Fic: Situation Normal (A.F.U.) 2/3

[samanthahirr]

Title: Situation Normal (A.F.U.)
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Word Count: 22,500 [complete]
Rating: R (violence, language)
Warning/Potential Trigger: attempted sexual assault
Spoilers: through 2.01 The Siege, Part III
Beta Thanks: to the formidable cinaea 



Part I | Part II | Part III

As Teyla had promised, the second moon rose a few minutes after their arrival, and Lorne finally agreed it was bright enough to proceed, leading his team into the dark, green fields of M5R-220. As usual, Schmitz was the first to complain about the heat. Chernowski snatched away the biologist's handkerchief and told him to suck it up. Mueller didn't say anything. Lorne rubbed at his neck and thought about agreeing with Schmitz, but he shouldn't encourage his whining. Mueller always pretended he didn't hear Schmitz's complaining, and Lorne knew that was the best example to set as team leader.

After scaring a group of small rabbit-things—"Allumux" to the Athosians—and stopping to let Schmitz photograph the nest and collect some droppings—"crap" to Chernowski—they moved on to the small tree in the middle of the field.

"Oh, this is good," Parrish exclaimed, and started unpacking his equipment.

Lorne crossed his arms and fought the urge to ask what was good. Mueller never asked about the mission, and that made a lot of sense—best to just follow the orders and get the job done, no distractions. Lorne had learned a lot from watching Mueller over the past few weeks. Frank was always alert, always on point, always ready. And, like now, always unfazed by their surroundings.

Lorne rubbed his neck again, trying to dig a few fingers under his collar. Schmitz was wrong—it wasn't the heat, it was the humidity. He reached for his jacket zipper to open the collar a little, get some fresh air on his skin...but Mueller didn't seem to have a problem with the climate. Lorne sighed and refolded his arms, resolved to set a good example for his team.

Ever since M4R-317, Lorne had been second guessing his decision to add Mueller to the B-Team. Mueller was the ideal soldier—calm, capable, and dependable. The best man to have in a crisis, watching your six. But Evan wondered lately if he shouldn't have recommended Mueller to lead the team. Honestly, he wasn't sure why he'd been chosen for the job over Mueller. Frank had come to Atlantis with the original expedition; he had six months more experience in the Pegasus Galaxy than Lorne—hell, than most of the soldiers in Atlantis. He knew the city inside and out, and his service records from Earth and Atlantis were spotless. Even if he hadn't met Mueller in the middle of the Wraith invasion, his files would have singled him out as a top officer.

It was only three months ago when Lorne had been running blind through the unfamiliar halls of Atlantis, one eye out for alien vampires, another for the humans with him, and no eyes to spare for their general direction. He hadn't had time to think, to find a map, anything. His commanding officer was dead, along with the other members of his sweep; he was the one left in charge and he couldn't think what to do next. Nobody was thinking; the terrified men he was leading through the city had almost given up on following him, and he got the feeling they were going in circles. Thank god he'd run across Mueller, or he and the others probably would've been found by the Wraith long before reaching the jumper bay.

The first time he'd seen Frank, the marine was dragging a badly wounded soldier down the corridor, with a rifle under his arm and shells in his teeth. He'd reacted to Lorne's shouts by dropping his man, cocking his rifle, and aiming to kill. The perfect soldier. And the only person capable of guiding Lorne's group to the ventilation ducts that led to the jumper bay. Lorne knew he owed his promotion, hell his life, to Mueller. If not for Frank, he would've been Wraith-food for sure.

And he never would have gotten here, standing in an alien field at night with two moons, two scientists, and two marines. But he still had no idea why he was there. Not just the promotion—why was the mission there? The consequence of not asking questions was not getting answers, so Lorne had a lot of questions and nothing else to think about.

15 minutes standing there, not-listening to Parrish gush about the tree, not-listening to Chernowski giving Schmitz a hard time about carrying his gear for him, not-listening to Mueller not-talking; all he had was the job and boredom. At least the lizard-bird-thing on M4R-317 had been interesting.

Lorne fought the urge to rub his neck again and scanned the horizon. "B is for beta. B is for biology. B is for botany. B is for bushes and boulders. B is for bird-things with claws and fangs. B is for bullets. B is for beret. B is for blood-sucking space-vampires. B is for buttons. B is–"

Parrish heard his muttering and looked over his shoulder. "Did you say something, Major?"

B is for boring. "Oh, nothing. No. I didn't say anything." Lorne scanned the horizon again and kicked at the tall grass that had tangled around his knees. B is for setting a good example, he reminded himself. He caught his hand halfway to his sweat-soaked collar.

"Hey, Parrish," he said before he could stop himself.

"Yeah?"

"What's the point?" Stupid, he didn't need answers....

"Huh?"

Oh, fuck it. "Of this," he clarified. "What're you guys doing with all the samples we're collecting? Setting up some alien plant museum back on Earth?"

Parrish laughed and nodded, "Yeah. It was supposed to be top secret, but since you've already figured it out...it's for an intergalactic plant museum. In Toronto."

"Damn Canadians get all the cool stuff," Lorne smiled. But letting it go with a joke wasn't answering his question, and he wanted to know. Schmitz was videotaping worms a few yards away, and Chernowski and Mueller were patrolling the area, so what could it hurt to relax a little? Be curious for a moment; be human.

"Okay, but really, what are we doing out here? Why'd you decide to come to the other side of the universe and risk your life for a couple of plants?"

Parrish didn't answer immediately. The scientist ducked out from under the low branches into the moonlight. Lorne was surprised to see him looking wary. "You're serious?"

"Yeah," Lorne nodded.

Parrish looked around and finally relaxed. "Okay, uh. Think big picture. The Gates Foundation is currently funding a bunch of laboratories around the globe…I mean on Earth…Jesus, I can't get used to that. Laboratories that are researching cures for some of our worst diseases. A few months ago, I was part of the field research team that discovered a new flower growing in Chile—and that little flower is currently being tested as a source of a rare chemical compound in the lab that's studying Alzheimer's." Lorne nodded, following the story. Waiting.

"Think about it!" Parrish's natural enthusiasm crept out and he began pacing and waving his arms. "We've only identified maybe 75% of all the plant species on Earth. We're still unlocking their secrets. And all of those answers are out there in the universe—the knowledge, the cures we need. I believe that if we look hard enough, we can find the cures to Alzheimer's, AIDS, even cancer! And by getting these samples back to those labs on Earth, I'm making a difference back home." Just as suddenly, his energy dropped and he looked embarrassed. "Sorry, I can uh…get a little carried away on the subject."

Evan took a deep breath and looked at the alien environment around him. It was…an inspiring way to look at the universe; full of possibilities, cures just waiting to be found. And that was his mission. His team. He wasn't leading the B-Team, he was leading the team that was going to cure cancer. "So…we're saving mankind," he said, a hint of awe in his voice.

Parrish stared at him for a moment, that cautious look again, and then laughed. "Defenders of the Human Race—that's us."

And Lorne unexpectedly felt proud of the mission. "So, have we found anything yet?" he asked eagerly.

The botanist shook his head. "Not much. So far just that new genus of vine from M3Y-506. It's a good find," he quickly reassured Evan, "resistant to extreme heat and cold, way more durable than anything on Earth. If we can identify the trait that makes it so strong, and successfully hybridize it with one of the grain species on Earth, it could have amazing potential. Heartier crops could increase crop yield in the poorest areas of the world—"

"Fighting world hunger," Lorne grinned.

Parrish nodded, pleased.

"Okay, so what are you looking for in a plant when you're out here? I mean, like this tree—what makes you spend so much time on it?"

Parrish jerked his head to the side. Evan followed him a few feet around the tree as the tall scientist explained, "Well, this is actually very similar to a common tropical shrub, the seagrape—coccoloba uvifera—but see this leaf right here?" He pointed to a darker spot on one of the leaves at eye-level. "This sticky substance—the leaves don't have this back home. So I want to compare it to the Earth version and find out exactly how similar it is…and why the plant would adapt its leaves this way."

Evan was concentrating so hard on Parrish's explanation that he didn't notice he'd unzipped his collar and started scratching his throat.

~



"Is that clock right?" Parrish called to Yushida.

She looked up at the wall and shrugged, "Depends if you mean the minute or the hour. The hour's right, but Kavanagh broke the minute hand last week and it keeps falling down."

Shit! He'd stalled, gotten caught up in work, and now it was 4:30. Or 4-something. And he didn't know what time Lorne was supposed to be released.... There wasn't any time left to worry about it; if he didn't drop by he'd look like an asshole and probably make the situation worse. "Don't turn that burner off, okay? I'll be right back. Right back," he called, grabbing his jacket and hurrying out of the lab.

A few minutes later, the botanist pulled up short in the medical bay. Lorne was sitting on the same bed, the privacy curtain tied back, dressed in clean fatigues, working on a laptop, and no restraints in sight. It was...normal. More normal than he'd expected. Parrish tried to put yesterday out of his thoughts and just concentrate on the current situation—visiting his injured team leader.

He had to take a few more steps to get Lorne's attention; the major was intent on his computer screen, scowling. When he finally cleared his throat, Lorne glanced up and froze.

"Hey, how're you doing?" Parrish asked. Easy.

"Uh, good, good," Lorne mumbled, setting his computer aside on the bedside table.

David saw a brightly colored computer game before the screen went dark. At least the man had been held in the med lab. Lorne would've made a horrible quarantine companion; he was at his most insufferable when he was bored.

"You uh, wow, that looks bad," Lorne winced, staring at Parrish's face. "I'm sorry, David. I'm...I'm really sorry."

Parrish looked around awkwardly and tried to think of what to say, selfconscious about the way his lower lip ached when he talked. "It's not so bad. I got beat up worse in high school."

Lorne ignored the peace offering. "Are you okay? I mean, Jesus. I'm so sorry. I can't believe I...."

The soldier was visibly flailing for words, obviously contrite and normal, and Parrish really didn't have to hear any more. "I'm fine, totally. The uh, the debriefing's tomorrow morning, in case you hadn't heard."

"Yeah, I got the memo. I've already finished the mission report. Didn't have anything better to do, stuck in here all day."

"About that. Look, I talked with Dr. Beckett about what absolutely had to go in the re—"

"I heard about that," Lorne said, scowling now. "Beckett briefed me this morning. Listen, I appreciate you trying to keep—"

"So, uh, Chernowski said he stopped by," Parrish interrupted. He really didn't want to talk about attempted rape with his team leader. If it was left out of the report, they could drop the subject for good. It would make working together a whole lot easier. Hell, it would make living in Atlantis a whole lot easier.

Lorne looked at him like he disapproved of the subject change, but he went with it, which was all that mattered. "Yeah. Mueller was here, too. They're not really good at the sickbed routine, though."

"All right, who's ready to get out of here?" Dr. Beckett called, striding out of his office.

"Finally," Lorne sighed, smiling at last.

Parrish felt a moment of dread. Time to make his own exit before they had to leave together. "Hey, I uh. I left some sap on a burner. I'd better get back to my lab," he babbled. "Glad you're doing better, Major. See you at the debriefing tomorrow. Thanks, Dr. Beckett!" He waved to both of them and backed out of the room quickly, well aware that he was wrong to do it. Not to mention obvious. But he just...he wasn't ready to have a conversation with the man. Tomorrow he'd have a new perspective, he was sure.



~



The seven of them sat at the conference table, smiling politely at each other while they waited for Lorne to arrive. Dr. Weir offered coffee, which McKay accepted, so of course Schmitz immediately echoed him. Parrish looked at Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay on the other side of the table and wondered if they knew all the details of M3X-474. But that was just him being paranoid; nobody knew. Beckett had taken care of it. Mueller and Chernowski next to him were taking this meeting seriously, but that was usual, and they didn't know either, apart from whatever they might have seen.... Anyway, Mueller wasn't a talkative guy, and Chernowski was his friend, and Schmitz couldn't have cared less. So it would stay within the team, and he wouldn't be humiliated in front of the entire city.

The major finally arrived—exactly on time, Parrish noted—and took the empty seat next to him. Dr. Weir cleared her throat, gathered her papers, and started the meeting. "Good morning, gentlemen. Major Lorne, thank you for sending us your report last night. Before we begin, are there any changes you want to make? I understood from my conversation with Dr. Beckett–"

"No changes, Ma'am," Lorne cut her off firmly.

Parrish shot Lorne a sideways glance, suddenly nervous.

Sheppard cleared his throat and began the military half of the debriefing. Parrish tuned it out, worrying about what Weir had started to say. Lorne had said yesterday that he'd gotten Beckett's message about leaving out the details...and there had been plenty of time to change his report if he'd needed to. It just didn't make sense for him to include, well, everything. Parrish shifted in his seat, trying not to stare too obviously at the pages in front of Dr. Weir as Lorne answered the colonel's questions about their deployment upon reaching M3X-474.

When Dr. McKay took over the scientific half of the debriefing, Parrish snapped back to the meeting. Schmitz rattled off theories about the species he'd observed and filmed, and drew comparisons to other planets' fauna. Next, Parrish took his turn, describing the few dozen samples he'd managed to bring back; how they'd finished processing the first batch that morning, and they didn't seem very spectacular—aside from the poisonous pollen—but there were another two batches to go over, and they should know about those by late tomorrow. McKay kept glancing at his watch during Schmitz's report and didn't bother covering his yawns during Parrish's, but that was normal McKay-behavior.

"There's no hurry, Dr. Parrish. Don't push yourself to get it done," Dr. Weir cautioned. "I want you to take it easy—I understand those are Dr. Beckett's orders."

"Yes, ma'am," Parrish agreed faintly. He would rather discuss his work than his injuries, but she was the one running the meeting. He waited for the next question. And waited some more. Time seemed to drag as the three chiefs looked at each other, and at the reports in front of them, and then at each other again. And that wasn't normal.

At the other end of the table, Schmitz couldn't take the silence, blurted, "I um. I broke another camera. Sorry." McKay didn't yell, Weir didn't defend him, and Sheppard didn't laugh. Parrish looked past Mueller to share a bewildered glance with Chernowski. Something bad was going on, clearly.

After another long pause, Sheppard leaned forward and drawled, "We'll requisition you a new one."

The awkward silence continued in the room, and Parrish had to look around to see who was in on it, whatever bad news was coming. Mueller, predictably, was stiff and silent; Chernowski was bouncing his leg nervously; Schmitz was rubbing his left hand. And Lorne was staring hard at the chiefs, looking…angry.

Dr. Weir finally took a deep breath and continued the debriefing. "I know this is a difficult topic for the team, but we have to review it. Major Lorne, in your report, you say you split up in a wooded area. Mueller, you and Lieutenant Chernowski proceeded ahead with Dr. Schmitz, leaving Dr. Parrish and Major Lorne behind to collect more samples."

When prompted, they both agreed, "Yes, Ma'am." "That's right, Ma'am."

"And Major Lorne, you fell on the flowers and were exposed to the pollen?" Parrish saw Lorne nod out of the corner of his eye. "Dr. Parrish, you initiated the first-aid protocol developed after the incident on M3V-145?" She instinctively glanced at Schmitz and frowned. They all turned to look at Schmitz, who looked up and seemed to suddenly realize he was rubbing the back of his hand. Schmitz turned red and jerked his left hand into his lap, leaving the right hand in view on the table.

Parrish cleared his throat to cover for him, "Uh, that's correct."

"At this point, Major Lorne, you were infected by the neurotoxins and became violent." Lorne nodded. "Were you aware of your actions when you attacked Dr. Parrish?"

"I was," he acknowledged, his face blank.

"But you were unable to control those actions?"

"That's correct, Ma'am."

Parrish saw the moment when Dr. Weir opened her mouth, hesitated, and then changed what she was about to say. "Lieutenant Mueller," she continued briskly, "when you rejoined the major and Dr. Parrish, did the major appear to pose a threat to the doctor?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Lieutenant Chernowski, you agree?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She looked back to Mueller. "And you struck Major Lorne on the head, deliberately incapacitating him? In the defense of Dr. Parrish?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well done, Lieutenant," she nodded. Sheppard nodded as well, emphatically.

Weir kept rushing through the bizarre, abbreviated debriefing, "When you dialed the gate, Dr. Parrish, you requested emergency quarantine procedures."

"That's right," David confirmed, dragging his gaze away from Lorne's clenched fist on the table.

"That was the right decision. Even though the threat has been cleared, you took the right steps at the time to minimize the danger to Atlantis. You're to be commended."

"Thank you."

"Gentlemen, I can tell you're all a bit shaken by this mission. Having this sort of a…violent incident will certainly cause turmoil in the team dynamic. I want all of you to schedule meetings with Dr. Heightmeyer by the end of the week. This is not optional. Understood?" She fixed each of them with a stern gaze until they'd all nodded assent. Finally she stood, and Parrish's heart sped up. That was it? No shoe was going to drop? No canceling the mission, no big scene? "Thank you again, gentlemen—"

Lorne jumped to his feet. "Dr. Weir! May I have permission to speak?"

Parrish gripped the edge of the table and thought about kicking his team leader. Weir must have been thinking the same thing, because she winced and hesitated. Dr. McKay and Colonel Sheppard were looking at each other behind her back, concern on their faces.

Inevitably, she relented. "Go ahead, Major."

Lorne took a deep breath and asked, "Have the three of you considered the recommendation I made at the end of my report?"

Weir motioned for Lorne to have a seat and took her own chair again. "Colonel Sheppard, would you care to proceed?" she asked quietly.

"Certainly," Sheppard said tightly, straightening in his chair. "Major, I assume you're referring to your request to put the team's mission status on standby for an indefinite period of time?"

"I am, Sir," Lorne confirmed, stiff-lipped and determined.

What the fuck? Parrish looked to his right; the rest of his team looked back at him, just as stunned. Even Mueller looked shocked.

"Are you concerned that a series of routine missions may have dulled your team's reactions in general?"

"No, Sir."

"Then are you concerned that a similar event to M3X-474 will happen again?"

"No, Sir."

Dr. Weir interjected, "I think you should explain your position to your team, Major."

And finally, finally, Lorne acknowledged them. With gritted teeth, Lorne looked over at them all and spoke, half to them and half to the chiefs. "At the time of the incident, I thought it was a good idea to split up the team; there had been no sign of danger on the planet, and I felt that my men were well-trained enough to defend the scientists from a third-party threat."

David heard Chernowski shifting in his chair, but he couldn't look away from Lorne's hard eyes and clenched jaw.

"And now?" Sheppard prompted. "Has that opinion changed?"

Lorne considered for a moment. "I'm now aware of our…liabilities. By splitting up, we isolated ourselves. And if one of us," with a head jerk he indicated the marines, "were to become incapacitated or…untrustworthy, the scientists wouldn't have any protection. Therefore, I believe that Doctors Parrish and Schmitz should be trained in basic selfdefense so the team can feel more confident in their safety."

It was a hard speech to get out, Parrish could tell, but he didn't understand it. What the hell did it have to do with standby?

Colonel Sheppard helped fill in the blank. "You don't believe that training during down time would be sufficient? You insist on fulltime training?"

Lorne's eyes flashed and he leaned forward. "With all respect, Sir, you aren't addressing the situation. This wasn't a 'violent incident,' it wasn't a swift and sudden attack. I didn't suddenly try to kill Parrish, I tried to rape him. And he lacked the basic skills to defend himself. In a prolonged engagement, he was useless—whether from a reluctance to cause harm or lack of training is irrelevant. I don't feel comfortable leading this team back into the galaxy as we are now, and I won't feel confident until we've eliminated as many liabilities as possible. I think the other members of my team will agree with me on that. And the fastest way to accomplish it is to set aside time for intensive training."

Boom.

What was that sound? That was the sound of David's life going to shit.

Jesus Christ, now it was his own fault he got jumped? Beaten? Pinned to the ground and groped? Lorne was taking his role as backstabbing-asshole to a whole new level. After David had arranged to keep it quiet, the major had to go and announce it to the chiefs and the team…unless they already knew…. Parrish flushed and looked around, dreading their reactions, hoping to at least see some surprise.

Schmitz, yeah, Schmitz was surprised all right, gawking at Parrish and Lorne. Mueller and Chernowski had gone stone-faced, staring at the opposite wall. David wondered how they felt about Lorne breaching their precious Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy.

As for the chiefs, Sheppard looked embarrassed, McKay was fascinated by something on the floor, and Dr. Weir had her fingers steepled in front of her mouth to hide her anger, but it was there in her eyes. So. Not surprised, then. It was in the report.

"Thank you, Major Lorne," Sheppard said belatedly. Parrish noticed Lorne's fist unclench on the table, but he refused to look at the man.

The three chiefs glanced at each other uneasily until, with obvious effort, Dr. Weir pulled together some professionalism. "Gentlemen, Major Lorne makes a strong argument. Although we don't want to delay your important work, your safety is our primary concern. Do any of you have objections to setting aside time for training?"

Parrish saw Schmitz open his mouth at the end of the table…but the biologist didn't say anything and the moment passed. Nobody said a word.

"Very well. I will discuss the matter with Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay and make a decision later today. Thank you for your time and good morning."

They all stood, and Lorne lead the team's silent procession out the door, but he slowed at the bottom of the steps and caught David's arm as the botanist brushed past. "David. I want to apologize for springing the training thing on–"

"Excuse me, Major," David grunted and jerked his arm away, stalking off to his lab.



~

"And then McKay sat on their sacred tree stump or whatever, and the villagers freaked out! Sheppard said they started throwing rocks and shit—and I mean literal shit—and chased them all the way back to the Gate!"

Everybody burst out laughing, and Mitchum threw a tater tot at Jensen. "You're totally making that up."

"No way, straight from the colonel's mouth, I swear!" Jensen insisted.

"That explains the smell coming from the labs yesterday," one of the new lieutenants giggled. "I thought they'd all forgotten to shower or something."

"No, that's just Zelenka's B.O.," Bates grumbled, and Lorne snorted.

"Good one, Bates," somebody called, and the sergeant smiled into his mug.

Lorne finally caught his breath again and asked Bates, "So what was last week's distress call all about? Why'd they need a rescue party?"

"One guess," Jensen cried, and the table shouted, "McKay!"

"Damn straight," Bates nodded. "He got himself kidnapped by the locals to be used as a religious sacrifice or something."

"Poor Sheppard." Lorne grabbed the sausage-shaped-thing off of Bates's plate.

"Hey! I was gonna eat that!" Private VanDyke protested, and Bates shoved him off the bench.

"Shut up and get me another," the sergeant ordered, and everybody laughed as VanDyke scrambled to his feet and hurried back to the breakfast line.

"What about you, Major?" Jensen asked, and Lorne looked up from his plate. "How do you like crawling through the mud with a couple of lab rats?"

They laughed at him, and Lorne quickly swallowed the lump of sausage he'd been chewing. "It's uh, it's not so bad. It beats paperwork, heh."

"Come on," Jensen coaxed. "It must drive you insane doing something that stupid."

"Well," Lorne admitted, "okay, it's kind of crazy. I've got this guy, Parrish—have you met him yet?—anyway, the other day, he claimed he's gonna save the universe by picking flowers." That got him a good chuckle. "And Schmittie! Oh man. I must've got this guy because no one in the labs could stand him. He's broken two digital cameras so far, and uh…let's see…he's fallen off a cliff, sprained his ankle, fallen in a river, fallen out of a few trees. It's like he's never spent a day outdoors in his life." Across the table, Mitchum choked on his coffee. "He never shuts up. It's always, 'Major, I'm getting a sunburn! Major, my bag is too heavy! Major, that bird's looking at me….'"

By the time VanDyke got back, Lorne and the rest of the table could hardly speak they were laughing so hard. "What'd I miss?" VanDyke demanded, and set them all going again.

~



Parrish shifted in the metal chair and wished the Ancients had focused a little more on comfort instead of efficiency. If he went to a dentist, he expected a cold, uncomfortable chair. If he went to a shrink, he expected a leather couch. Although the dentist metaphor was appropriate, since he'd rather get his teeth pulled than sit through this. Yesterday, this appointment had seemed like a good idea; quick mental check-up, get the all-clear, life would go back to normal. But after this morning's disastrous debriefing, he was so angry he couldn't think straight.

As it turned out, that wasn't a problem. Dr. Heightmeyer liked to talk, he soon realized…and she was full of opinions about him. "I'm concerned that you're holding a lot of anger against Major Lorne."

"You could say that," Parrish muttered, knowing it didn't matter if he agreed or not.

"Do you hold him responsible for his actions on M3X-474?"

Oh, he held him responsible for his actions all right, but not for M3X-474; he wasn't an idiot. He held Lorne responsible for this morning. It was typical Lorne behavior—all friendly and dependable and respectful to your face, and then laughing about you behind your back. He couldn't wait to hear Jensen laughing about this one in the hallways. And he was sure he would—this kind of story would get around. Hell, it was already in all of their records.

Heightmeyer was still talking when he tuned back in. "Beckett's report agrees. And I'm sure the Major feels sorry for what happened. Has he apologized to you yet?"

"Sure."

"That's good. That's important. You two need to work together, so it's important not to hold grudges. You need to talk openly about your feelings, work out your problems," she explained patiently.

Great. Girlie-talk. As if the marines didn't already call him Flower Child and laugh like it was an original-fucking-thought every time he walked past. And talking about his feelings was sure to go over big with all the self-important mathematicians, astrophysicists, and rocket scientists he worked with. Whenever he was in the lab it felt like he might be the only person in this galaxy with only one PhD. Nobody really cared what he was working on, what he did in the field. McKay practically slept through most debriefings, and the biology department was more interested in Schmitz' samples and videos than Parrish's plants. In the greater scheme of things, he wasn't the first person called on to save the city every week—he got that. But trying to bond with Lorne is what had started the jokes in the first place, and the least he'd expected was some respect from his own teammates.

When Parrish snapped back to the "conversation," Dr. Heightmeyer had moved in a different direction. "…not mentioning the sexual assault in his report. You also spoke to Dr. Weir about this…and, I would assume, Major Lorne. I'm concerned that you were trying to repress an important incident that had an impact on all the members of your team."

Oh yes, because the major's goddamn high horse needed a booster seat. Parrish rolled his eyes but Dr. Heightmeyer didn't see it, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, deep in thought.

"You were put into a situation where you were powerless. Were you trying to regain a feeling of control by controlling the information after the fact? By deciding who did and didn't know what you went though?"

Parrish's teeth clacked together. She couldn't be serious. Surely, she couldn't be serious. This wasn't about him, this was about the son of a bitch who was a friend one moment and a complete dick as soon as you put him in a room with other soldiers. Lorne was the one with the goddamn problem, as she would figure out as soon as she sat him in this cold, hard chair.

"Dr. Weir mentioned that she's approved Major Lorne's recommendation for two weeks of intensive self-defense training. I think this is a good idea for you. You should use this opportunity to work on your confidence, feel empowered again. You'll be spending more time with your teammates; that should really help bring all of you together–"

Parrish stood up and left.



~



Mueller heard the door open behind him and caught Lorne's reflection in the mirror. "Keep going, Parrish," he instructed, "50 more."

Parrish looked up and also spotted Lorne. "Sir, yes, Sir," he panted and redoubled his efforts, kicking the gym bag harder. Mueller clapped the tall scientist on the shoulder before stepping away.

"Welcome back, Major," he saluted crisply. "I take it the negotiations were successful?"

Lorne rubbed his dust-covered hair, sending a shower of dirt onto his sleeves. "I wish, but no. Weir's trying, but they're really sticking on the tattooing point. We're picking up some food rations and heading back tomorrow. Maybe we can bribe them with sugar. Or marshmallows."

Mueller shrugged. Like he had any clue how to deal with aliens.

"How's it coming?" Lorne asked, jerking his chin at the rest of the room.

"Everything's on schedule," he reported proudly. "Should only take another week. Parrish isn't a problem—he's got some natural athleticism. Schmittie…he's getting there. Chernowski's a real good trainer. Dragging him through it by his hair, but he'll get on."

"Hmph," Lorne sighed, sizing up the scientists. "Keep pushing him. We don't wanna go out there with any weak links."

"Yes, Sir," Mueller agreed. He'd been against bringing scientists on this mission since the very first expedition left Earth. No matter how many times McKay and Zelenka saved the city, they just proved the exception. Nothing would convince Mueller it was a good idea taking scientists off-world. Better to leave them locked safely away at home and damn their grumbling. Leave the dangerous work to the professionals, and fuck you, Colonel.

Mueller cleared his throat and reminded himself to shut up.

Lorne was frowning at the room. Mueller turned and followed his gaze to where Chernowski was trying to teach Schmitz how to block an overhead blow. The young marine's calm litany of encouragement was accompanied by repeated taps to Schmitz' forehead.

"Come on Schmittie. No. No. Again. Like this, under the wrist, knuckles up. See? Again. Again. No, slow it down, Schmittie, relax. Watch one more time. Okay, now higher. Faster. Again. Better. Almost. Almost, come on."

Lorne smirked. "Is he gonna remember any of that tomorrow?"

"I'll make sure he does, Sir," Mueller grunted.

His commanding officer looked suddenly worn down. "Still, we can't do our gig without them. And we're not going until they're ready. All right, Lieutenant. Excellent work." With a final frown at Parrish and Schmitz, Lorne opened the door and stepped out.

Mueller watched Schmitz for another moment, then called without turning around, "20 more, Parrish. Hup! Hup!"

"You suck," Parrish yelled and counted down each kick aloud.



~



"What happened to two weeks?" Schmitz moaned, collapsing onto the locker room bench. Two weeks had been over four days ago, and he was still reporting to the gym every morning at "oh-eight-hundred hours" to get his ass handed to him by professional soldiers. And yes, he recognized the irony in that statement; he used to think the military was what people did who couldn't hold down a profession, but getting tossed to the mat at least 50 different ways in one afternoon had convinced him that maybe the military wasn't as easy as he'd thought.

But he had a profession already. He didn't need to enlist in the Marine Corps just to do his job. He wasn't even supposed to be on this team for God's sake. He'd come out here to do what he did best—lab work. Dissection. Analysis. He didn't have a single day of field-experience in his life, yet he was the one they'd shipped off-world to bring back fucking fecal samples and photographs: things he couldn't even work with on the other five days of the week.

What would be so bad about shooting an occasional deer or something?—give him something he could actually study, get inside of. The official answer involved making assumptions about sentience. But unofficially, somebody had probably seen the movie Alien and didn't want them bringing anything living back to the city. Ha. Irony again: it wasn't the animals that bled acid out here.

He'd only agreed to this dirty, smelly, dangerous assignment because Dr. Rodney McKay had asked him. Chosen him to follow in his footsteps, to go off-world with a Gate Team. It was an honor and a half—the only leg-up he had on his fellow scientists. Those that were brave enough would give an arm and a dissertation to go traipsing around the galaxy. And those that were timid, well, they thought Schmitz was some kind of hero, risking his life for science.

But was that mantle worth this? It was worth the slime and the laughing soldiers and the occasional laceration—even the scar on his hand was fading, and the searing pain was long gone. But this...training for weeks in a smelly gym, getting beat down by highly-trained professionals morning to night, being judged on his physical inadequacies, having them pointed out over and over, and with no end in sight now they were past the two week deadline.... "God, it's not worth this," he whispered, banging his head on a locker door.

"What?" Parish called from the other end of the room.

"Hey, Parrish," Schmitz said, throwing his shoes into the locker. "C'mere. I wanna ask you something."



~



They were getting better, Lorne admitted to himself as he pulled the gymnasium door shut. Even Schmitz was doing a passable job. But it still wasn't good enough. Lorne tried to shake the tension from the back of his neck—he always got tense whenever he stopped by the gym these days.

"Major Lorne, I'm glad you're still here," a voice said behind him. He turned and saw Dr. Weir coming down the hall.

"Yes, Ma'am," he acknowledged politely.

"I wanted to check in with you, find out how the training is going."

She paused, long enough to let him say, "It's going well—" and then she carried on, something clearly on her mind.

"It's been three weeks now. I'm concerned that it's taking so long. You initially requested two weeks for training. I had hoped to have your team active by now."

Lorne frowned, getting defensive. "They're improving, Ma'am, but Parrish and Schmitz aren't ready yet. Mueller and Chernowski are doing a great job—it's not their fault."

"I'm sure it isn't," she answered sternly. "I'm not interested in blame, Major. I'm more interested in getting your team back into the field. The Daedalus will arrive next week, and we have much fewer samples processed to send back this month. We're here to perform a mission, and I'd like that mission to make some progress soon."

"I understand your concern, Ma'am. We're doing the best we can—all of us—to get back into the field. But my primary responsibility has to be their safety."

Weir tossed her head, ignoring his argument. "What's worrying me is the morale of the scientists, Major. Keeping your team grounded in the city is sending the message that we don't need them here; that their jobs aren't important. And they are."

This was obviously a contentious issue for her. "Of course," Evan agreed, trying to soothe her irritation. "I'm taking morale very seriously. I think the team's spirit is still high. They know it'll only be a few more days. Guaranteed."

Dr. Weir opened her mouth to say something, paused, and forced a smile instead. "I'm glad to hear it, Major," she announced, and turned back the way she'd come.

Lorne waited by the door for a minute, cursing the awkward position he was in. Getting flack from his superior because his teammates weren't performing well—and not being able to fix it—was only marginally better than being at fault himself. He made sure Weir had a good lead on him before heading in the same direction to rejoin Bates's team patrolling the West Pier.



~



"Get that end, will you?"

Chernowski obliged, tearing apart the velcro strips on the other side of the mat and helping Mueller roll it across the gym floor. It had been another long day, and his shoulders were killing him, but whining about it to Mueller was just wasted breath. He hadn't felt this sore since boot camp and he wasn't even the one in training. Schmitz must really be taking it hard. Which reminded him....

Mueller scowled at him when the younger marine stopped rolling. "Hey, pick it up, Chernowski. I wanna get outta here."

"Yeah," he agreed, "me, too."

"Then pick it up and let's go."

"No, I mean I wanna get out of this room. Out of this city. This is getting ridiculous—"

"Don't even," Mueller snapped, straightening up. "Just roll the goddamn mat."

From zero to mad in no seconds flat, Chernowski stood up and squared off against his ranking officer. He tried to dial down his reaction, but in the past week he'd lost all patience with Mueller and his stubborn silences. Ignoring the problem wasn't fixing it, and might even be one of the reasons they were trapped in this gym, in the two-week training session that wouldn't die.

"Fuck you," he snapped back. "I'm serious, this is ridiculous. And I'm gonna talk about it, and for once, you're gonna listen."

Mueller crossed his arms, not giving an inch.

"You know what Lorne's doing is crazy—"

"We don't know anything!" Mueller growled stubbornly.

"Shut up!" Chernowski started pacing over the flat section of the mat, making sure Mueller couldn't finish the job without moving him first. "Basic training was a good idea, okay? I agree with that. But we've done basic. We finished that eight days ago! And he comes in and says he wants them to learn this advanced stuff...what the hell! Schmittie can't handle the advanced stuff; he's barely got the basics down! And Parrish says Schmittie's talking about quitting the team—"

"Figures," Mueller snorted.

"Hey! It's not his fault! Schmittie's paid his dues, all right? He's worked his butt off in here, but he's not built for the physical stuff, and that's just the way it is. I don't know how much harder we can push him before he quits, and the whole mission goes to hell."

"Schmittie spends too much time listening to what other people say," Mueller threw back at him.

"Like who? Who's telling him he has to run a seven-minute mile and disarm an enemy assailant in the dark?"

"Not Lorne. The other white coats. He's been listening to their whining and he's feeling sorry for himself."

Chernowski folded his own arms. "Parrish isn't trying to make him quit."

"Yeah, well, Parrish is the exception."

"What are you talking about?" Chernowski demanded, and took a step forward. "Right now. For once, I want you to explain what the hell you're talking about. I have no idea where you're coming from, man."

Mueller ground his teeth and looked around the room, scowling. Chernowski waited. And waited. It took a full 20 seconds for his ranking lieutenant to finally respond.

"Of course you don't get it. You don't know anything about what's going on in this city," Mueller muttered, starting to pace.

Chernowski got comfortable, waiting skeptically for enlightenment.

"You weren't here when it happened—you came in on the Daedalus with Parrish and Schmitz. You missed the Wraith invasion—"

"Yeah, I've heard all about that already, thanks," Chernowski drawled.

"Did you hear about Colonel Everett?" Mueller snapped.

"He came in through the Gate just before, right? He led the reinforcements." Mueller sneered at him and that was...that was a new expression on Mueller. Chernowski blinked, surprised.

"Yeah, reinforcements. By the time he got here, we were already gone. Everyone had evacuated to the Alpha Site; soldiers, scientists...only the chiefs stayed behind, setting the self-destruct. But then Everett showed up with Major Lorne and the rest of the 12th Platoon, and he rescinded the evacuation. He brought us all back to Atlantis—and not just the soldiers, but civilians, too. Said holding the city was the top priority, and the scientists could at least carry guns and act as decoys if it came down to it. So when the Wraith teleported in, it wasn't just trained soldiers they were hunting, but panicked civilians."

Chernowski's hands went cold and the hair on his arms stood up. Decoys? That was...that was fucked up.

Mueller was staring at the wall now, his hands in fists at his sides. "We were sweeping the city, trying to locate the Wraith. My patrol got wiped out. Just me, no one to watch my back. I'm damned lucky Lorne found me. Do you know what he was doing? He was leading a half-dozen scientists to the puddlejumper bay so he could get them outta the city before the Wraith ate 'em. Just him, no backup, and the city crawling with space-vampires."

Mueller spun around, his face bright red, and snarled, "We lost a lot of men. And a lot of civilians. But that's who Colonel Everett was. The bastard's lucky he got put out of commission in the attack—he'd have been court-martialed for sure. Nobody talks about him, 'cause they'd all rather forget it happened, but the scientists…. They've figured out that they're not the priority around here, and that we'll sell them out whenever the city's in danger. That makes us the enemy," Mueller slapped his chest hard.

Chernowski's skin was crawling and his mouth had gone dry. He swallowed a few times before he could speak. "I get along great with Parrish."

"Parrish can think for himself; he isn't a sheep like Schmitz. But even he's heard all about it by now, and he feels it, the tension. Everybody does, even the chiefs. This city's one big powder-keg, and you're better off keeping your mouth shut or you'll set it off."

"But our team...we're doing science missions. Just science. Doesn't that prove that we're on their side?"

Mueller snorted, "It's politics, that's all it is."

"What?"

"The only reason our team goes off-world is to make that point. Why else would the chiefs have sent us out so early?—with the city still rebuilding, the shields at half-strength, Atlantis unsecured and vulnerable.... We got pushed off-world to try to smooth things over with the civilians. Just a goddamn olive branch. It doesn't matter if we accomplish anything or not."

Chernowski didn't like the sound of that. "Lorne says we're looking for cures to AIDS and stuff," he protested.

Mueller actually laughed at him, "You believe everything you're told?" Chernowski's shoulders snapped back and his chin went up. "Lorne toes the company line. He knows what's going on and he's keeping his mouth shut. Hell, the major's actually keeping 'em safer by shutting us down." Mueller shrugged. "This mission was screwed before you even got here. It's not your fault, so there's no point worrying about it."

And that was all he was going to say, the young marine could tell. Mueller stood there, patiently condescending. Waiting for Chernowski to come around and see it his way.

But he wouldn't. It made no sense—except for the parts where it explained everything—but he couldn't accept that. It was just Mueller standing in the sun too long. It was exaggeration, paranoia...although he remembered a few conversations cut short after somebody mentioned the invasion. Or Everett. And none of the scientists actually met his eyes when he patrolled the halls. He'd thought they didn't want to break his concentration but...you know what?

It. Didn't. Matter.

He was on a Gate Team, and he'd be damned if he was gonna let that team fall apart. He'd made it to the Pegasus Galaxy. He was a goddamn astronaut out here, and he wasn't about to be grounded because of some bad blood from six months ago.

"You know what, Mueller? Fuck it. Fuck you, fuck your paranoid conspiracies, fuck your ghosts, and Colonel-fucking-Everett. We need to deal with what's happening to our own team, right now. So I need an answer about Schmitz, 'cause I don't want him quitting this team."

And that clearly wasn't what Mueller had expected him to say. The older marine looked almost impressed. "Yeah, okay," he finally nodded. "Go easy on him. They don't need to know this advanced stuff anyway. There's no point pushing him."

Chernowski nodded back, grateful, but also pissed off about everything he hadn't known. That nobody had told him, because certain people didn't talk until you bashed their heads against the walls. Fuck the mats, fuck Mueller, fuck everyone. He stepped over the roll of gym mats and headed to the locker room for a shower.



Part III