Nailed it in One

By Rank-and-Filed and Livengoo

email to livengoo. Mwahahahah.

You know the ones who belong to Gekko and MGM, and believe me, Maggot and Gearhead aren't amongst 'em. Those boys are all ours. We borrowed the rest, respectfully, and returned them undented, in good condition.

Hope you enjoy! And we LOVE email. It's even better than chocolate.

Goo

The table tasted like week old bait. It was something that Maggot tried hard to ignore as he knelt in front of the store room table, tongue laid out in its surface like a sacrificial victim if sacrificial victims came in extra-small. This one sure did, tiny and laid out with nail gun poised above it. He could smell the metal and machine oil of the thing as he held it steady, pointed at his tongue.

He couldn't quite recall what had prompted him to this course of action, other than that while brushing his teeth that morning he had realized that his tongue piercing had closed up. Unless he acted fast, he would have to shell out another hundred bucks when he got back the good old Earth to get it redone.

Or he could do it himself, and save himself the money. After all, the man who had pierced it in the first place had explained that the tool he used was just a fancy version of a nail gun. It wouldn't be that much different, would it?

Slowly he lowered the gun, eyes crossed, hand shaking slightly from the weight of the gun.

"What the FUCK do you think your doin'?" a voice bellowed. Are you tryin' to nail your damn tongue to the fuckin' TABLE?"

Maggot startled and jumped, his finger jerking the trigger even as the gun was knocked out of his hand. A loud bang sounded through the room as three things happened at once.

First, Gearhead stumbled back, yelping in pain as he tripped over his own feet and fell, slamming his face against his knees as he went down.

Second, the nail gun released its ammo and ricocheted back to slam into Maggot's nose with a nasty crunch. It went on to bounce off the table and land on his head with an impressive thud.

And finally, there was a sound of tinkling glass and a high pitched scream filled the hallway outside the room. But Maggot and Gearhead didn't notice that. They were too busy, both clutching their faces and moaning.

Gearhead had his hands cupped around a nose that was dripping blood. He frantically pawed his own face, feeling for a nail hole as he gasped, "Did it go up my nose? Did it go up my nose?"

"No," Maggot gasped, curling up into a little ball as he, too clutched his face. "It got mine! It got mine!"

Gearhead stared at blood on his fingrs. "I got a nail in my brain, I know it. Oh God, do I got a nail in my brain? Oh, jeeze, we're nailed, we're nailed!" He had his fingers up his nose, feeling for anything pointy and hard lodged there.

Maggot groaned, getting to his knees to look at his friend. His voice was still muffled by the hand cupped over his own face. "Don't worry, G, that would be like hitting that little dot on the target. I think you're safe,"

"FUCK you! I'm not the moron who was tryin' to nail his tongue to the table!" Gearhead groused, glaring.

"I wasn't trying to nail my tongue to the table! I was going to move it off before I shot the damn gun. YOU interrupted me!" Maggot snapped back.

"You'd a nailed your damn tongue to the table and you know it!" Gearhead argued, glaring at his blood covered hand.

"I am not that stupid, thank you very much!" Maggot growled.

Both men were silenced by another scream from the hallway, followed swiftly by, "Gawd DAMN it!" in a thick, South African accent. "Those were my LAST pair of Jimmy Chu's!"

"Ohhh, that's not good!" Gearhead hissed, slowly climbing to his feet. Quietly he made his way to the doorway, peeking his head around the corner.

There, standing not ten feet away, was a man in a labcoat that looked like Jackson Pollock got it if Pollock were a leprechaun, and a short woman in tall, fuck-me-here-on-the-desk heels.

The woman was glaring at her high heels, which had turned from delicate pink to a hideous green. The lab tech beside her was staring in horror at the LARGE shattered remains of a carboy that had spilled all over the hall flooring.

Gearhead sighed. "That, now, THAT is a big fuck up."

"Oops," Maggot murmured, peering around his friend to catch a glimpse of the wreckage.

Gearhead winced at the rapidly swelling mess of Maggot's face. Gently as he could he pulled one of his friend's hands away, grimacing at the blood. He raised an eyebrow. "Huh. Looks broken."

"Yeah, I don't think they can replace that," Maggot agreed, staring in stunned shock at the complete wreckage of the glass container.

Gearhead considered the distracted Maggot and his broken nose for an instant, then reached out swiftly, saying, "Right about -" YANK - "there!" One quick tug and Maggot's nose was nice and straight again.

Not that the ungrateful sot appreciated it. "AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Obviously it was going to be a while before Maggot appreciate the favor he'd just received. Gearhead decided to save him from potentially demonstrating ingratitude and slunk out of the store room, hands raised, calling as he maneuvered backward away from the spreading puddle of vile green dye, "Okay, no panic folks, gonna get building services down here and take care of that problem right away." If he was lucky - and fast - he'd be out of range before Maggot could recover enough to move, and by the time Maggot could find him the guy'd realize that he'd actually come out ahead of the game.

He was fast but he wasn't lucky. Maggot was already in motion. One hand still clutching his bloody nose, muffled voice cursing with great and startling fluency, he stalked out of the store room in hot pursuit. "You stupid sonofabitch! What did you do that for?"

Gearhead smiled placatingly. "Look, it was broken! I pulled it straight and you didn't have to sit there worryin' about how much it'd hurt!"

"Did it ever occur to you that SOME people use good drugs and then I wouldn't HAVE to worry about it hurtin'?" Maggot's voice kept getting louder and higher and he kept getting closer. That was one thing to worry about, but it suddenly occurred to Gearhead that it wasn't the only thing to worry about. Fashion-Vic-South Africa and Labcoat were just watching the whole deal and neither of 'em said a word. Gearhead had opened his mouth, oh man, he'd actually gotten the first part of a word out, that little bit of "Lo-" that was gonna be "Look the fuck OUT!" but it wasn't quite soon enough. Missed it by a hair. Just . .. A split second too late as Maggot's stomping footsteps took him right into the center of the spill. Green dye splashed and Maggot ignored it. Gearhead got another half a word out, the "OOK" part of look, but Maggot never paused. He lifted one foot, shifted his balance forward even as Gearhead forged right on into the "OW" part of what was gonna be a warning and then it was too late. Maggot's feet slipped out from under him and before he could so much as scream, he found himself doing a faceplant, yelping as his nose slammed into the floor.

For one moment Gearoid stared stupidly at his friend, crumpled on the floor. Then his own feet slipped out from under him and he found himself airborne, only to renew his acquaintance with the hard, hard ground by way of his now-painfully-bruised butt. He winced, trying to stand again, only to slip and splat down to earth again.

"Oh, shit!" he groaned, grimacing. He tried to roll over, saw the green mess and glass, and swore again. "SHIT!" Attempted to roll the other way and saw it was even worse than the other side. "MUTHAFUCKA!"

A quiet whimper brought his head up to see Maggot curled up in a little ball, probably considering either crawling up his own nose or committing murder, whichever seemed least painful. Gearhead briefly considered making a break for it while Maggot was still immobilized, but that wasn't friends. That wasn't buddies. He bit the bullet and planted his hands in the green mess. A sudden, "YOW YOW YOW!" like a Siamese cat in a bath escaped him as he climbed to his feet. And promptly slipped once more, falling back to the floor with a resounding thud.

Just as well he hadn't managed to get to his feet to offer aid and comfort. Maggot must have seen the movement because he kicked out and barely missed Gearoid. Probably pure defensive instinct, given how he curled back up as if his nose was the painful center of his universe.

"Excuse me!" A remarkably impolite, nasal voice demanded his attention. The woman with the ruined shoes was tapping her green-dyed pointy toe. Behind her, the splattered tech was backing up, using the cart as a support to prevent himself from going down. Gearhead envied him the convenient piece of rolling furniture as he turned back to look at Maggot, who finally seemed to realize he was sitting on broken glass.

"EXCUSE me," repeated the woman. "You need to clean this up and who'll repair my shoes?"

Gearhead glared at her again. "Lady, right now I got more important stuff on my mind than your shoes!"

"Do you know what these shoes cost?"

He groaned. "No Ma'am, that's a kink I never understood." He ignored her glare and turned back to Maggot, who was trying to remove his own butt from the broken glass. The poor guy pushed himself off the floor, but his feet just slipped again and he landed on his face. Again. Gearhead cringed. "Will you just stay DOWN! That is the SECOND face plant I seen ya do in five minutes. You're worse'n Olympic drunk diving!"

"I think I broke it again," Maggot whimpered, clutching his offended nose with both hands.

"Ya need me to straighten it for ya again?" Gearhead asked helpfully, reaching out.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

"Cause you face plant one more time and I swear to god I will!" Gearhead snapped. "C'mere, c'mere, it'll only take a second!"

Maggot frantically tried to scramble away from the reaching hands, his feet moving in opposite directions than he had intended and accidentally doing a Bambi, falling on his face once more as his attention was focused on trying to make his feet work. Gearhead cringed again and carefully got his feet under him.

The woman with the shoes sighed and, in her South African voice, snarled "Would you two Neanderthals just STOP IT? Lie still and let someone with BRAINS come rescue us before you knock down anybody else!"

That earned her another glare as G actually managed to stand up and slide a step towards his friend. Not easy. Especially when his hands and his butt both stung from little glass splinters, and the dye. Wincing, he flicked one hand, trying to shake off some glass. Blood and dye splattered the woman, who gave an indignant shriek, and Mr. Labcoat, who groaned and backed away a little further, mumbling, "Why does this always happen to me?"

Gearoid had gotten one, step, two, when the fashionista gave another shriek and overcame the shock that had finally made her quit bitching. "THIS OUTFIT IS ESCADA! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THIS OUTFIT COSTS?"

She waved her hands and snatched off her jacket to shake it at him, and that was Gearhead's downfall. Literally. He saw the menacing flash of pink from the corner of his eye and looked up. The fashion drone shook her jacket again like a vicious towel flicker on the attack and he unwittingly flinched and that was enough to send his feet up and his butt down and into the slippery green dye again. Gearhead landed on hard floor and sharp glass and yowled like a cat in heat, and Atlantis' alarms yowled with him. Suddenly doors were sliding open and shut, foam jetting from the walls and flashing lights sequenced down the hall to guide a panicked people to flee. And at least one panicked person named Gearoid would have been happy to flee if he could just stand up, but instead he flailed in the dye and obeyed well-worn military reflex, yowling, "It's not me! It's not me!"

Beside him, Maggot whimpered and curled up on himself, spitting out blood that had trickled down his throat with a ragged cough.

The woman in pink squealed, trying to evade the dye and foam, and Labcoat Larry finally lost his nerve, screeching, "IT'S CARRIE! I DON"T HAVE ANY PIG"S BLOOD! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"THIS IS A THOUSAND DOLLAR OUTFIT YOU BABOONS!" the woman shrieked, glaring down at foam and dye.

Gearhead stared at them blankly, foam dribbling down his face. Until he heard the growl behind him and spun to look at Maggot. Who was fed up. Yep. No doubt about it. Fed up and about to let the world know as he shouted, "SHUT THE FUCK UP, EVERYBODY!" Maggot pointed one nose-blood-reddened finger at the Pink Terror and added,. "SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT YOUR FUCKING OUTFIT!"

Gearhead didn't know where to look first. His best buddy's nose was broken, again, his hands and butt had glass in 'em worsen' any party floor he'd ever woken up on. His head hurt worsen' any part too, and he was covered in foam. Buried in foam. All of them were turning into great big heaps of foam. This was not good, not good at all.

Maggot glared as the woman continued to screech about her shoes, flinging a hand in the air in disgust and managing to further spot her already green-and-red flecked appearance. She glared at her skirt, at them, and shrieked "AAAGH! YOU DID IT AGAIN! DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO GET BLOOD OUT?"

Gearhead stared at her, at the heap of vaguely-Maggot-shaped foam, at the green floor and the glass and the foam and the splattered tech and finally at his hands, which were stained with a nasty mix of fluffy foam, bilious, military-green dye and, even more unpleasant, bright red blood. Everything clashed, even he knew that..

He looked back up at Maggot and really wanted to panic when he saw the foam pile blink, black pupils swimming in a field of white. White teeth bared too. Maggot was glaring at the fashionista in a way that Gearhead knew meant duck and cover. His voice was loud and harsh, bellowing, "YOU WANT BLOOD? DON'T MAKE ME COME OVER THERE! I SWEAR TO GODS -"

"NO BLOOD! NO BLOOD!" the tech yelled, caught up in the flashing lights and banging doors. "OH MY GOD, IS THE ELEVATOR FULL OF BLOOD?"

Gearhead, clutching his head with his hands and trying to figure out what the hell was going on and how to make it NOT go on, yelled, "EVERYTHING STOP!"

Maggot, however, was on a roll, glaring at the tech and yelling above the noise, "YOU DICKHEAD! SHUT UP! LOOK AROUND YOU! DO YOU SEE AN ELEVATOR FULL OF BLOOD? NO! JUST ME AND MY FUCKING BROKEN NOSE!"

And Gearhead was starting to believe in fate and bad karma because what else could explain when another force for evil was mixed into this stew. How else to explain a strident Canadian voice chiming in at the top of its owner's lungs with, "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OUT -WHOOOOAAA!" It didn't surprise him at all to hear the yell trail off and a damn THUD, followed by, "DAMN IT!"

Yep. A very bad day.

Above the commotion and complete chaos, a Czech snicker could be heard.

Maggot was screaming louder than ever. "EVERYBODY JUST STAND STILL AND SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Barely heard above the havoc, the McKay's voice said very slowly and deliberately, "I am going to kill someone. Slowly. Using methods banned by the Geneva convention."

"You exaggerate," Zelenka snickered. "They bring you food, you forgive them. Maybe. They bring you chocolate, you forgive them. Definitely."

"Zelenka. Go. Now. Or you're on my hit list," McKay ground out.

Fear had not been struck into a Czech soul, to judge by the snicker. "You not kill me. You do and I hide still."

"Will you GO?" McKay snapped.

"Can somebody, please, get some help?" Maggot must have given up on shouting. The pitiful little whimper emerged from a growing heap of foam on the floor.

Beside him, Gearhead softly thumped his head against the wall, sighing, preparing himself for an ordeal as he tried to get up again, shifting to his hands and knees and hissing at the sharp little splinters of container glass embedding themselves in his hands.

"Owowoowowowow," he groaned as he made his way to where he remembered Maggot's voice, feeling around in the foam before he finally met soft flesh. "Hey," he prompted. "You okay? I mean, outside the nose?"

Maggot whimpered and toppled all the way over, face buried in his hands. "Nooooo."

Settling down so that Maggot's face was next to his leg, Gearhead tried to smile and said, "Look at it this way. Now you can't taste the MREs for while."

Maggot shook his head, curling up around Gearhead like he was a giant teddy bear, mindless of glass and blood and foam. Careful not to use the side of his hand splintered with glass, Gearhead gently rubbed small circles on his friend's back, grimacing at the way the wet material bunched and squished. They were all going to be green for a month, he just knew it.

"What the -" A startled voice asked from the edge of the disaster area, followed by a low whistle. "Man. I haven't seen a mess like this since the 1998 Food Fight at McMurdo."

Major John Sheppard was taking in the damage with wide, incredulous eyes. Chemical fumes still hung heavy in the air, lights were flashing, doors were still banging and slamming, and whimpering and curses were emanating from the foamy murk. One lone figure made her way clear, like Venus rising from the waves, scowling and looking fit to tear something apart. Behind her, still leaning against his cart, the tech was jibbering away about Jack Nicholson, giving anyone who would listen (no doubt including the Major) serious doubts about his mental state. The Major picked his way over to the most recent casualty of the Dye Spill. Whistled. "Hey McKay, looking a little green around the gills, there."

"I'll give you that one, but you make one greenback joke, just one!" McKay snarled to the man above him. "And I'll personally introduce you to this mess!"

Sheppard look up, around, took in the relative state of everyone there and narrowed his eyes at the lumps of foam that usually looked like a pair of privates. Gearhead, peering back out of his foamy cocoon, cherished no hopes that he hadn't been recognized. He swallowed. A jet of foam spurted weakly from the wall. Sheppard's eyes followed it, came back to him, then tracked to the other three people in the mess.

Gearhead heaved a long, doomed sigh and patted Maggot's back.

"G? I want to home. Get me out of here, I want to go!" Maggot whimpered, not bothering to look up to see the new arrivals.

Gearhead gathered what little aplomb and military bravado he could muster when covered by dye, foam and whatever else he was covered with, and glared up at the Major. "Hey, Sir! We got a medical crisis here. Can you get some help for my buddy before his nose falls off?"

"And an expert dry cleaner," the Escada Venus muttered, eyeing her clothes mournfully.

"Lady," McKay growled, his voice seeming to rise out of the foam on its own. "I tell you what. I'll BURN your damn clothes and then you won't have to worry!"

"YEAH! GO MCKAY! OH CANADA!" Gearhead whooped, giving a stadium whistle.

Beside him, Maggot suddenly surged up, looking for all the world like a green, bleeding foam monster. "FORGET ABOUT YOUR FUCKING DRY CLEANING YOU STUPID BITCH! NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR FUCKING DRY CLEANING! DO YOU WANT ME TO DO SOME REAL DAMAGE TO YOUR FUCKING OUTFIT?"

The woman let out a scream at the sight of the Bog Monster of Atlantis, turned, took one step and slipped, landing on McKay. There was a screech and a yowl from the scientist as her knee firmly planted itself in his gut. He pushed her off him, where she slipped once more, skidded out of control past Maggot and landed on Gearhead, who let out a startled yelp as one of her heals landed on his foot.

McKay, rolling around in agony and clutching at his stomach, landed right in front of Maggot's feet. Maggot, who had been trying to escape, went stumbling to the ground in another spectacular face plant.

He yowled, clutching his nose and curling up into himself, crying piteously. Gearhead, snarling at the cause of his latest attack of Three Stoogism, shoved the fashionista aside, where she promptly slipped and fell, greening herself past all hope. Her squeal made Gearhead smile as he made his way, slipping and sliding to Maggot's wretched form.

McKay, gasping and coughing under the foam, trying to get his breath back, listened as Sheppard started barking orders into the nearest intercom, demanding fans, hoses, reinforcements and a medical team, ASAP. Then the lights slowly stopped flickering and the doors quieted, finally remaining closed.

"McKay?" Sheppard asked, sliding into the foam like an dorm floor surfer maneuvering his way on a freshly waxed floor. He stopped at the nearest white lump, bending down to pull him up and trying not to laugh as McKay stood there, looking for all the world like the abominable snowman from hell.

Gearhead, seeing the successful maneuver, finally managed to get to, and stay on, his feet. He found that if he slid his feet rather than trying to pick them up could actually take a few steps.

He turned to find Sheppard squinting at them, obviously trying to see through the foamy mess. "Uhh . . .Which one are you?"

"Im the one wit'out the broken nose," Gearhead offered, windmilling for a moment before catching his balance.

"Ah," was the only reply.

Maggot, his head clutched in his hands, rocking back and forth, was muttering fervently for a button he could push to stop everything and have the world go back to being normal. Gearhead didn't think he even knew he was talking, mumbling, "Button, button, button," over and over again in time with his rocking.

Gearhead leaned down, murmuring in the kindest, softest voice anyone had ever heard from him, and which drew Maggot's head up slightly, "Hey, hey, they got some good buttons you can push in med. You wanna go to med? Make that nose feel better?"

"Button," Maggot whispered back, closing his eyes.

Sheppard, who had skidded and slipped his way to Gearhead's side, shared a look with the foam covered Private, taking in his bloody, green covered hands and overall appearance of misery.

Gearhead, wincing and cringing, gently wrapped a hand around Maggot's upper arm, while Sheppard did the same to the other, and, with a sharp hiss, pulled his friend to his feet. "Come on. We're gonna let the doc help ya, Hulk," he murmured.

A med team was waiting for them at the edge of the foam, sedatives and pain pills ready for Maggot as soon as he was laid on the gurney. Immediately the pinched look left his face and his eyes glazed over.

The med team, seeing the condition of Maggot's nose, decided it best to get him to the infirmary as quickly as possible, allowing Gearhead to walk along side the slightly whimpering form.

Sheppard, staring around him at the doors and lights and gouts of foam, narrowed his eyes, turning to look at the receding forms of the two miscreants. McKay, standing beside him and dripping miserably, sensed his train of thought, and the two of them shared a speculative look for a very long moment.

"What say we head down to med and get you looked over?" Sheppard finally asked, eyes gleaming.

"Let's," McKay agreed.

The trip to the infirmary was the longest Gearhead could remember, with Maggot miserably clutching his wrist the entire way, whimpering with every jolt. Even when the alleged still in the allegedly demolished alleged hut at their last indisputably real terrestrial posting blew - allegedly - sky high, they'd both walked away with no more than a few bruises. Real damage hadn't been the order of the day. Now, looking down at his friend and feeling slightly guilty for still being relatively in one piece, Gearhead could not help feeling somewhat responsible, almost as though he had let Maggot down.

The fact that his friend looked like a rabid chipmunk-raccoon hybrid with fungus didn't help the situation, either.

"Good heavens! Wha' happened?" Beckett demanded once the team arrived.

"Um," Gearhead managed, trying to think of a reasonable answer that wouldn't get the two of them into serious trouble. Thought given that it all started with Maggot's impromptu tongue piercing it was more like saving Maggot's ass from the sling. Gearhead thought fast. "It was a crisis, right? There was this…this…thing falling off and it was about to…yeah, fall ON someone, and Maggot saved 'em!"

For a long moment Beckett stared at Gearhead, reminding him of countless sessions with disbelieving school principals. "How many fingers, lad?" the doctor finally asked, holding up three fingers to Gearhead's confusion.

Fingers? Gearhead said the first thing that came into his mind. "Blue?"

Another uncomfortable moment of the doctor staring before he pulled out his penlight, shining it into Gearhead's eyes and muttering, "Pupils equally contracted."

Gearhead sniffed uncomfortably, trying to scratch around the glass in his palm as he said, "I think I'm allergic to that dye. It's makin' me itch."

"Hold on, hold on!" Beckett snapped, and waved over two large orderlies and a nurse. "Let's get that glass out, shall we, lad?"

Maggot, receiving the same treatment beside him, started to giggle as more sedatives were administered in preparation for fixing his nose. He started to sing in an off-key, nasally voice, "I'm Hen-ery the eighth I am!"

Gearhead watched him for a moment, thankful for the amusement factor and the fact that it kept his mind off the several pieces of glass removed from parts of his anatomy that normally no one but his date du jour ever saw. Plus, it was keeping anyone from asking how the foam had started to spurt on the dye that happened to spill from a glass vat that happened to shatter when . .. what was that? A NAIL? Happened to be shot from a nail gun that would have managed to make it's way into the situation if anyone had asked those questions, which so far they hadn't. Which was just fine with Gearhead, who really didn't care to say things like, "Well, y'know, he was trying to put a nail through his tongue."

No, Maggot could keep singing as long as those questions didn't get asked. So when it looked like Maggot was starting to wind down, Gearhead prompted him for a rendition of 'Minnie the Mermaid'. Then a rousing chorus of 'Roly Poly Tickle My Holy Up the Slimy Slue'.

By which time the nurses were all staring at him, contemplating getting Anya from her lunch break and letting HER take care of him. The men, snickering and trying not to laugh outright, were planning on seeing how many drinks they could cadge from the marines for this story.

Maggot, oblivious, sang out, "Roll out your nuts across my guts, I'm one of the whorehouse crew!" even as Beckett and lured one of the wary nurses to start work on the broken nose.

Gearhead sighed and thumped his head into his pillow, wishing he could sit up but far too respectful of a punctured posterior to give it a try. Maggot's monotonous - and off-key - singing wasn't helping his rapidly growing headache. He was bored, guilty, and miserable.

"No," he corrected himself, he'd BEEN bored, guilty and miserable. As he watched Major Sheppard and a stained and frothy Dr. McKay limp into the med bay he added nervous and apprehensive to the list.

"I thought you Canadians didn't go for greenbacks . . ." Sheppard teased, annoying Dr. McKay in sort of perfunctory way, while his sharp eyes scanned the inhabitants of the infirmary, lingering on the two hapless privates. McKay was equally distracted though he demonstrating his brilliant-geek-multitasking skills by glaring at the Major before he, too, studied the occupants. Gearhead cringed under the scrutiny.

Maggot ignored them all, whispering "Button, button, button," to himself.

"Good heavens," Beckett sighed, waving McKay to have a seat on one of the beds, knowing it was going to be a very long day.

Several hours later, several things had happened.

All the glass had been removed from several sets of butts and hands and other regions of skin which preferred not to be punctured. The resultant cuts bad been rinsed and bandaged. Maggot's nose had been set and McKay had been informed that the green dye on his back was permanent and would need weeks to wear off. That news had been followed by a brief period of yelling and fussing while he adjusted to his new, more colorful status.

Maggot had continued to mutter "Buttons, buttons" until Beckett straightened his nose. Then he graduating to shouting "BUTTONS! BUTTONS!" until they helped him to a nice dose of Seroquel and Benadryl, and he had soon lapsed into blissful, if noisy snoring.

Gearhead sprawled on his stomach and watched. His hands, backside and lips were all dyed green. Last time he'd had lips like that, the lipstick had cost him a fortune, but at least it matched the color his hair had been at the time. He doubted Major Sheppard would welcome such color coordination now. 'Course, he might be able to justify it as an attempt to help Maggot feel better. Worth a try.

Sitting across from them both, McKay was eyeing them. It was a beady-eyed stare, the kind of look Gearhead associated with his sisters when they were feeling monthly and knew there was only one chocolate bar left. Come to think of it, from what he'd heard about McKay, that might be the kind of look HE'D have if there was only one chocolate bar left too. Gearhead shuddered and was grateful to know that at least a case of chocolate was left in the stores. He'd have to be sure to hide it . . . stockpiled and rationed.

McKay's upper lip curled back a hair, then the corners curled up into a smile about as genuine as a politician's promises. "Which one are you?"

Gearhead stared back. Hello Mr. Mongoose, I'm just a poor, harmless little snake . . .He blinked. Smiled as innocently as he could. "Like I told Major Sheppard, I'm the one without the broken nose."

The upper lip definitely curled again before McKay got it back under control. "Clearasil or something like that. Right?"

"Yes sir, Sir, something like that, Sir." Gearhead kept the smile pasted on his face. It was easy, after a couple years it became second nature.

Not that it helped. "That one's Cleary," Beckett corrected. Damn it. "He goes by Gearhead. I haven't asked why."

Gearhead thumped his face into his pillow and quietly cursed Dr. Bucket. If McKay never had a name he might have forgotten . . .not a hope in hell a that now.

McKay drove the final nails into the coffin with precision and glee. "Yes, well, Gearhead. When you're released you need to come by my lab. There's some testing I think we'll need."

"Testing?" Gearhead screwed up his face and prayed desperpately that if he seemed dumb enough McKay might let him off the hook.

Shrewd, blue eyes narrowed to slits. "Yes. If I recall your original tests may have been somewhat . . . inconclusive."

"Hey, I don't say that kinda stuff about you!" Gearhead pulled his sheets up to his shoulders. "You keep your conclusives to yerself. You got officers to pester, anyway."

"I got . . .HAVE a perfect right to . . .pester," hissed McKay, "anyone who might improve this city's chances of survival."

"Me?"

"Maybe." McKay looked smug. Not that he often looked any other way.

Gearhead sighed. Gave him a pitying smile. "You have been zapped by one too many nutcase ray, ya don't mind me saying so."

The smug look changed to favorite expression number two: annoyed. "There were four people in the hall, one of whom manifested ATA abilities. I'm prepared to rule out the South African. If she'd had the ATA gene she'd have no doubt found magic Ancient shoe protectors. Even if it IS her, she's too irritating for me to allow myself to believe it. I also refuse to believe it's that other fool, that idiot with the horror movie fixation. Which leaves me you and your lemur-faced friend there. And I remember you. You squirmed so much the chair extruded restraints."

"So it's me cause your chair is kinky?"

McKay smirked. "It's as good a basis for suspicion as any."

G sighed and buried his face in his pillow. "Why me? Don't answer that."

"I wasn't planning to." McKay, thankfully, turned his attention to irking other people. "Carson! When can I get out of here? I'd like to leave before you get out the leeches."

Gearhead listened idly as Beckett insulted the scientist back, yawning. When Eggheads Attack! was never gonna beat Survivor in the ratings, that was sure. He was relieved when Beckett finally appeased the Canadian with a promise of release in a few hours. McKay glared at Beckett but settled (resentfully) back and shut up as Beckett headed off to check his other patients. Gearoid yawned again, but a notion had been gnawing him and he grabbed Beckett's arm with a bandaged hand when the doctor came around to check on his patients.

"'ey, Doc," Gearhead mustered his best smile and his best intentions. "Ya know, there is one thing you could do while Maggot's asleep here like this. I know he really wants his tongue repierced. Could you punch a hole in 'im while he's out?"

Beckett rolled his eyes and gently patted Gearhead's hand. "No way in hell, lad. Now leave off or I'll tell you all the possible complications a that."

"'sides talking funny and making the girls happy?" Gearhead ramped it up just a little.

The doctor appeared unimpressed. "Infection, necrosis, endocarditis. No way in hell."

"But…" he tried again, casting the man a pleading glance.

He was stopped by the glare on Beckett's face. "Tell him it's unsanitary and that if he wants that done…." The doctor stumbled to a halt, his eyes widening, then narrowing, then rolling with a long suffering sigh. "Is that how this whole fiasco started?" he groaned, eyeing the slightly stirring Maggot.

"Did you know you have fur on your teeth?" Gearhead finally asked, unable to think of a single coherent deflection and reduced to the incoherent ones.

"Fur?" Beckett reached into his pocket for his flashlight and held up three fingers. "How many fingers now?"

Oooh, not promising. Fortunately, a distraction presented itself when Major Sheppard returned. Gearhead took his opportunity and sat up quickly, saluting and silently thanking his stars for at least one officer who had good timing.

Of course, a second later it was all moot. One good distraction wasted, because Maggot suddenly sat up, catching everyones attention.

"Maggs?" Gearhead asked, slightly worried about the expression on his friend's swollen, racoonish face.

"Where did they go?" Maggot mumbled, looking about himself with dazed, unfocused eyes.

"Where did who go, lad?" Beckett asked kindly, moving over to check Maggot's vitals and determine if he needed another dose of happy drugs.

"Them!" Maggot smiled, pointing. Gearhead looked up and yelped. Least he hoped it was a yelp and not a girly scream like the one that Nurse Anya, the weightlifter, let loose when some kind of little, furless, really truly ugly thing fell out of the vent to hang there, squeaking and swinging from some highly impressive claws.

"Crap!" Gearhead scrambled back as the thing fell on his bed and bared its teeth in a hiss. From what he could see the teeth were bigger than the entire rest of the animal. It wasn't something he wanted to investigate further.

"What the HELL?" Sheppard and McKay shouted as another one fell on McKay. He squealed, threw blankets and sheets every which way and hit the floor within what had to be less than two seconds. But he and Sheppard jumped as another little toothy animal ran across their toes, hissing. The scientist and the officer both launched themselves for the nearest critter-free structure that would support them, ending up on a table as several more hairless creatures began to appear.

Sheppard had his gun and was tracking the like the hero in a first person shooter game, deciding which animal to shoot first, as McKay peered nervously over the side of the table, studying the infestation.

"Don't shoot! There's oxygen in here." Beckett snapped, backing up quickly as one of the creatures made its slow way towards Maggot's bed.

He stopped when he saw that his patient made no move to flee, but rather was eyeing the horrible little thing with interest.

Gearhead, scrambling to get out of the way, tried to squeeze onto the table next to McKay but was quickly dislodged by Sheppard, who was twitching slightly and muttering about ticks and evil vermin. Several more of the Teeth from the Deep fell out of the vents and that was all she wrote, officer or no, Sheppard was gonna make room and Gearhead WAS gonna get on that table, if he had to shove McKay off to do it. McKay was tougher than he looked, but he was going down. Gearhead shoved and scientist tried to climb Sheppard's back, cursing as the Major tried to club a critter with the butt of his weapon. It didn't make for a good retreat and Gearhead was disgusted to find himself on the ground again, at eye height with another rat-thing. It wasn't any happier than he was and bared big, yellowish teeth at him. It had fish breath.

Maggot, doped, and dozy and, if you asked Gearhead at the moment, probably not that sane, was dreamily trying to climb out of bed, cooing at the critters. Beckett kept shoving him back and swatting at them with the chart from the foot of the bed. Gearhead figured he was both braver and dumber than he looked when he put himself between his patient and the encroaching hoard of Willard-wannabes.

Lights started to flicker, and a low buzzing alarm filled the air. The door to Beckett's office began to open and close, building up speed as Gearhead watched more critters fall into the room.

"Not the FOAM, NOT THE FOAM!" McKay shouted, trying desperately to think the chaos to a stop as little spurts began to ooze out of the walls in counterpart to the furless monsters. "DO SOMETHING!" he shouted to Sheppard, poking the man in the back.

"I'm TRYING!" the major shouted back.

A gentle touch on his shoulder had Beckett yelping and back-peddling, watching in wide eyed amazement as Maggot staggered slowly over to the nearest creature. He didn't so much sit down as fall down like a toddler, then reached out to pick up the beast.

The room suddenly became silent as Sheppard managed to gain control of the alarms, and all of them wound up staring as Maggot gently stroked the hairless back of the softly crooning monster.

"Isn't she cute, Gee?" he mumbled, looking up through dazed eyes to his friend, who had found refuge on a desk chair, knees tucked firmly underneath him.

"Maggot, put the creepy monster down," Gee pleaded, squeaking as something brushed the chair leg. "Please!"

"But-" Maggot began, looking up with a slightly confused expression.

Gee groaned as his friend's eyes crossed, and he watched in horror as Maggot fell over, completely limp, the creature falling from nerveless fingers with a startled squeak.

For one long moment there was absolute silence as all watched, waiting for the monster to start nibbling on the defenseless private.

And then the creatures started to drift away, vanishing in a matter of moments, with only the one left sniffing tentatively at Maggot's fingers before offering a final lick and then disappearing as well.

"What the bloody hell was that?" Beckett demanded. He beckoned two nurses over and they scooped Maggot up and deposited him once more on the bed.

"Dr. Doolittle? On drugs?" Gee offered, and slowly shrank back into his chair as the great heroes McKay and Sheppard glared at him, climbing down from the table with as much dignity as they could manage.

All around them furniture was overturned, objects that normally lived on desk tops and table tops were strewn across the floor, and a random puff of fur blew idly into a corner where it stuck to the remnants of the fire retardant foam that had dribbled down the walls. Sheppard turned in a circle, staring at the mess. He knew a train wreck when he saw one and, as a commanding officer and veteran of more than a few fuck ups of his own, he knew just what to do. He came full circle, and gave Beckett a bright, shiny smile. "So. We had a Carrie wannabe, and now we've got Dr. Doolittle. Call me if you need me doc!" And he fled.