The very next morning, Sheppard awoke from a restless sleep. And I'm not just saying that to boringly narrate up to action, but really, if you think about it, tell you something very important. I mean, if Sheppard had not awaken that morning, it be a completely different story! We'd have to assume he had died or was in a coma from some strange biological airborne disease…not to say that couldn't happen… But anyway, while our hero was alive and well, kicking off the covers of his bed to greet the steady golden glow of morning, we should still note that he had a restless sleep: Not a good sleep, or a deep sleep, or a sleep not worth mentioning – but a restless sleep. We can only suspect that Colonel Sheppard was worried; the events of last night had left him with a foreboding feeling.
As he dressed at top speed and hurried to the canteen, he was relieved to find his teammates at the same table having breakfast and talking to each other. Even Dr. Weir was there, who usually nicked something small to have with coffee in her office alone. Rodney didn't usually eat with Ford or Teyla, either, and was more apt to find himself accidentally at the table of Dr. Brown, a wiry red-haired Botanist. So, as you can well imagine, Sheppard initially thought this morning arrangement to be very odd, indeed.
When they say him approach, they stopped talking. Teyla cleared her throat and smiled at him. So, Sheppard smiled back. I don't know what the other's expressions were because Sheppard didn't really care and wasn't looking at them.
"Good morning, John," Weir looked up at him from her coffee. Her eyes were calculating and worried, as though her thoughts were maybe dwelling on the strange behaviour of Caldwell last night – or maybe not. Haven't you noticed that Weir is always looking as though she were terribly worried about something? For all we know, her unsettled expression could have been a result of the canteen being out of milk and having to use cream instead. I've been there. I'd look like that, too.
"What are you guys talking about?" John settled into the table with his own coffee and breakfast.
"NFL Football standings – what do you think we're talking about? We're talking about…" Rodney's eyes darted around before he leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Caldwell."
"Oh," Sheppard tried to sound casual. "I'd actually rather talk about football."
Rodney made a face. "I can't imagine why. Now hockey-"
"Hockey?" Beckett, who Sheppard honestly hadn't noticed until then, laughed.
Rodney looked at him indignantly – and pretty shocked that the word hockey could ever be accompanied by ridiculed laughter.
"On the pitch with the little sticks?" Beckett shook his head, still laughing softly as he sipped at his tea.
Rodney made actual effort at turning in his chair to stare directly at Beckett, faced screwed up. "What the hell kind of hockey are you talking about, Carson?"
"Hockey," Beckett reiterated, not quite understanding what he meant. "On the field?-"
"Field hockey, Rodney, field hockey," Ford thumped a hand on the table, solving it.
"Field hockey?" He burst. "I'm talking about real hockey, Carson. ICE hockey. You know, probably the greatest sport ever invented?"
Sheppard rolled his eyes; Teyla looked on curiously (but more or less confused because she had no sports to brag about); Beckett shook his head as if he knew of something better than both American football and hockey.
Rodney was quick on the meaning behind his look. "Oh, soccer, we're going to compare soccer now?"
"Real football, gents," Beckett leaned back, drawling. "And then there's rugby – you wouldn't catch them dead in all of that protective padding like –"
"So, Doctor, I was wondering if you wanted to come along on our next mission," Sheppard interrupted with a disguise of sly purpose.
Beckett paused, blinking for a moment. "You mean the one with the giant-sized reptiles?" He paled for an instant. "Er, no thanks."
"Are we going to spend the rest of the morning discussing sports or are we going to get back to the problem at hand?" Weir said in a warning voice.
Teyla nodded in agreement. "This is the only inconspicuous location for us to discuss this together."
"What do you mean?" Sheppard drew himself up.
"Caldwell has been lurking around everywhere all morning, as if he were spying on people," Ford revealed. "I walked past his quarters this morning with a couple of P-90's that I was fixing in my spare time – you remember, the ones that wouldn't reload – to return them back to the arms locker, and he comes out accusing me of attempting to murder him in his sleep!"
"What!" Sheppard exclaimed. He wasn't quite sure what the appropriate response would have been in that situation, because his first reaction was to burst out laughing. He pictured Ford kicking down Caldwell's door to open fire a double set of P-90's at the dozing Caldwell. It shouldn't have been funny, but he sure wasn't downcast by the idea.
"Yes, that has me just a little bit concerned," Weir narrowed her eyes; glancing around to make sure they were not being eavesdropped upon. Only a lone figure sat near them at an opposite table, but with the bustle of noise, she doubted he could hear them. Plus, it wasn't Caldwell, and since it wasn't him, she didn't pay any more attention to this lone figure.
"I've asked Dr. Beckett to start organizing random physical check-ups for the crew, just to ensure that Caldwell doesn't have something…especially if there is a threat of a contagion."
Sheppard listened with earnest. "But, Caldwell hasn't been off world at all."
"I don't know, but something isn't right," Weir argued. "He's in his office right now checking radio calls, I passed it on the way to my own office. And then feeling a little creeped out, I came down here."
"Can he even do that?" Sheppard widened his eyes incredulously, thinking of having a word with this jerk. He barely outranked him, anyway.
"I don't know… he is the ranking military officer on board. And I'm still having trouble asserting my authority with him," Weir shook her head.
"I'll put together a number of isolated headsets to scramble our calls to each other," Rodney snapped. "Then he won't hear a thing from us."
"Do it," Weir rose to her feet. "I've got to finish that report on our victory with the Wraith attack. There's a lot to say about everyone," she walked off.
"A lot of good things about me, I hope!" Rodney called after, half-joking. But then he immediately became serious and called out again, "I have a report done actually on the valiant contributions and accomplishments made during that siege, if you'd like it, Elizabeth. It sums up the entire affair – of course, it's triple the page limit, but it's not about the quantity, you know? It's pure quality, in every page. I don't think they'd mind, seriously, of course, it is mostly about me –"
"For triple the length of the report! An average of three reports-worth of just you?" Sheppard's jaw dropped.
Weir shook her head. "Thanks, Rodney, but I think I'll be fine."
"I gotta get going," Ford sighed, dragging himself to his feet.
"Why? Where you going? I thought we had that Caves planet to explore?"
"I can't, Colonel," Ford frowned.
"Come on, I even called it the Caves planet, for you."
"I can't," he scowled. "Caldwell has ordered me to reorganize the entire Arms Locker."
"That is not right," Teyla looked to Sheppard. She hated these macho military men, having clocked Bates not too long ago.
Sheppard growled and pushed himself away from the table. "That will take the entire day. And this was because he thought you were trying to kill him with two P-90's?"
"Apparently."
"That's it," Sheppard stormed out of the canteen. He was going to set things straight with Caldwell, once and for all.