Disclaimer: (It is obvious that) I don't own Stargate Atlantis or its characters… (or they would probably be horrible mangled)

Author's note: This doesn't really fit in the actual timeline anywhere, or really even make sense in my head anymore. But I enjoy writing it nonetheless. Thus, I have come back 'round to it. And it is always fun to pick on our heroes…

"Figure a way out of here yet?"

"And how was I supposed to do that?" McKay involuntarily snapped at his friend. "You're the escape artist and do I need to point out that you were unconscious for who-knows-how-long. I mean how would I know? We're underground! It's not like I could track the sun across the sky…or even if that would help, because we don't even know which planet we're on! And I have a terrible internal clock. You're the one who always keeps track of all that stuff, you know, hours until check-in, how long until the rescue team's due to arrive, how many guards there are…but 'NO!' you had to go and pick a fight, yet again… Well, it really wasn't your fault…this time… Sorry."

After McKay had worn himself out and calmed down, he remembered his manners and offered his cell mate what remained of the disgustingly stale loaf of bread a burly guard had tossed at him while his friend lay unconscious.

"I saved you some," he pointed out his uncharacteristically generous act. "Not that it's worth eating. Probably rotten, or worse…poisoned." He blanched a little bit. "No one uses citrus in bread, right?"

"I'm sure it's fine Rodney," John placated his overly paranoid friend. Why was it even when he had that shit kicked out of him, he was still the one that had to be confident and reassuring?

The chunk of bread was easily the single most disgusting thing John Sheppard had ever put in his mouth…and he vividly remembered eating an earthworm on a dare when he was ten years old. The offensive staple sapped what little moisture remained in his mouth, threatening to choke him if he swallowed too soon. So, instead the assault of repulsive flavor continued as it rolled over his tongue. The texture easily convinced him that its recipe called for more dirt than flour.

And yet, soon after it was gone from (but not forgotten by) his mouth, his stomach pleaded for more. How long had it been since his last meal? Too long for a body that needed more than sustenance to heal.

"Your turn."

The deep, gravely voice startled John. His brain must've been still hovering around the realm of unconsciousness, for he hadn't seen the large men approach the grated opening to their cell. A quick glance at McKay informed him that his cellmate was just as startled by their appearance. Actually more so, but that was a given with the jumpy scientist.

Then again, if the pair had been giving John the intimidating stare instead of Rodney, he might rival the man's scared-rabbit routine. But they weren't. So John found it only physically difficult to rise to his feet and place himself somewhat on level with their hosts. He was grateful he made the effort however when the thick metal grating of the cell door swung open with a rusty whine, and the apparent guards entered their little, stale world.

"M-me?" McKay stuttered, so frightened her couldn't even muster his normal string of ravings. He did manage to shrink bank several feet into the cell, however.

The guard who spoke was enormous, the biggest man Sheppard had ever laid eyes upon, and that was saying a lot, considering he always attracted the largest, ugliest, toughest looking sumbitches in any scrap. Bad guys flocked to him like candy. But this time around, they appeared to be more interested in his friend.

"What do ya want?" Sheppard interrupted, stepping between the giant-on-earth (or whatever goddamn planet they were on) and Rodney, who was currently shaking in his boots.

"It's his turn to fight," He-man announced as if it were obvious.

"f-f-fight?" McKay stammered, still too scared for his brain to operate properly.

"I do the fighting," Sheppard informed him, trying to look like he was in some condition to back up the front he was putting up. "He's the…He does the…"

Sheppard looked over his shoulder at the man he was trying to protect. (He really needed to get a handle on his urge to defend every living thing he considered within his purview.) How could he possibly explain to this behemoth and his equally dense looking guard friends what McKay did, why he was useful, necessary even, despite his aggravating personality?

"What is it you do?" Sheppard groped for help.

Finally, McKay blinked. One could only hold their eyes open wide in fright for so long, even when as practiced as Rodney McKay. He made a quick mental note to start bringing eye-drops with him wherever he went.

"Psst-some help here?" John scolded. Was it too much to ask someone to give a little help in formulating excuses to save their lives?

"Uh-science," Rodney provided uselessly.

Big help, Rodney, thanks! This guy looked like he had just figured out that a twig could fish ants out of a log that morning.

"Right," Sheppard said, turning his attention back to the Brute Squad standing before him. Losing momentum would be a bad thing. If he kept them off balance, namely by forcing them to think for more than fractions of a second at a time, maybe they could get out of this, or at least McKay off the roster for Ultimate Fighting Pegasus-Style.

"He does the Sci-ence." (Always enunciate when addressing people whose body count was very likely higher than their IQ) "Fixes things. You know, tech-nol-ogy."

They didn't appear to be following his explanation.

"He can invent wheel. Makes things easier to move." John finally gave in to the temptation to really talk down to the intimidating mountains of flesh (and obviously not brains). Some good sarcasm-with a dash of condescension-always made him feel better, especially since it was most definitely the only way in which he could possibly claim a win. "Or rub two sticks together. Make fire. Cook Food."

"Uh-you think antagonizing them is wise, Sheppard?" McKay whispered, already backing away from what he could easily see becoming the center of a massive mêlée (massive, not because of numbers, but because of the sheer size of the opposing side). Try as he might, the scientist could not picture it lasting long, or ending in anything other than his friend being crushed to death.

"Bang rocks together?" Sheppard tried, knowing from what he had seen so far, mainly weaponry, that these people-whoever the hell the sadists were-actually had at least metal-working knowledge. But he still would've been more liable to believe that the creature standing before him was more closely related to Lucy than to homo sapien sapiens or even habilis for that matter.

"He fixes things," Gigantor said after what appeared to be a few moments of intense concentration on his part that gave unibrow a new meaning.

McKay finally seemed to snap out of terrified-beyond-reason and into self-preservation mode.

"Yes. I fix things. Anything you want. Got anything that's broken? I'll fix it," he spoke a mile-a-minute, hands waving about frantically. "That's me. I'm Mr. Fix-It. Anything, anything at al-"

"Okay, Rodney," Sheppard hissed at his friend. "He gets the point."

"We'll be back." With that, the loutish men withdrew from the cell and the Lanteans were once more locked away, alone, but at least sans trolls.

"Don't worry. We'll be right here," Sheppard called after their receding shapes. "Waiting on bated breath!"

A/N: There is good abuse ahead, once I figure out what goes in between this and that…