's just how he is. I didn't think it meant anything. You know that, don't you? You know all of this is wrong?"
And yes, Weir realized the information didn't add up, but what else did she have to go by? It was like the incident with Brendan Gall – rumors flew then as well. She feared it would be even worse this time.
When the interviews were completed, Elizabeth could only sigh and hope that Rodney and Radek awoke soon and would talk to her to tell her their point of view.
Rodney had been in and out of consciousness over the past day-and-a-half, never awake for long. He'd spoken briefly to Carson or his people, had managed a few words with Grodin when the Brit had stopped by to tell him about the progress on the Ancient device. Apparently there'd been some speculation that removing the machine had caused the earthquake, but research quickly proved that false. There continued to be aftershocks on P6M-301, but nothing to compare to the temblor that brought down the roof.
When Grodin told him that the device still remained a mystery, not divulging what made it so important. "So far, it's worthless," Peter had said. McKay became even more quiet. So far, Weir hadn't had a chance to talk to him – that was about to change, she decided. She needed some answers.
"He hasn't said much," Beckett told her as she entered the infirmary again. The wounded scientists were mostly gone now, except for Dr. Stanley who remained due to her head injury. Beckett wanted to keep a close eye on her for a little longer. Dr. Zelenka still hadn't stirred and Rodney would be there for some time yet.
They passed Stanley's bed. She still had visitors, which was strange because she wasn't a very outgoing person. Rubber-neckers, Weir decided, figuring that they wanted to be around to see what happened to McKay and Zelenka. That would explain Kavanagh's presence in any case. The pony-tailed scientist gave her a self-satisfied look as she passed.
"Has he awakened recently?" Elizabeth asked, as they approached McKay's bed.
Jamming his hands into his lab-coat pockets, Beckett responded, "I believe he's awake more often then we think." He leaned over the recumbent man and asked loudly, "Isn't that right, Rodney?"
There was no response.
"Come on then," Beckett said with a sigh. "Just for a few minutes, Rodney. Dr. Weir needs to talk to you. Needs to find out what really happened. We need to know."
Weary blue eyes opened in a pale face and gazed up at them. "What?" he asked softly.
Elizabeth smiled warmly, glad to see those eyes. She took the chair that Beckett pulled out for her and she settled beside his bed. "How are you?" she asked sincerely.
He furrowed his brow, opened his mouth as if to snap out some comment, paused and then said, "Not so good."
She smiled again. "I know," she responded, taking in his appearance – battered and bandaged. He really looked awful. She leaned close to him to hear his soft voice. "Are you up to answering some questions?"
McKay smiled weakly. "Well… the Major calls me the 'answer man'…I guess that's what I'm good for."
"Do you remember what happened?" Weir asked.
Again, his brow creased. "I…I… I don't remember everything," he admitted as if he were confessing to a crime. "I've been trying, but I just can't fit it all together." His voice was soft and filled with frustration.
"That's okay," Weir told him. "Just tell me what you recall."
"We'd found a panel … Radek and I. Merritt showed up, wanting to horn his way in. He opened it before I had a chance, and we…." he paused, trying… trying to remember it right but it was all a jumble, empty spaces. Looking up into the sympathetic eyes of Elizabeth, he struggled. "Give me a minute…."
"Take your time. It's okay, Rodney," she said understandingly. "Just try. Tell me what you remember."
And he hated it, because he couldn't… there was a blackness after that… and empty hole… and it was terribly important to remember. Weir's expression was so encouraging, as if she was willing him to say something else… willing him to tell her everything. How could he disappoint her?
Watching his attempt to speak, Weir told him, "Anything would help, Rodney. Can you remember anything at all?"
He hated this. "The earthquake…" Rodney tried. It was all patchy and his inability to give her a correct answer tore at him. He was the 'answer man' after all – he had to provide solutions. He had to tell her something! Had to fill in those holes. "I… had to get the device out. Merritt… I had Merritt do the work." And he closed his eyes… trying to put it all together. "But he was taking too long. I couldn't wait. Zelenka… he left, but I called him back. Merritt couldn't do it himself. I needed someone else."
And he couldn't quite get it. He had a mind capable of mastering the most complex puzzles, but he couldn't un-muddle the events. And 'thinking' was the only thing he'd ever had… how could his brain fail him? "Made them get it out before it was destroyed by the earthquake… Zelenka and Merritt… had to bring out that device… I…." and he paused, trying. "…made them stay until it was done."
"Go on, Rodney," Weir led, her voice sounding tight.
"Sgt. Moody, I saw him, wanted him to help us… so he came. The archway collapsed and I shoved Merritt right under it," McKay stated, his voice astounded as this bit of memory came clear. His eyes opened again, and he looked up at Weir with disbelief. "I did… I was so angry with him… I shoved him… under it as it fell."
Weir, leaning just above him, asked, "Are you sure? Rodney, it couldn't have happened that way."
"But I remember," he said softly, closing his eyes again, closing them tightly. Oh God… he remembered. It was true… it was true. He was the reason they all died. "I remember," he rasped, wanting to get away… to run… to flee, and there was only one way to accomplish that.
"Rodney?" Weir called again but received no response. "Rodney?" She touched the side of his face softly, then looked up at Beckett who stood over them.
"Asleep again," Beckett stated, noting the monitors, "Or at least I believe so." He sighed. "I think he just hides this way sometimes."
Coward, Rodney thought.
"Rodney?" she called again. She waited a moment longer, brushing her hand along his cheek, but it appeared that McKay would offer her no response. She turned in her chair toward the other bed. "And what about Radek?" she asked.
With a weary sigh, Beckett told her, "No change. The swelling is down. The latest MRI came clear and the monitors show there is acceptable brain activity." Shaking his head, the doctor told her, "I'm hopin' he'll be coming out of this soon."
"Will he be okay?" Weir asked.
Beckett shrugged unhappily. "With an injury such as his, it's never certain. I must tell you, he might have suffered some damage."
"Brain damage?" Weir repeated sorrowfully.
"Aye, it's a strong possibility, I'm afraid. But, there's a chance that he'll be fine," he added, trying to sound positive.
She moved across to Zelenka, watching the still face of the Czech – wishing he'd awaken – wishing and praying that he'd be okay. To lose the brilliant scientist would be devastating to all of them; he brought such a lively spark to the science team, and was one of the most decent people she'd ever known.
"Will he remember what happened?" Weir asked.
"There's no tellin'," Beckett replied. "But we can hope so – for both of their sakes."
CHAPTER 15: LIKE A CHIHUAHUA
Ford didn't know what to do. It seemed wherever he went, there was the quiet jabbering of people going on about what had happened on P6M-301, especially now that McKay had admitted to everything that had previously been mere speculation, adding on the final damning bit of evidence that the self-proclaimed 'Smartest Man in the Galaxy' had deliberately pushed Merritt directly under a falling archway.
Aiden didn't believe it – how could any of it be true? Yes, McKay had been yelling at Merritt. Yes, He'd called Dr. Zelenka back. And yes, Merritt had been found under the remains of an archway. But the rest of it… it just wasn't like the Doc. Sure, McKay was arrogant as hell, but Ford also realized – knew in his heart – that McKay wouldn't let anyone get hurt if he could stop it.
And oddest of all, nobody seemed interested in affixing the blame on one Aiden Ford. He was perplexed by that, had been prepared to take the brunt of the force, but there had been nothing aimed at him. He had been in charge, after all. But, it was as if the scientists from Merritt's team had a vendetta against McKay. It was as if they'd been ready and waiting for some great failing so that they could go after him. And McKay had nothing to use for defense.
The doctor was too confused and weak to protect himself; Sheppard and Teyla were gone; Zelenka was incapacitated, and what help could Ford provide?
He'd tried to speak up on McKay's behalf – to shut up Burnaby and Powell, but now that Kavanagh had joined them, their rumors became unstoppable. He'd pulled Kavanagh aside, tried to talk sense into him, but the big scientist had scoffed at him, throwing the evidence back at him. McKay had condemned himself. "If we were on Earth," Kavanagh groused, "He'd be headed to electric chair. Instead, he'll probably get a medal." And he sniffed disdainfully, and continued on his course.
Could he order the trouble-mongers to shut up? Not likely. Weir had yet to declare this a criminal case, much to Kavanagh's disgust, so there was no legal recourse to hush anyone. Threats didn't seem to work – the scientists would just give him a smug look and walk away. Hell, they all knew he could do nothing to stop them.
Dr. Weir had attempted to quiet the rumors, the innuendos. She was met with nods and smiles as people seemed to acquiesce with her request, but the moment her back was turned, the whispering continued.
It maddened the young lieutenant that he could do nothing to silence any of it. No matter how he tried to quell it, he still heard the snickering comments, the gossip, the conjectures. He felt like a Chihuahua yapping at a Great Dane for all his efforts.
So he found other things to do. He'd collected Moody's effects, setting them aside for his parents. There wasn't much, but he did his best to gather everything and considered a letter to include. "Sorry Mr. And Mrs. Moody, but your boy, Joe, broke his neck on my watch. He talked a lot about sailing but never said much about you." No, he couldn't write it now… not now.
He spent as much time as he could in the infirmary. Beckett had been rather patient with him – where he'd been more than a bit abrupt with some of the other visitors. Burnaby and Powell had been banned from visiting Dr. Stanley again. The ban didn't stop Kavanagh and some of the others from trying to gain entrance.
Beckett made sure Ford received proper meals, would check on him, talk to him while he sat at the bedside, but really the doctor was far too busy to spend a lot of time just hanging out.
Aiden tried talking to McKay and Zelenka, but ran out of words. McKay said little, and was asleep more often than awake. When Rodney was awake, Ford found little he could say – he ended up blathering about nothing. McKay responded so quietly to him, using so few words, it was impossible to keep a conversation going. Not at all like him, Ford realized, not at all right.
And when McKay was asleep, Ford tried to keep chatting, but he was never the type to just 'talk' without anyone responding to him. So he sat – saying nothing most of the time.
Zelenka had yet to awaken. Some of the other scientists had come to sit with Zelenka, fellow Czechs, they spoke to Radek in his native tongue, and others who came by just because they liked him. Few came to see McKay – Grodin, Weir, Beckett … once that shy Japanese girl poked her head in the room, but she spooked and left when she saw Ford was already there.
Aiden wondered if just sitting silently did any good at all. But still, he sat and waited, talking sometimes, even if it was just to Beckett, Maria, Claire or one of the other nurses – because it was better than trying to fight the insidious gossip.
And for every moment he stayed with McKay, Ford felt that the rumor mill was being allowed to spin out of control. If he were out in the city, maybe he could do something to stem it. He felt like a coward – felt like a little dog – felt powerless -- and counted the hours until Sheppard would return.
CHAPTER 16: LIKE A DUST GEEBLER
Shuffling, Sheppard managed to press open the tent flap as he moved through the opening. He paused, and his gaze fell upon his cot. The thing suddenly looked damn comfortable to him suddenly. A contented smile graced him at the mere sight of it. A jab of a finger at his back, and, with a grimace, he moved forward, letting the others in.
They stumbled and groaned and half-fell onto their respective beds. And for a moment, nobody spoke.
John zoned out, staring at a dust bunny on the floor. He wondered if they called them 'dust bunnies' on the Capilanos home world and he figured they didn't. Dust geeblers, he decided, remembering a rodent-like animal that had been pointed out to him during their trek of yesterday morning. Damn… was it really only yesterday that they'd come here? "Dust geeblers," he said out loud, feeling as if his head were full of them.
"What was that, Major?" Bates asked as he yawned.
"Nuttin'," Sheppard responded quickly, glancing to Travis who sat hunched on his cot, holding a stack of papers to his chest, eyes tightly shut. "Still got all of it, doctor?" he asked.
"Uh-huh," was all Travis could mutter in return. He looked about ready to keel over.
"Maybe we should put it somewhere safe?" Bates tried.
Shaking her head, Teyla returned, "There would be no need to worry about theft."
"Theft?" Bates retorted. "Hell, I'm worried that Orin is gonna fall on the thing and smudge it all. Then we'd have to start from scratch."
At those words, Orin's eyes shot open and the engineer pulled the pile of papers from his chest to stare at them. "They're fine," he told them. "Perfectly fine."
Still, Sheppard stood and crossed the short distance, taking the papers from Travis and turning them so he could see them correctly. There, on a series of oversized pages, written in Ancient, Capilano and English, was the contract that would control how the barter would be meted out. The Capilanos, they'd learned, were sticklers. They hated to be misunderstood and this was their answer to that issue – clarity – everything written out for all to see in their native languages and their common language.
Oh, Teyla had been aware of that fact, had tried to explain it, and they'd specifically brought Travis along due to his knowledge of contracts, law and the Ancient language, but no one had been quite prepared for the intensity that the Capilanos brought to all things drawn up on paper.
They'd struggled over half the day, getting everything down correctly, each party writing in their own languages first, then translating the text to Ancient as the common language. Thankfully, they'd come to an agreement early on that the Athosian language wouldn't be required – but that took almost an hour of discussion before they came to that conclusion.
It wasn't that they distrusted others, Teyla assured her teammates, they just wanted to ensure that each party interpreted their own contract correctly.
The two 'Ancient' contracts would be compared for discrepancies. The differences would be corrected on one or the other text and the whole thing would start again. It was a fairly simple exchange really, food crops for medicine and technology, but the devil was in the details and it took a good part of the day to get their respective contracts to match acceptably.
Then, they had to do it all over again because Chilliwhack had brought up some contingencies that threw the whole thing into question. Travis had argued that an amendment would suffice to add the extra information, but the Capilanos would have nothing to do with that. "It must be perfectly clear," they'd insisted. So they started again – each in their own language, then translating to Ancient and comparing the results … fixing words until the contracts matched. Then writing up the whole thing once again in ink on pretty parchment.
Travis argued that they should have started with a common contract, written in the Ancient language, and translated to their native tongues from there, but the Capilanos were insistent – start with the language you know best to ensure that both sides understood each other correctly. Ancient was too easy to misinterpret.
Then, after they'd thought all was said and done, there were more changes – just a little bit here and there – a sentence that needed to be inserted – a little addendum here – a date altered – and everything was thrown out again and restarted.
And once the newest version was agreed to, and properly inked, handwritten copies of the originals had to be made, and compared to the originals. When a grammatical error was found on the Capilano's original, all of the Capilano copies had to be rewritten – but thankfully the English and Ancient text stayed.
It was dark by the time the signatures finally hit the contracts, and the copies were divided up among the participants. John held their copies, gazing over the pretty Ancient symbols, then the careful hand of Travis' English text, and finally the Capilano language that looked like a mess of chickens had run all over the page.
Yawning, he stepped to his backpack, and brought out a tube. He curled the contracts and inserted them into the document carrier, and returned it to his bag. "Done," he decided before taking three steps and falling back onto his incredibly comfortable cot.
He watched his exhausted companions for a few moments. Travis was rubbing his sore hands, eyes closed again. Bates sat forward, arms resting on his lap, hands dangling between his knees. Teyla yawned. They were a fair portrait of exhaustion.
"Teyla, I hate to ask," John started. "But, what's up for tomorrow."
"The Feast of Completion," Teyla told him, nodding as if she were already half asleep.
"Urgh," Travis responded.
"Hell," Bates voiced.
"Dancing?" John asked.
Teyla shuddered. "Thankfully, no. A morning feast will complete the negotiation."
"Good eatin'?" Sheppard asked, remembering the tasty doughnuts of that morning.
Teyla smiled. "The Capilanos are well known for their culinary skills. We shall eat well. It shall be a time of relaxing and saying our goodbyes."
"I'm all for goodbyes," Bates commented.
"Mrrpph," Travis got out before he fell to one side on his cot.
Sheppard gazed where Orin had fallen, wondering if he should check to see if the engineer was all right, but Travis was already snoring. "Figure he has a good idea," he spoke.
"Yeah," Bates said with a yawn, as he curled onto his side on his cot without saying another word.
Teyla continued to nod as Sheppard unlaced his boots and stripped down to his civvies. He paused for a moment, wondering if he should do it elsewhere, what with Teyla right there, but she was too tired to even see at the moment. Ready for bed, he climbed under his covers, turned off his light, and began his last night on the Capilano world. He lay in the bed for some time, his mind too numb to even try sleeping at first. He glanced toward Teyla to ensure that she'd eventually gotten herself horizontal. Her light was off, and he didn't see her sitting and nodding any longer, so he hoped for the best.
This is one crappy mission, he decided. Could think of a dozen places I'd rather be – like back at Atlantis -- back at Atlantis for sure. It hit him again, how much he wanted to be there. He realized that it wasn't just to get away from this place either – from the wild dancing, to the too-damn-serious negotiations and the constant revisions – he just needed to be … home.
He sat up for a moment, feeling his weariness tug at him, and looked out across the dark tent. What was up? He almost stood, put his boots on, and marched out. Yet, his eyes strayed to his bag where the completed contracts were housed. The contracts were signed, but the negotiations weren't officially over yet. They'd leave in the morning, after the ceremonial breakfast and the hugs goodbye.
He nodded, satisfied, and decided that would be good enough – still, it was some time before he fell asleep and he never lost the feeling that he really should be in Atlantis at that moment.
CHAPTER 17: DOG EARED
It was late. The infirmary was quiet in the night. Visitors had departed and McKay was left alone in the silence. He missed Ford, now that he was gone. Funny, but the young man's quiet presence had made him feel a bit better.
He sighed, staring up at the dim ceiling above him. A nurse was at her station, idly reading a book. He could hear the pages flipping and he counted the seconds between each turn, trying to decide how quickly she read. She was either a fast reader, or maybe the typeface was large.
Miserable and lonely, Rodney could only wait. He turned his head slowly, careful not to alert the nurse. Dr. Stanley was asleep at her kitty-corner bed on his left. He turned to the right to check on Zelenka, finding him as still as ever.
He watched the Czech for several long moments – watched and waited – but Radek only breathed slowly and consistently, showing no sign of coming out of his state. Sorry, he thought. Radek, I'm sorry. I don't know why I wouldn't let you leave. I wish I did. I wish I could justify my actions but it's all gone. I wish you had a good reason to be like that. I wish, at least, that the device was worth the sacrifice, but they're finding nothing. It was all for nothing – and I'm so sorry.
And still, Zelenka didn't move and Rodney had to look away.
Beyond Radek's bed, the nurse quietly read – her name was Claire, Rodney remembered, Claire Mosley, and he was proud he'd been able to remember that. Never been good with names, he reminded himself. I can hold the answers to a thousand questions in my head, can solve the most complex puzzles, but can't put names and faces together. Just goes to show… I'm not a people person. Not good with people.
He blinked slowly, feeling as weary as hell, but unable to really sleep. If he slept, he'd only dream about what happened. It was better that he stayed awake – that way he could mull it over – try to figure out everything he'd done wrong. Maybe he could justify it all if he thought about it often enough. He had a lot to work out.
He'd made so many mistakes since they'd arrived at Atlantis -- plenty – there was Gall and Abrams, of course. So many things to weigh heavily on him, and in the quiet of the night he could think about them – think about every wrong move he'd made. And now there was this… this horrible incident to add to his responsibilities.
Maybe if he were just able to get up and around, he'd feel better. He could get back to work and forget about all this – not have to lie right next to Radek and know, every second of the day, that Zelenka was getting no better. If he was more of a man, he could get up out of this bed and leave -- but he was so tired.
Claire flipped another page, and McKay wondered if she was speed-reading or maybe just skimming pages. He couldn't tell the title of the book – but there were only so many available on the station. They'd formed a library of sorts in one of rooms near the mess, and anyone willing to sacrifice their own books was welcome to leave it there for others to read.
McKay had held onto his own personal library – he wasn't about to let people mistreat his few novels – to dog-ear them and break their spines. That wasn't the way to treat books, and he wouldn't let his be abused. Books should be treated with care. Besides, he hadn't had a chance to read them yet himself.
Claire kept reading, turning the pages too quickly. Maybe she'd read the book before and was just going through it again. That made sense. He never read the same book twice – capable of committing an entire novel to memory, there was no point in going through it again. It wasn't as if he didn't understand it the first time.
Why revisit something when you already understand everything about it?
You know, you really should put your books in the library. It isn't as if you'll have any time to read them. Who cares if they bend back the covers and mutilate them? Let them go.
He sighed again, quietly so that Claire wouldn't hear. He was tired. He was so damn tired. So he stared at the ceiling and tried to figure it all out. Why? Why did I do it?
CHAPTER 18: PILL
Ford sighed as we waited for sleep to find him. He still felt like hell. Maybe he should take some of the sleeping pills Beckett had given him the previous night. He gazed at them, spotting the bottle on his nightstand. I could really use the sleep.
Everything had turned out badly. The mission on P6M-301 had been his responsibility. He was supposed to keep the scientists safe, to bring everyone back alive and well, and he'd failed – he'd failed spectacularly.
Moody and Merritt were gone, casualties. There was nothing else he could do for them. He was a good enough soldier to understand that sometimes lives are lost. It was never an easy pill to swallow, but it was a fact of life. Sometimes, soldiers died. Sometimes civilians died, too.
He could have done something to save them. If he were to do it again, surely, he would have been able to get everyone out – alive and unhurt. But he couldn't rewrite history. All he could do was deal with the present – try to fix the current situation. But how?
Dr. Zelenka still hadn't awakened – what else could he do besides wait for him? It sucked, Ford knew, it really sucked and that was about all he could say on the matter. Zelenka had to be getting better – had to be – and it was only a matter of time before the Czech awoke. And he'd be fine, right? He'd be perfectly fine.
Dr. McKay seemed to be getting worse, which made no sense at all. All day, the doctor seemed to be falling into a depression, and Ford found he could do nothing to lift him from it. It wasn't as if he could do much. "Sorry, Doc," he muttered to the room. "Maybe tomorrow things will get better."
The Major would be home in any case – Sheppard would fix things. He smiled slightly with this realization. Tomorrow --
Glancing again to the bottle, Ford sighed and sat up. He grabbed the prescription and opened the bottle, letting two pills fall into his hand. Tomorrow's anther day, he decided.
It has to get better.
--------------------
TBC - poor
woobies
