Scene: Atlantis Briefing Room, late Friday afternoon
The faint hum of the control room tech filtered into the briefing room, where Ronon was half-reclined in his chair like he had nowhere more important to be in the galaxy, Teyla sat with quiet grace and attentive curiosity, and Colonel Sheppard nursed a mug of something suspiciously dark that might once have been coffee. The table was scattered with datapads, mission reports, and what looked suspiciously like the remnants of a half-eaten protein bar.
McKay burst into the room like a thunderclap in sandals, his tablet clutched in both hands, eyes wide with the thrill of scandal.
"Okay, okay, listen to this," he said, breathless. "I was going through the gate logs, just a normal Friday evening data skim, which by the way is not obsessive, it's responsible monitoring—you're welcome—and I found this."
He tapped his screen dramatically and looked around, waiting for the applause that never came.
Sheppard raised a brow, unimpressed. "Please tell me this is better than the time you thought you found an alien conspiracy and it turned out to be a mislabeled coffee shipment from P3R-233."
"That was one time, and those beans had a weird radiation signature, you cannot tell me that was normal arabica."
"Rodney," Teyla interjected gently, "perhaps you should simply tell us what you found?"
"Fine, fine." He angled the tablet toward the center of the table with exaggerated patience. "Every Friday night for the past six weeks, there's been a classified supply shipment from Earth. Same delivery time, same security clearance. But here's the kicker: it's been greenlit by Carter."
Ronon squinted at the log. "What's a 'Project Night Bloom'?"
McKay's grin stretched ear to ear. "Exactly! It's a codename. A ridiculous, suspiciously adorable codename. 'Project Night Bloom' sounds less like military cargo and more like an off-brand air freshener. Or a very niche romance novel. Possibly about sentient flowers."
"Or scented candles," Sheppard offered. "You sure this isn't just some Earth-side morale package?"
"Oh no," McKay said, waving his arms like a conspiracy-theorist who'd just connected Bigfoot to Atlantis via string and a corkboard. "I asked Chuck what it was. Chuck. The guy whose main job is saying 'Chevron seven locked' with various levels of intensity. And he refused to tell me."
Sheppard frowned. "Chuck never refuses anything. You could ask him what color boxers I wore last week and he'd—actually, don't ask that."
"I already did," Ronon muttered.
There was a beat. Sheppard turned slowly. "You what?"
Ronon shrugged. "Had a bet with Zelenka. They were lime green."
McKay shook his head like a disappointed parent. "Focus, people! We're talking about a classified supply chain personally authorized by Colonel Carter. Every Friday. Under a codename. With zero detail beyond 'secure package – do not open – eyes only.' I mean, does that not scream conspiracy?"
Teyla tilted her head. "Perhaps it is something of a personal nature?"
"Oh, thank you, Teyla, for stating the most terrifying possibility," McKay groaned. "Now I have to consider the chance that Colonel 'By-The-Book' Carter is funneling some kind of illicit—what? Wine and cheese night? Forbidden late-night potato chips?"
Ronon nodded thoughtfully. "Could be a date."
The room stilled. Even Sheppard blinked at that one.
"A what now?" McKay asked.
Ronon looked around like he'd just commented on the weather. "Back on Earth, people usually meet up Friday nights. For drinks. Or to… bond."
Sheppard's face twisted. "Ronon, are you saying you think Colonel Carter's been importing—what, a date? From Earth? Every Friday?"
"She's a colonel," Ronon said simply. "I figured she's got someone on rotation."
Teyla blinked. "On… rotation?"
McKay gagged on his own oxygen. "What does that even mean?!"
Sheppard, hand rubbing the bridge of his nose, muttered, "You think she's using a secure military gate to schedule weekly hook-ups like she's ordering pizza?"
Ronon shrugged. "If I had access to the Stargate, that's how I'd do it."
"She commands the base!" McKay squeaked. "She has protocols! There are forms and regulations and—human resource implications!"
Teyla, struggling to keep a straight face, offered, "It would explain her punctuality. And the security clearance."
McKay groaned and looked up at the ceiling. "This is how Atlantis falls. Not with a bang, but with innuendo and poor boundary management."
Just then, the door slid open with that soft hydraulic whoosh of doom. All heads turned.
Colonel Samantha Carter stepped into the room with the fluid confidence of someone who definitely hadn't just heard a team full of subordinates speculating about her love life.
Coffee mug in hand. Smirk firmly in place.
She paused in the doorway. "Don't let me interrupt."
McKay leapt half out of his chair, face suddenly a shade of pink usually reserved for heatstroke and strawberry jam.
"How… how long have you been standing there?" he asked, voice cracking in the upper ranges of 'oh no.'
Carter took a sip from her mug. "Long enough."
Ronon actually smiled. Just a little.
McKay cleared his throat, straightening. "And… uh… care to comment on the totally baseless and clearly ridiculous theories about this so-called 'Project Night Bloom'?"
Carter met his eyes over the rim of her mug. "My paperwork," she said, with absolute serenity, "is in order."
Sheppard choked on his coffee.
Teyla, trying very hard not to laugh, lowered her eyes.
Ronon just looked pleased with himself. "Told you."
McKay's jaw flapped. "That's it?! That's your whole defense?"
Carter moved toward the table, setting her mug down. "If I had something to hide, do you think I'd use a codename like 'Project Night Bloom'? That's practically inviting speculation."
"You named it yourself?!" McKay practically shrieked.
Carter didn't answer. She just smiled.
"I want it on the record," McKay said, turning to Sheppard, "that this is absolutely an abuse of her authority and we are all, statistically speaking, doomed."
"I'll put it in the log," Sheppard said blandly, "under 'McKay loses mind over vague administrative entry #47.'"
Carter clapped her hands. "Alright, let's get this meeting started, shall we?"
"Do I even want to know what's in those shipments?" McKay muttered.
"Nope," Sheppard and Ronon said in unison.
Teyla folded her hands with a small smile. "I find the mystery… comforting."
Carter, seated now at the head of the table, pulled up her own datapad and gave McKay a wink over the edge of the screen.
"Besides," she said lightly, "everyone deserves a little joy on Friday nights."
McKay buried his face in his tablet. "You people are going to give me an ulcer."
Sheppard patted his arm. "Think of it this way—at least it's not killer plants again."
"Don't jinx it," McKay snapped.
Scene: Atlantis Briefing Room, moments later
The meeting had wrapped. Mission assignments had been distributed, vague threats of Wraith activity duly noted, and at least one datapad had been sneakily doodled on by Sheppard during Carter's strategic outline. As people filed out, the banter picked up again.
Sheppard, Teyla, and Ronon were the first to their feet.
"Ronon, training at 0700 tomorrow?" Sheppard asked as they headed toward the door.
Ronon nodded. "Bring the stun sticks this time. Not the plastic ones."
"I told you those were temporary," Sheppard muttered. "You broke the last set. They were real until you threw me through that wall."
"I caught you," Ronon countered.
"Eventually."
Teyla smiled serenely. "Perhaps we should all bring helmets."
As the three exited in easy camaraderie, their voices faded down the hall.
McKay remained seated at the conference table, arms crossed, tapping a stylus against his chin like a man who had just witnessed reality betray him.
Carter stood, organizing her notes, clearly expecting to leave. She paused when she noticed the silence stretching out behind her.
"McKay?"
He didn't look up.
"Rodney."
Still nothing. Then—
"I just don't understand," he said quietly, like a man who'd just been handed a Rubik's cube with six sides of identical beige. "It's… it's illogical."
Carter raised an eyebrow. "The mission plans? Or are we back on—"
"The shipments," he said dramatically, finally looking up. "You. The whole… 'Project Night Bloom' enigma. I cannot go back to my lab and focus on ZPM efficiency testing knowing there is a riddle out there involving you and mysterious, security-cleared packages and—romance! That's not a sentence I ever wanted to construct, by the way."
Sam folded her arms, biting back a grin.
"I mean, you! Colonel Samantha Carter. Leader of Atlantis. Queen of Paperwork. Slayer of Wraith. Destroyer of dating prospects with her impenetrable force field of duty and physics! And now suddenly you're importing classified… joy? With a smirk?"
He gestured like the smirk itself was a war crime.
Carter tilted her head. "You know, I'm starting to think you just don't like surprises."
"I hate surprises," McKay said, emphatically. "They're like problems I didn't get to solve first."
She chuckled softly and moved to stand beside his chair.
"You realize," she said, "out of everyone stationed here, you've known me the longest."
McKay frowned, blinking. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"I'm just saying," she continued, sipping her coffee, "with that big brain of yours… and all the personal history we've got… if anyone could figure it out, it'd be you."
Rodney stared at her. You could practically hear the gears squealing into overdrive.
He narrowed his eyes. "Wait. Wait. You're saying I already know who it is?"
Carter gave him a single, maddeningly serene nod.
"No. No. That can't be." He shook his head, expression wild with deduction and rejection all at once. "It's not— No. Still him?"
She smiled into her coffee cup. "Still him."
