This was just going to be a fun short story, but I decided to make it into a series of short stories. They're just too much fun to write. This one involves Colonel Sheppard and a large metal club. Fun fun. As always, I don't own them… and so on and so forth. Enjoy.
Carson Sat behind his desk, enjoying the rare quiet of the infirmary. It was late afternoon and there had been only one patient all day. Carson loved his work, but having a day free of mortal injuries and life or death situations was a blessing. He was days behind in his paper work and a day like today was perfect for catching up at a nice leisurely pace.
Just as Carson was finishing up his last post mission heath report, Col. Sheppard walked into the infirmary, hold what looked like a bag of ice to his right temple. Concerned, Carson got up from his desk to inspect his friend's injury.
"So what happened to you?" Carson asked, while helping John onto an examination table. "I thought you were off world negotiating a trade agreement."
"I was. And just for the record, it went well. We have a deal that just needs to be finalized." The ice bag John was hold dripped slowly, leaving a small wet spot on the infirmary floor.
Carson slowly removed the bag to reveal a rather large lump on John's head. There was no open wound, but it had to hurt like the dickens. "Ok, so if the negotiations were a success, how did you manage the goose egg, Colonel?"
"Well, the Elder of the city carries this big metal club with him. I thought it was just for ceremonial purposes, but it turns out it had a very real use." John hopped off the table excitedly. "It's actually kind cool. You see, if the Elder likes the deal, he hits you in the head with the club." He swung an imaginary club in the air. "If he's not sure, but is leaning in the positive direction, he hits you in the shoulder. If he's leaning in the negative direction he hits you in the stomach and if he hates the idea all together, he swings back and hits you right between the…"
"I get the picture, Colonel." Carson stated dryly, stopping him in mid-imaginary golf swing. "That's just perfect. Next thing you'll tell me you have to fight the Elder's son in a cage match in order to finalize the deal. You'd think a culture this advanced would be beyond such violent customs. Bloody barbarians."
"It's not our place to question their customs." Sheppard Shrugged. "Besides, if there were a cage match, I'd let Ronon fight it. I'm sure he's better at those kinds of things."
Carson just rolled his eyes and finished his examination. "You'll be fine, Colonel. Just take it easy for the next couple of days, keep ice on it as much as you can, and for the love of all that's holy, don't let anyone hit you in the head again. I don't care if it's a custom or not. Doctor's orders."
"Not a problem, Doc." John stated happily, as he turned to leave the infirmary. At the doorway, he stopped and turned back to Carson. "Anyway, tomorrow it will be Elizabeth going over to meet the Elder and finalize the deal." John gave him one of his infamous, childlike smiles and left the room.
Carson sighed and headed back to his desk, visions of head injuries swimming through his head.