A/N: This chapter contains my second favorite scene in the whole story... John, meet Ronon. Ronon, meet John. :)

Chapter 7

Dr. Rodney McKay was the top scientist at Atlantis. He held several doctorates, all earned at a surprisingly early age thanks to being a, well, genius, and was the de facto head of scientists at the Project. He was the director of special projects at Area 51 before this posting, and at first he had trepidations about signing on to something with such a pretentious name. But then he saw the facility, and the equipment, and the funding, and thought he'd died and gone to geek heaven. He'd already made advances in his work here in astrophysics in the past four years that would have taken nearly a decade with what he had back at Area 51. And the accommodations and food were incredible! So much better than that government funded death trap in Nevada, and it was a good thing he tended to get so wrapped up in his work that he would forget meals, or else he'd be pulling a Marlon Brando thing and have to wear muumuus to the lab. Geek heaven, no – it was more like an all inclusive geek resort. With pay.

Unfortunately Rodney also had an ego to go along with his brilliance and was more than willing to tell you at any time of day how brilliant he truly was. He could have great rambling discourses on that subject if given the chance, but most of the scientists he worked with had long ago learned not to provoke those diatribes. Emergencies usually seemed to conveniently crop up and they'd have to simply excuse themselves. Or Rodney would have to go put out the fires, so to speak. Then he'd go on great rambling bitch fits about the utter incompetence of those under him. They'd take that with a grain of salt, too, and roll their eyes (but not in his line of sight, of course). Radek Zelenka, a Czech engineer and who some thought equally as brilliant, was one of the few to openly mock him and get away with it. And Elizabeth Weir was the only one who could tell him to shut up, albeit politely, and he would.

Rodney was socially inept, and loud, and incredibly blunt, but he wasn't reviled. Well, except by maybe one person, but that person had been pretty much reviled by everyone else on Atlantis, too. He was generally looked at with awe, mixed with a tiny bit of fear, but he truly was an indispensable part of the Project. He was also so absorbed in his own research he'd missed a lot of what had been going on the past few months. But he was catching up. He'd started to get worried about Carson – he'd never seen his friend so close to being at wit's end as he was right now. And Elizabeth …. He hadn't physically seen her in almost five weeks now. He'd spoken to her a few times over the internal com network, and received a few e-mails about projects, but that was about it. She had become a ghost, and everyone knew Kolya had something to do with it. But that guy was seriously scary, scarier than Rodney on a sleep-deprived caffeine induced rant, and so far nobody had confronted him about the weird crap that was going on. Rodney wasn't about to – the thought alone gave him hives. He hated confrontation as much as he hated citrus.

Then there was the thing Kolya was keeping in the basement. Rodney tried not to think about that too much. He dreamed about it enough after his close call, thank you very much.

But Rodney was finally starting to take notice of what was happening under his roof (yes, he considered Atlantis his, and so far no one had been able to dissuade him of that notion), and what he was learning was starting to piss him off. At the moment he was sitting in the cafeteria and getting an update from Keller instead of Carson about the latest 'specimen' to be brought to Atlantis. He sat leaning slightly forward, his knife and fork gripped but forgotten in his hands, which in turn were resting on the table and bracketing his tray almost protectively. His eyes were fever bright, and his mouth was partly open in a crooked but delighted grimace. "Oh, no," he said, his voice slightly strained. "He, he didn't."

"Yup," Keller said. She was leaning back in her chair, her own half eaten meal before her. She had her arms crossed, but she lifted her right hand, made a blade of it, and after touching her index finger briefly to her bottom lip made a sharp, quick gesture away from her mouth. "Projectile. Right down the front of her."

Rodney let out a gleeful giggle. He may be the most brilliant man on the planet, but he wasn't above juvenile humor sometimes. "Oh, man, couldn't have happened to a better person."

Actually, there were two reviled people on Atlantis – Chaya was the second.

"That's exactly what I thought," Keller said and grinned.

"What did Carson do?" Rodney asked as he dug into his meatloaf and mashed potatoes with Guinness gravy. He popped in a bite and chewed happily.

"He said, 'Och, that's gonna stain'." Keller lowered her voice and actually got the accent down surprisingly well. "I offered her a box of Kleenex."

Rodney giggled again. "I'm going to have to get into the security server later and download a copy."

"Knowing the Major, he's already done that and burned copies for sale," Keller said. She picked up her water and took a sip.

"I'll ask him when he shows up for dinner." Rodney glanced around the cafeteria briefly. "Huh, he's late." Then his expression got serious and he lowered his voice. "So, what was the new, uh, acquirement?"

Keller sat up and scooted her chair in closer to the table. She pushed her tray out of the way and rested her forearms on top of the wood surface. "It was a guy this time, tall, dark hair, not bad." Rodney frowned and made a get-on-with-it gesture with his fork, but she ignored it. "He broke Lt. Ford's nose, and I guess it took three darts to take him down."

Rodney almost choked. "Holy crap!" he said between wheezes and reached for his water. After a few drinks his color returned to normal. "Do you know what he is yet?"

"No – blood sample is still analyzing, and he sure wasn't saying." Keller lowered her voice. "Carson is going to copy the data before he has to hand it over to …."

"Dr. Dominatrix," Rodney interrupted. "Good, good. Let him know I'd like to see it, too."

Keller nodded. "And another thing – the guy got Kolya so riled he slipped up and hit him."

Rodney's eyebrows rose. He hadn't been able to do that, yet, not that he really wanted to try …. "Really, now? Huh, I may just have to meet this guy."

"His name is John Sheppard."

Rodney grunted and scooped up some more meatloaf. Dang, Carson was missing one of his favorites. Speaking of which …. "How is Carson doing?" he asked worriedly.

"I can tell he isn't sleeping, and it's a battle to get him to eat anything," Keller said and lowered her gaze. She picked up a piece of lettuce from her salad, looked at it, and dropped it back onto her tray. "He's getting pretty 'cheeky' with Kolya, too, and it's starting to scare me. One of these days he's going to do something stupid and Kolya's just going to …." She put an index finger to her temple and made a sound like a kid imitating a gun.

Rodney flinched. Then they both glanced around. Nobody seemed to notice. "Crap," Rodney muttered. "I'll go see him tonight, distract him. See if he knows of any good sheep ranches nearby where he can work out some of his frustration."

Keller frowned. "He'd like that, but please – no sheep cracks. Not right now. He's liable to snap and catheterize you right there with a garden hose, the mood he's been in."

"Oh, hadn't thought of that," Rodney said, a horrified grimace on his face. Then they were both distracted by a very loud thump on the cafeteria doors. "What the hell was that?" Rodney said and they both glanced that way, along with everyone else in the room.

-oOo-

John was sprawled on the bed, his feet sticking over the edge, a pillow pulled down and tucked under his head, and was surfing channels on the plasma screen. Looked like the place had satellite feed, dang near five hundred channels, and absolutely nothing to watch. No obviously local channels so he couldn't tell where the place may be, lots of movie channels, and very little sports.

And about six porn channels. Apparently these science guys liked their porn as much as they liked their bathrooms.

He was wearing the BDU's they provided him – he liked the long sleeved shirt especially – but he refused to wear the boots. He preferred his scruffy, dirty, comfortable hiking boots, thank you very much. The pants rode a little lower than he liked, and he almost wished he had a belt for them. But they fit. Couldn't complain too much; at least he wasn't in an orange jumpsuit. Or a hospital smock.

He'd just found a cool channel dedicated to aircraft and flying when the door opened. He glanced at the guards as they came in, then glanced at his watch. Hallelujah – dinner time. He turned off the television, sat up, and scooted down to the end. He bounced to his feet and gave the two armed men a cheerful smile. "So, guys – what's for dinner?"

The guards, different from the ones before, glanced between each other as if unsure if they should be speaking to him or not.

"Oh, c'mon, guys – lighten up, or its going to be a long night," John said. "I'm not going to bite you or anything." Then he paused a moment as his stomach gurgled. "But if we don't get down to the mess soon, all bets are off." They actually seemed quite alarmed at that and they raised their P90's a little. John instantly raised his hands and took an involuntary step back. "Hey, hey, just kidding. Really. Only a joke." They motioned him towards the door, their matching frowns clearly stating they didn't appreciate it. He complied, and as he stepped out into the hall they immediately flanked him. They didn't meet anyone in the hall.

They were almost to the elevators when one said, "I think it's meatloaf tonight."

John glanced at him. "Cool. I like meatloaf." And that was the extent of the conversation until the doors opened onto the atrium. He could hear voices just before he stepped out of the elevator, and when he saw who was speaking his brain just kind of short circuited. Later he'd blame the stress of the day for his total stupidity, but for now his attention completely focused on one thing and the blood roared in his ears. It was the big guy who caught him in the forest, and he even kind of remembered seeing him looming over him in what had to have been a helicopter afterwards. He was completely in black and was talking to a shorter man, definitely military and wearing the dark Atlantis BDU, and they were heading for the mess. Before the guards could even react, John shot across the twenty feet or so that separated him from the guy. Dreds even had a second to turn his head and look his way before John tackled him and they both landed hard and went sliding across the polished stone floor.

John wound up straddling the guy, and managed to get two really solid punches in before Dreds just heaved his entire body off the ground and flipped him off like he didn't weigh a thing. John rolled to his feet just as Dreds flipped to his, and he was aiming another right cross when the guy caught his fist, made a casual gliding shuffle to the side, and flipped him into the mess hall doors. John managed to turn just enough so he wouldn't smash his face against the copper panels, and his shoulder and upper back bounced hard off them. He was turning to go after him again when what he guessed was a size thirteen boot caught him in the stomach. The air whooshed out of him in a very undignified sound and he fell to his hands and knees, then a second later he just toppled over onto his side, curled up, and tried to remember how to breathe.

Lorne was between John and the two armed guards, who had their weapons raised and hot. The whole incident didn't even last ten seconds, and they were all a completely caught off guard. "Hey, hey, hey! Stand down!" Lorne yelled, one hand raised to the men, and glanced down quickly at John. "He's not going anywhere." Then he looked at Ronon – his nose was bleeding and it looked like his lip might be split. And he was grinning. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Ronon rumbled and spat blood on the floor. He wiped his mouth with the back of a hand, and actually seemed amused as he stared at the blood.

Lorne grunted and moved around so John could see him. He went to one knee and scowled down at the gasping man. "What the hell are you trying to do?! Get yourself killed?"

John squinted up at the man and noticed the gold oak leaves on the collar of his jacket. "Maybe, Major," he croaked out and sucked in another ragged breath. Then he watched the major's face change instantly from thin-lipped fury to something that was a cross between understanding and possibly guilt. "Wasn't … thinking."

"Obviously," Lorne grunted. He seriously doubted that statement, because it sure looked calculated to him. He glanced around and saw a bit of a crowd gathering. He waved at them to move along, then returned his attention to John. "Can you get up yet?"

"Gimme … sec," John replied. His lungs were only now just getting a rhythm back, albeit a stuttering one, and his stomach was still one giant knot. He didn't get a chance to recover any more when he found himself being hauled to his feet by Dreds.

"Shake it off – it wasn't that hard of a kick," Ronon said and grinned.

John stayed doubled over, his hands on his knees, and he tilted his head enough to see Dreds out of the corner of an eye. "You didn't spend … an hour earlier today … heaving your guts out," he said and put a hand to his stomach. "Shake it off, my ass." Then, despite all its past abuses, his stomach growled and he groaned.

Lorne looked at the guards. "He'll be sitting with us. Stay close, but not too close."

"Understood, sir," one of the men said.

John straightened up as much as he could, hand still on stomach, and glared at Ronon. He so wanted to pound that fucking smirk right off his face. "I remember you," he growled out.

"Figured you did," Ronon replied and rubbed his jaw. "'Cuz that sure wasn't a love tap."

John couldn't stop the little exhale/snort from escaping, and this time it made a very definite chuff sound when he did. It drew an odd look all around and he suddenly felt self consciousness finally start to overpower the brain clouding anger. He lowered his gaze, and a moment later Ronon's huge hand was right there.

"Hey, we were following orders. No hard feelings, huh?"

Jeez, that sounded familiar, John thought and looked back up. All he was picking up from him was genuine sincerity and not one hint of anger. If he couldn't have sensed that, he'd have been very alarmed by the big, bloody smile on the guy's face. When he didn't take the hand right away the guy said, "Ronon Dex. And you're only the second person to knock me on my ass since I got here."

Then John reluctantly took his hand. "John Sheppard, and I can believe that." As they shook, he said, "Do I want to know who the first one was?"

"No."

John caught a flash of embarrassment, but it wasn't something he saw. Then he was shaking the major's hand.

"Major Evan Lorne, head of security."

"Really? I thought whatsisname was," John replied cautiously.

"He's been busy, so the job landed on my shoulders. Chain of command, shit rolls downhill, you know," Lorne replied. And for a moment John felt a flash of white hot anger. All that showed on the man's face was a short, tight-lipped frown. "Let's get some chow," he said and jerked his head toward the mess hall doors. He nodded to the two guards and they actually preceded them into the hall.

John tried to see if he'd dented the doors, but they opened before he could tell. Then they stepped into a light, airy room with a vaulted ceiling and the only thought in his mind was a Neanderthal grunt that demanded food, NOW.

He had to admit, he was in a bit of a daze as he grabbed a tray and silverware rolled in a napkin, and didn't even notice the knuckles on his right hand were scraped and bloody until one of the servers gave him a horrified look. Then she caught sight of Ronon in line behind him and did a double take. Then she just seemed to, well, accept it, and started dishing up meatloaf and mashed potatoes and gravy. On plates. "Did I read that right? Guinness gravy?" John said in awe as someone else loaded green beans on his plate.

"Yup," Lorne replied. "You'll never be able to eat normal gravy ever again."

John stuck a finger in and took a taste. "Oh, my God," he groaned and damn near missed the desserts. As they carried their trays to a table against the side wall – Lorne on his left, Ronon on his right – John glanced to the side and almost stopped dead in his tracks. The back wall was a bank of floor to ceiling windows, and in the distance beyond the trees rose green, heavily timbered mountains. It was overcast, but not raining yet, and he had a rough idea, finally, of where Atlantis might be.

The Pacific Northwest. He wasn't sure exactly where, but the terrain was very recognizable and, he knew, survivable.

He got a brief flash of hope, then he saw the major watching him closely, and he set his face. "Soggy view," he said and lifted his chin towards the windows.

"Yeah," Lorne replied. "It is." He continued watching John as they took their seats – John against the wall, he and Ronon across from him. "Don't be getting any stupid ideas," Lorne said quietly as he unrolled his silverware from the cloth napkin.

John picked up his own silverware and grimaced as he flexed sore knuckles. "From my position, it doesn't seem so stupid," he said very quietly and grinned briefly. Then he was busy shoveling in food and refusing to look at his dinner companions.

Ronon grunted and took a moment to wet his napkin down and wipe the blood from his moustache and goatee. The split in his lip turned out to be pretty minor and had already quit bleeding. "Kolya is going to have more guards on you than flies on shit," he said just as quietly while he hunkered down over his tray. He pointed at John with his fork. "You'll get shot before you even leave your floor."

John nodded as he chewed – damn, that was best meatloaf he'd ever had in his life. And he stayed quiet until he slicked the last of the gravy up with a slice of bread. "Yeah, well, I've already been assigned a lab number by psycho Barbie. So believe me when I say the prospect of getting shot does not scare me right now." He finally looked up and saw both men had barely touched their meals. He didn't think he'd eaten that fast, until he took in their matching grim expressions and realized they were just picking at their food.

"Christ," Lorne said and dropped his silverware. He rubbed his mouth and only briefly covered the disgusted frown there. He couldn't look at John.

Ronon shifted uncomfortably and silently forked in a few mouthfuls of potatoes. "Sorry, man," he said a moment later, his eyes on his plate.

John's pulse was hammering in his throat and he was on the verge of hyperventilating as he stared at the two men. First the two doctors, now these guys. He leaned forward and hissed out, "If there are people that unhappy with what's going on, then why the fuck is it continuing?" The two guards were at the far end of the next table, and they looked up at his tone and tensed.

"Because at the moment Kolya has a lot more supporters among the military presence here than he does opponents," Lorne forcefully whispered back.

"And the scientists aren't necessarily fighters," Ronon added. "A lot of innocent people could get killed."

"And some already have." Lorne's tight-lipped frown seemed permanent now.

"Then help me escape," John barely whispered. When they didn't say anything he glanced back and forth between them. "Please." The desperation in his voice was shocking to his own ears and made both men flinch.

Lorne closed his eyes and lowered his head briefly. When he lifted his head again, his gaze was haunted. "You're going to have a few days before anything is done to you. Kolya wants to play nice, make you think everything is fine and dandy. Thinks that will – I don't know – loosen you up. Make you co-operate."

John barely held back a laugh. He had a feeling if he did, it would be an insane cackle.

"Try to bide your time if you can. Play along, don't do anything brash, get the guards to relax around you. And be careful." Lorne picked his silverware back up and shoved food around on his tray. "Be patient, and I'll see what I can do."

If he'd been standing, John was pretty sure his knees would have given out right now. Then he had a panicked thought that made him swallow. He glanced as nonchalantly as possible around the mess. "What about surveillance? My room is wired – how about this place?"

Lorne actually took a bite of the food he'd been playing with and chewed. "The acoustics in this corner suck," he said, his attention on his tray. "And the cameras only catch part of the table – that pillar by the desserts blocks the one camera that actually faces this way."

Ronon glanced at Lorne. "So that's why you like to sit here." He grunted.

"Yup," was all Lorne said.

John picked up his water and took a long drink until his hand quit shaking. He had four people on his side now, and the little ember of hope was growing a tiny bit brighter.

End Note: Heh, I described John meeting Ronon to someone as, "CHARGE grunt thud sliiiide WHAM WHAM heave swing oops BONG kick OOOF ... thud." :) Next chapter, John finally gets to meet Rodney.