Per Alicus Oculae

A/N: Special thanks to Dr. Dredd for beta-ing this chapter. Love your reviews, guys, and I'm glad you're liking the story! Don't worry, we'll see some familiar faces around Atlantis as the story progresses, and we do find out what's going on, just not in this chapter, although I do drop a couple of hints here and there...

Sara: No ship this time, sorry! Although I did write the first chapter to the sequel of Strange Bedfellows, so don't worry! It's going to take some time to get it right, though.

TubaPrincess: I guess you'll have to wait and see if they learn anything out of this. But keep in mind, this IS Rodney and John we're talking about, lol.

Chapter 4: Aceta-whosa-whatsit?

Well I guess it's a good thing, for Rodney's sake at least, that I'm being held captive in the infirmary - my infirmary apparently. Let's face it, if I was let out, there's just no telling what I'd do to that idiot, and I can't promise I'd be held responsible for my actions.

As John lolled lazily on one of the med wing's cots, rolling a coin from one knuckle to the other in a pathetic attempt to keep himself from dying of boredom while simultaneously pondering various creative ways to kill McKay, he realized this might just be the weirdest, most freakish, odd, bizarre day of his life. And he had thought learning he had some Ancient, mutant gene and hearing some round thing called a 'Stargate' could instantly transport people to other galaxies - both in the span of about fifteen minutes - had messed with his head.

"Feeling better, Doctor?" the other nurse, Nurse Gregor, asked. At least there was some blissful relief in not having to hear Trisha's grating, nasally, inhumane excuse for a voice.

John shut his eyes and let out a long breath. He swore if anyone called him 'Doctor' one more time... Well, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em, right? "Yeah. Much better, thanks. Listen, if we could just forget about that whole I'm-not-a-doctor, I'm-in-the-Air-Force thing...?"

The way he figured it, if he just played along for a little while - at least until he found McKay - maybe they could figure out what the hell was going on. But first thing first: convince Nurse What's-Her-Name that you're not a whackjob and get the hell out of this infirmary.

At that moment, Trisha walked into the room, now back from her lunch break and having obviously heard John's question. She had a silly phony smile plastered on her face that made Sheppard want to throw up. God, why me? Could this day possibly get any worse? he thought. Never mind. Don't answer that.

"So it was a joke then," Trisha said, a confident look upon her face. "I knew it. But if you ask me, Doctor," she continued, lowering her voice to a level barely above a whisper, "it wasn't that good. I mean, a pilot in the Air Force? Come on! You can do better than that. Who'd ever believe you're in the military anyway? Between you and me, you'd make one lousy pilot!"

The two nurses shared in the joke, both laughing hysterically. John didn't see what was so funny. First, the woman doesn't believe him, and then she insults him? All he could do was glare at the pair as they fought for breath, the joke now over.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Major Sheppard said flatly. Suddenly he stood and clapped his hands together. "Okay, great. Now that that's taken care of, I'm just going to head on over to the control room and have a nice long chat with Elizabeth-"

"Oh no, Doctor. I'm afraid we're going to have to keep you just a while longer for observation," the older nurse replied in an informative tone. So apparently Nurse Gregor hadn't entirely fallen for it. Damn.

All of a sudden it dawned on John. According to them, however delusional they might be, he was the chief doctor. This was his med wing, and that meant they were under his command. He didn't have to take orders from these two nurses.

"Look." He had tried to be polite, he really had, but he just couldn't take it anymore. "I have a monster-ass headache right now, so I really don't need any of your crap. So you both can just take your-"

Before he could tell them where to take their order and shove it, the door to the infirmary burst open. Through it came two Marines hurriedly carrying a third unconscious man dressed in civilian attire between them. The blue shirt, khaki pants and jacket denoted scientist, not to mention the thick Steve Urkel-like glasses perched on the young man's nose, complete with tape on the bridge and all.

John first got a look at him as he was laid down on a nearby cot. What the...? "Ford?"

"We found him in the hallway outside one of the labs," one of the Marines explained. "We were completing our daily rounds when we came across him, unconscious, on the floor. Teyla said he'd been complaining of flu-like symptoms yesterday - at least that's what it sounded like to me. But I couldn't be sure..."

The Marine looked up at John. He was clearly unsure of himself and now looked to the 'Doctor' for answers. In fact, all four pairs of eyes were upon him, waiting for him to make the call.

Oh shit... oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit.... The major didn't know what to do. This little smoke and mirrors game - whatever it was - while aggravating, had been harmless up until now. Now someone's life was possibly at stake. Worse, one of John's teammates and good friend's life was at stake.

Frustration began to boil up inside of him. He was a fighter pilot, goddammit, not a doctor. He was trained to take out the enemy, not to cure illnesses. Ask him to charge into enemy territory? Sure, no problem. Tell him to take on a Wraith Hive Ship? Done. Ask him to treat a nasty little virus? Well, you'd have better luck trying to get a Volkswagen to fly.

Okay, calm down, John told himself. It's just the flu, right? You've had the flu before. What happens when you get the flu? You throw up, get dehydrated. Okay, so that means... what exactly? Sheppard fought to remember all those times he had been a prisoner - er, patient - in the infirmary. He had seen Beckett work his magic before many times. Where's Beckett when you really need him?

So when someone's dehydrated, you have to pump fluids in them, right? Okay, think. What would Beckett do? IV! He'd always put an IV in first!

"All right," he said, taking command. "Get an IV going of..." He faltered. Crap. What was it called? 'S', something with an 's...' "Ss... saline! Yeah, saline whatchamacullit. You," he said, pointing to Trisha, "take his vitals." That's what Beckett had always said, right? 'Take his vitals?'

Aiden started to groan as he slowly regained consciousness.

"If he has a fever, give him some, uh, Tylenol," John continued, hoping he wasn't killing his friend.

"How many milligrams of the acetaminophen did you want, Doctor?" Trisha asked.

He looked at her blankly, all color draining from his face. Trisha really wasn't his favorite person right about now. Aceta-whosa-whatsit? Seeing that she was holding up the bottle of Tylenol, he realized she was simply asking how much of the medicine to give to Ford.

"Oh, right. Uh, give him 'two capsules every four to six hours as needed,'" he directed, quoting what he could remember from the back of every Tylenol box he ever opened. He just hoped the same directions applied in this case. John chose to ignore the 'use as directed' and 'ask your doctor if...' warnings he also recalled. Oh, the irony.

The two nurses simply stared at him for his display of odd behavior before one hard look from Sheppard got them to scramble into action. As they worked, it looked to John as if they had everything under control. Hell, as nurses, they'd probably treated more cases of the flu than he had, so he trusted the lieutenant was in good hands. After all, it was only a little virus, even if it did seem like an outbreak of the Black Plague to John...

The two Marines - sergeants, Sheppard noticed as he glanced at their insignia - also observed. Major Sheppard had a sneaking suspicion they were still in the med wing simply to avoid doing their daily assignments, shirking their duty.

"You're dismissed now, sergeants," he informed them, forgetting his role.

Both military men cast inquisitive stares at John, wondering why exactly a medical doctor had just ordered them to leave. And just where had the good doctor learned to identify military rank anyway?

John caught his mistake. He was supposed to be a physician, after all. "Oh, I mean, you can go now, Marines. Thank you both for bringing Ford here in."

John watched as, reluctantly, the soldiers left. Luckily, they seemed to have dismissed his slip-up as the usual jitters behavior brought on by stressful situations. And the nurses didn't seem to catch it; they were too busy tending to the lieutenant.

Letting out a lungful of air, Sheppard plopped himself into a nearby chair and ran his hand through his hair. He'd take a bombing run behind enemy lines over what he'd just done any day. Just what is going on here? First, I'm Atlantis's resident doctor, and now Ford's apparently a scientist? And just where the hell is Rodney? As he watched Nurses Harland and Gregor work, he figured now as good as any a time to escape. He had some serious issues to discuss with Dr. Weir.

McKay walked in tight circles around the entrance to what was evidently his tent. There was a problem that he had no answer to, and he didn't like that, couldn't stand that. Worse, it was a problem he couldn't solve - not that he would ever admit that to anyone - just yet, not without finding Sheppard and the others. A puzzle he couldn't solve without all the pieces was more aggravating than sitting in a gridlock during rush hour traffic on the way to the DMV for Rodney McKay.

He did have a theory, though, on why all this was happening. Rodney remembered back to the time when the 'other' Weir - the 10,000 year-old one - had been discovered in a cryogenic sleep in one of the city's labs. She had traveled back in time... In any case, he needed more information before he jumped to any conclusions.

All he knew what that he certainly wasn't the leader of the Athosians - Teyla was (wherever she is, he added to himself) - and that he really had to use the bathroom. McKay didn't know where they were, but it didn't take an astrophysicist to discern that since there were no visible toilets and the woods were only a few meters away... He hadn't expected there to be public restrooms, but no matter how full his bladder was, he wasn't going down that road. Not a chance in hell.

The whir of engines suddenly broke the scientist's thoughts. Looking up, he spotted a Puddle Jumper circling in for a landing a couple dozen feet away. It kicked up dust as it was softly set down next to the encampment.

Oh thank God, McKay thought as he walked briskly toward the Ancient vessel. Finally, I can get away from these primitive, uncouth people and back to a civilization that evolution hasn't passed up.

Expecting to see the major walk out of the rear hatch, McKay was quite shocked to see Beckett emerge, dressed in full military garb - P-90 and all - and carrying several crates of supplies to deliver to the Athosian encampment. Carson spotted him right away.

"Rodney, there you are," he greeted in his usual jovial manner, accent thick.

"Beckett, you have no idea how good it is to see you," McKay responded, filled with relief. At last, a familiar face. "Finally worked up the nerve to take a Jumper out by yourself, eh, Carson?" he asked with a grin.

"One of my supply runs. Plus, Weir was looking for you; she didn't want you to be late."

"Late?"

"Aye, for your weekly class?" Carson looked to Rodney to make sure he knew what he was talking about.

Rodney hadn't the faintest idea. "Remind me again what I'm teaching her? What, did she want to know about wormhole physics or something?" Couldn't Zelenka or someone else take the time to explain the intricacies of wormhole theory? Surely someone of my caliber can't be expected to have the time or the patience to sit down with every single uneducated, lucky-to-pass-middle-school knucklehead on the base and give them a crash course in Subspace 101.

Beckett stopped what he was doing, trying to decide if Rodney had just made a joke or not. Wormhole physics? From an Athosian? In either case, he decided the man had and moved on. "Not quite," he answered with a sly smile. "Anyway, she thought you'd might like a ride back to the base...?"

He didn't even get to finish his sentence before he was watching Rodney practically sprint into the Jumper, so eager was he to leave. Ah, back to a place the Industrial Revolution hasn't skipped over, the Canadian thought gratefully.

As Beckett settled in to the pilot's seat, McKay spoke up. "So where's the war, Rambo?"

"What do you mean?" Carson inquired, not looking up from the dials he was pushing as part of the pre-flight checklist.

Gesturing to the man's impressive collection of firearms, flak jacket, and BDUs, Rodney replied in a joking manner, "Oh, I don't know... do doctors always carry around a 9mm pistol and a P-90 submachine gun? Let me guess: some new dress code Elizabeth put in place I don't know about? Or is there a new ethics policy for practicing medicine?"

Carson just laughed as the Jumper took to the air. "That's very funny, Rodney. You know Weir made me the military second-in-command. I wouldn't trade 'doctor' for my lieutenant's post, son."

McKay just stared at him, mouth agape. His face did this funny little thing where it registered shock, then confusion, then it almost made it to uncertainty, but not quite - as if the muscles in his face weren't use to responding to the emotion the sharp scientist didn't experience often. It was several seconds before he could even form a coherent thought. What the...? I thought Lt. Ford was the 2IC? And now Beckett is in the Marines and has his position?

"You alright there, Rodney? You looked a little... dazed."

Rodney was still a few beats behind, though - something he wasn't use to at all. "I'm... uh, listen, can you tell me why I'm in these clothes?" he asked as his senses returned. He was dying to ditch these heavy Athosian garbs and it was only natural for the self-absorbed scientist's first reasoned thought to be about himself.

Shrugging, Carson replied, "If you'd like, you can change into some workout attire, lad. I'm sure one of the Marines your size an extra pair lying around somewhere-"

"Workout attire?"

"Aye. For your sparring lesson with the major."

Sparring lesson.... It took him a few moments for what Carson had just said to register. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no," McKay asserted, backing away into a corner of the cabin as the panic began to well up inside him. He'd seen the major and Teyla spar before, and if that was any indication of what he was in for, he was a dead man. Hand-to-hand combat was not his specialty, it was John's. Plus, Sheppard would surely have a bone to pick with McKay over all of this. He is so going to kick my ass....

"All right, calm down," 'Lieutenant Beckett' replied defensively to McKay's odd reaction. "It's just clothing; you don't have to change if you don't want to. I'd just thought you'd be more comfortable wearing..."

McKay let Beckett trail off as his thoughts took him elsewhere. Something Beckett had said struck him as odd. Something about the sparring session, something about 'the major.' And if his suspicions were correct, it'd only help to substantiate his theory...

"Beckett," Rodney interrupted. "You said I was sparring with...?"

"The major, aye."

"And that would be who exactly...?"

"Major Weir, of course."

All the color drained from the astrophysicist's face as the implications dawned on him. He let out a tiny groan. Oh boy, do I hate being right all the time.

John strode purposefully through the corridors of the city, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make sure a certain pair of Nazi nurses weren't still intent on keeping him confined to the infirmary. He just wasn't staying there one more second; he needed to find out what was going from Elizabeth.

Rounding the corner and climbing up the stairs, John entered the control room. Expecting to find Dr. Weir in her office, he was shocked to see her standing confidently behind one of the Gate technicians - moreover, in full military dress. Her red blouse was replaced by the standard-issue black tee; gone was her gray and crimson expedition jacket, exchanged instead for the gray and black jacket of the military; in place of the heart-shaped pendant hanging from her neck, a P-90 dangled from her Kevlar vest.

Whoa, he thought. That certainly was not something he expected to see, not in a million years. But maybe in one seriously screwed up day, courtesy of Rodney McKay, he corrected himself.

"Open the iris," he heard Elizabeth order with authority. So busy trying to figure out why exactly the leader of the expedition was now in full blown gung-ho mode was he that John didn't even notice the incoming wormhole. As the iris opened, Elizabeth took her place at the bottom of the staircase, P-90 up and aimed at the Gate as a precaution.

If his feet hadn't been rooted to the floor out of sheer disbelief, he might have asked her just what she thought she was doing, putting herself in the line of fire like that. Then he realized it's what he would have done. Hell, it's what he had done on many occasions, as protocol dictated when offworld teams returned to base. Thankfully, though, the return of an expedition team through the Stargate was uneventful; no enemy fire made it through the wormhole.

"Shut it down," she shouted back up to the control room. Obviously she had things under control. At least that part of her hasn't changed.

As she passed him coming up the stairs, he hailed her. "Eliz-" He was cut short, though, when his eyes spotted the golden oak leaves on her uniform, denoting the rank of major. "Major Weir?" he questioned, more to himself than anyone else.

"Yes, what can I do for you, Doc?" inquired Elizabeth, having obviously heard him.

"I... uh, I - hey, put that safety on, corporal!" he suddenly shouted to one of the Marines who was walking around freely with his pistol unholstered. Standard breach of safety procedure. The idiot should have known better, John grumbled to himself. Usually he was lax when it came to military procedures, but when safety was an issue...

The twenty-something people in the control room and the adjoining Gate room turned to look at Sheppard, wondering a) how exactly the untrained eye of a medical doctor had seen the safety of a 9mil was in the off position from across the room, b) how a civilian with no military experience had identified the rank of corporal, and c) why exactly a physician was ordering around a Marine.

Weir just cocked an eyebrow at him and hid a grin, nonplussed but amused at John's strange outburst. "Been spending some time studying up on military protocol, John?" she jested.

You could say that, considering I've spent almost my entire goddamn life in the Air Force! he screamed inside his head, irritated.

"I, um, just didn't want him to put anyone's eye out, that's all. You know, 'safety first' and all that," he justified, forcing a laugh. He knew a lame excuse when he heard when - even if it did come from his own mouth.

Elizabeth just made a small "hmmm" noise, apparently not too concerned with Sheppard's antics. "As you were," she called to her people, who finally stopped staring and went back to work.

"What's up with the oak leaves?" he asked her.

She glanced at her shoulder. "Oh, these? You remember: I got my promotion last month. Apparently, someone thought I had sat at Captain for long enough," she quipped.

Sheppard didn't know what to say. "Promotion, right... and you're... the military chief?"

Casting him a questioning smile, she responded, "Yeah, you know that."

Wait, she doesn't even like the military. She doesn't even like guns. Then another thought occurred to him. Then who is Atlantis's leader? he wondered. "Right, listen... we have to talk."

"Can it wait, Doctor?" Elizabeth asked, glancing at her watch. "I've got a sparring lesson in about fifteen minutes."

"With Teyla?"

"Oh, Teyla's learned, too? If you see her, ask her if she wants to take me on sometime soon, say, tomorrow at noon? Anyway, this one's with Rodney. He's still trying to get me to move my feet quicker, but he's said I've improved."

John stopped listening half way through. "Rodney? As in Rodney McKay? As in Mr. I've-Never-Done-Anything-Physical-in-my-Life Rodney McKay?"

Laughing, Elizabeth chided, "You don't have to be jealous, John. You know, if you want to learn, I'm sure he'll be more than happy to teach you. It only takes a few weeks to get the basics down."

Yeah, no kidding, he thought. It had taken him nearly that amount of time to even be close to the same level as Teyla when she had taught him, and while he was quite skilled, she could still pummel him into oblivion. He had taken the lessons before, and they weren't easy. "Something tells me I'd be a fast learner. But I would like to sit in on your lesson, if that's okay...?" He grinned, picturing Rodney attempting to spar with the Athosian fighting sticks. This he had to see.

"Sure; let's head over."

John entered the empty gym behind 'Major Weir,' eager to see what both Elizabeth and Rodney had. From a spectator's point of view at least, this was just going to be too much fun. All the frustration and anger he had felt from the past few hours evaporated as he thought of what laid ahead: Rodney no doubt getting his ass kicked. Good, John thought with an unsympathetic smile, he deserves it. He had offered to teach Rodney a thing or two a few weeks ago, but McKay had just brushed him off, calling the sport 'extremely uncivilized,' 'tacky,' and 'simply not worth my time.'

Naturally, he wouldn't let it go too far. If the scientist looked like he was about to be diced up like a cucumber, John would put a stop to it, but until then he would relish seeing the cocky Canadian sweat under the pressure. Oh, this is going to be good....

That was assuming, of course, that Rodney wasn't like the rest of them. What if John was the only one who remembered the Ancient device that got them into this whole thing? What if the real Rodney was somewhere else entirely, and this one about to spar with Elizabeth was just part of this fabricated illusion?

Major Sheppard knew that wasn't the case, however, as soon as the man in question hesitantly - and reluctantly - walked into the gym, accompanied by the military version of Carson Beckett. In fact, it looked to John as if Beckett was practically pushing Rodney in, so averse to the idea of sparring with the deadly fighting sticks was he. Rodney was simultaneously trying to worm his way out of the event by attempting to reason with Beckett... or with whoever would listen. Which, at the moment, was no one.

Oh, yeah. That's definitely the Rodney we all know and love, Sheppard thought sardonically. Always the go-getter.

If any doubt over the authenticity of the Rodney standing at the other end of the gym still remained, it was abolished as soon as the astrophysicist caught sight of John, who was simply standing there, arms folded in delight, watching the entertainment unfold before him. The look of pure alarm that crossed McKay's face as soon as he spotted John told Sheppard he knew what he had done and assumed - correctly so - that John would be pissed at him for it.

Sheppard grinned patronizingly from ear to ear and threw him a small wave.

In response, McKay simply glared at his friend with his best I-hate-you-so-much-for-allowing-this-to-go-on look and went back to pleading with Beckett, who had just thrust two fighting sticks into his hands.

"No, no, no, I can't do that." He was speaking fast, his voice up an octave or two, with nervous laughter trying to mask his absolute terror. "With the sticks going whoosh a-and the twirling and t-the bruises... Am I the only one who realizes this is a physical event here? I don't know if you noticed, but I'm not much of a physical kind of guy..." McKay smiled timidly and began to back away, his hands starting to shake slightly. "Oh, I just remembered! There's, ah, something I need to take care of in the, ah, control room. Yes, I think Bates left the coffee pot on by mistake, and as you know that can cause quite the disaster, so if you all will just excuse me-"

It was all just too much for John. Between his friend's obvious lack of a backbone and the highly flamboyant clothes he was wearing, John had to fight not to burst out in hysterical laughter. Where's a camera when you need one?

"Don't worry, McKay," Sheppard taunted. "They tell me you're quite the expert. I'm sure that session we had a few weeks ago will come in handy - oh, but wait. You skipped out on it. Hmm, that's too bad. You could have used it right about now." He made a tsk-tsk sound and smirked teasingly.

Rodney just glared and mouthed what looked like the words 'stuff a sock in it,' but John couldn't be sure. 'Stuff a sock in it?' Sheppard thought, amused. Is that really the best he could come up with? I hope that's not any indication of how he's going to do against Weir.

An overwhelming sense of déjà vu enveloped John. The military chief was about to take on the Athosian leader in a sparring session, though instead of it being he and Teyla, it was Drs. Weir and McKay.

Elizabeth, who by now had garnered a pair of Athosian weapons herself, walked up to Rodney and lowered her head in the traditional Athosian custom. Her head remained bowed as she waited for Rodney to reciprocate the gesture that would complete the customary pre-fight ritual.

"Oh, um... no thanks?" McKay squeaked nervously.

"If you insist..." Elizabeth said, confused but certainly not letting Rodney out of this one. She quickly twirled the sticks several times in preparation, crossing them once or twice for show. John had to hand it to her; she was good, and she certainly looked like she knew what she was doing. Rodney is so in over his head. She's going to eat him alive!

Both Beckett and Sheppard's heads swiveled to Rodney and waited for his response. Apparently, McKay had just had the same thought run through his highly analytical mind as John had just had, because as soon as his brain had calculated his (fairly low) odds of survival, the scientist's eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the floor, unconscious.

TBC

Aw, poor Rodney. I guess Doc Shep will have to practice after all. Dum dum dum!