Dr. McKay was about to get his ass chewed out but good, and him being in the 'gate room would make John's completion of this act that much easier. John looked around, seeking that familiar, sleek head amongst the various small groups standing and sitting in the open space. Someone who didn't speak the languages being uttered in the room would've taken the scene for one of congenial conversation when in fact most everyone was hissing and growling, taking verbal bites out of each other as though Rodney'd been giving lessons to them.

After a moment, John spotted Rodney all the way across the room from him. The physicist had two of his assistants cornered and appeared to be dressing them down with his usual vigor. The Major walked around and through different groups, ignoring several pleas to mediate arguments.

"McKay," He snapped, drawing Rodney's attention away from his victims long enough for them to escape.

Rodney glared at John and opened his mouth to say something most assuredly caustic when the now-familiar proximity klaxon sounded. Everyone, Rodney and John included, stood quiet and still as a high-pitched whine hummed over the speakers, winding around the klaxon's rhythmic thumping. A few seconds later, five loud, screeching explosions detonated above the city, against the protective shield. The klaxon fell silent in the aftermath of the explosions and conversation slowly resumed.

"I hate that. Have I mentioned how much I hate that?" Rodney spat, resuming his displeased glare at John. "And what do you want?"

John rubbed a hand over his face, his nerves still tight after the klaxon's warnings. "Showers."

Rodney blinked and then sniffed deeply. "Yes, you could use one. Feel free; I believe your quarters' amenities include acceptable facilities."

"You got Weir to agree to cut off the hot water to the soldiers' quarters!" John shouted, stepping forward to back Rodney into the corner formerly occupied by cowering scientists. "We'd bathe, but we'd all get frostbite!"

Rodney rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. "So what? A little cold water won't hurt you, and not heating the city's bathwater is saving enough power to allow us to dial the 'gate more often--like more than twice a week."

"So you think that making your security forces miserable is a good way to cut power?" John asked harshly. "Maybe if everyone hates living here enough, we'll all just stay on the other side of the 'gate one day?"

"I never thought I'd say this, but cut out the drama, Major," Rodney muttered. "And advise your men to take their showers mid-day, preferably after spending a few minutes standing out on a sunny balcony."

"That's supposed to make them feel better about taking cold showers?" John inquired.

Rodney shrugged. "It worked for us."

John's scowl twisted into confusion. "Huh?"

"Do you ever read those cute little reports Weir passes around to us?" Rodney asked shortly. "We--the scientists--stopped using hot water last week, to see if doing so would cut power usage significantly."

"Oh," John murmured softly.

Rodney began to continue berating John, but suddenly lost steam. "Look, Major, I know it's not ideal...but it's the best we've got right now. Power usage in the city isn't holding as steady as we'd predicted; there are just too many people here. I promise you that when we have the power to make long, hot showers a given, they will be."

John let himself slump against the wall behind him. "Yeah, I know." He did know, more than either of them was saying. If it was just the Earth-based crew, they wouldn't be in this situation. If he'd been asked, prior to the Wraith arriving at Atlantis, which group in the city would prove most problematic, John would've said the civilian scientists. As it turned out, they were the least of his troubles--apparently spending years working at Cheyenne Mountain, or at least hearing stories of the place, had taught them well. The military contingent wasn't bad either since many of them had served in at least one conflict situation.

The Athosians, however, were a near-constant pain in the ass. The living situation in Atlantis was tenuous; while space wasn't at a premium, almost everything else was. It wouldn't have been such a problem if that power shortage hadn't encompassed the stargate. The Athosians, though well-accustomed to Spartan living and little technology, had spent generations considering the stargate their own personal transportation system. The very idea that they weren't able to access it when they wished rankled the entire group, and nothing anyone said could meliorate their disgruntlement. They wanted to go freely between planets, and at the moment very little was less possible.

Power issues aside, the city just wasn't secure enough to risk opening the thing. With the Wraith waiting overhead for the first sign of weakness, any lapse in their security could be catastrophic. John had visions of malicious invaders, weird artifacts waking up and vindictive Genii trying to get back at them. Hearing dozens of stories about the many mishaps back on Earth hadn't made John feel any better.

John was starting to think he was in over his head--well, more so than usual. None of his training had included the kind of conflict resolution needed to keep the various cliques in Atlantis from their constant bickering and arguing. He'd have thought that in a city the size of Atlantis, everyone could've just avoided each other. It had crossed his mind more than once that dealing with petty civilian infighting was more Weir’s job than his, but in their current situation he guess they were all supposed to multitask.

Maybe they would, if the Wraith weren't going on strafing runs four times a day. The randomly spaced tests of the city's shield wracked every person's last nerve, each of them wondering if the shield would fail them. No one got more than a few hours' sleep without being rudely woken by the sound of a warning klaxon, followed by the Wraith darts' weapons. If they ever found a way to kill the Wraith, John was going to personally eliminate every one of them on the hive ships above Atlantis, just to avenge the loss of sleep he'd suffered.

•••

Carson saw them coming just in time to jump back and avoid being flattened by three adolescent Athosians chasing each other around the perimeter of the ‘gate room. He leaned against the wall he’d encountered during his retreat and took a deep breath, hoping it would calm him down a little. Not that he was agitated, no.

He was fucking stressed out. As the Chief Medical Officer, his primary responsibility was the health and well-being of everyone in Atlantis. Since the evacuation of the Athosians, that number had increased dramatically, yet somehow Carson hadn’t received any more supplies or staff. The mystery behind such shortages was no mystery at all, and Carson couldn’t begrudge Dr. Weir his plight; no one had what they needed, and he’d signed on to this mission with the understanding that he might find himself in such a situation.

That information didn’t do much to make Carson’s job easier. Telling himself that he wanted to do this job didn’t make the Athosians like the military, or the scientists respect anyone but themselves. Carson suspected that such issues were really Dr. Weir’s domain, but as the primary care physician for several hundred city-bound humans, he ended up mired in it all the same. The stress pressing down on everyone was beginning to take its toll and Carson was pretty sure that they hadn’t yet encountered a civilization willing to trade them for large quantities of antacids and tranquilizers.

Dr. Heitmeyer was, Carson thought, in a worse position than he was; as the only mental health professional on board she was in charge of keeping people sane enough not to be a danger to their fellow residents. Carson had approved her position on the mission; she was well-qualified to deal with post-traumatic stress, nonhuman psychology, and adjustment disorders. She was also one person, and a single individual couldn’t possibly handle this many edgy, paranoid people without significant difficulties coping herself.

In his less charitable moments, Carson considered the possibility of sending the Athosians back to the mainland and letting them fend for themselves. He knew, objectively, that they weren’t the only problem in Atlantis, but they were certainly key in upsetting the delicate chemistry of the mission personnel. His scientists and soldiers didn’t always play nice and friendly, but they knew how to work together and understood the overarching goals of their presence here. The Athosians didn’t have the same goals or desires, and unfortunately their culture didn’t exactly lend itself to blending in with the mission. They wanted to settle somewhere and live out relatively peaceful lives, avoiding the Wraith if at all possible. It was a fine goal, and one Carson understood, but not one he could choose for himself. There were more important things at stake than finding a pleasant planet to live on and seeing the next generation born.

So the Athosians’ gratitude at being evacuated to Atlantis was quickly diminishing in the face of discomfort and discontent. They were not acclimated to dwelling inside the city, without free access to the mainland, and they disliked it intensely. Their leaders wanted access to the stargate so they could visit one of their trading partners, or maybe just relocate to another friendly planet at least temporarily.

The very mention of opening the stargate made every Earth-based human cringe. Rodney’s scientists screamed about the power drain, claiming that the city couldn’t afford to just open the ‘gate on command until they’d resolved the power usage issue. The military warned of the security risk; with the Wraith overhead, held back by a shield they couldn’t guarantee would hold, any breach of security in Atlantis could be fatal. Even though their supplies could use the relief that the Athosians’ departure would bring, no one was willing to accept the risks inherent in having them go somewhere else.

Needless to say, the Athosians were resentful at having their freedom curtailed. Even Teyla, who was normally level-headed and reasonable, was snapping angrily at Dr. Weir and Major Sheppard. The Major hadn’t helped any when he’d assigned a small contingent of Marines to the ‘gate controls after he caught Halling poking around them. Teyla had accused the major of holding the Athosians prisoner—a charge he didn’t bother to validate in any way. He simply walked away, rifle in hand—practically daring her to stop him.

Still, Carson was even more worried about Rodney. His friend was working ‘round the clock to improve Atlantis’s security, constantly running simulations on their power usage and the shield’s protective capabilities. Every time one of his staff found a way to make the city more efficient, a cheer swept through their laboratories. Carson was appreciative of their efforts, although he did wish they could find a way to make hot water more plentiful. The downside of all their efforts, however, was that Rodney wasn’t sleeping very much. He’d lost weight, due to the fact that his work managed to distract him from whatever food got brought his way, and it was only Carson’s threat to Zelenka involving a length of plastic tubing and a handful of hypodermic needles that got Rodney’s staff to force-feed him a couple of power bars here and there. Carson didn’t want to have to treat Rodney’s hypoglycemia on a daily basis, and since the man refused to let Carson make sure he was taking care of himself, the doctor found himself bullying Rodney’s staff into taking on the responsibility.

They couldn’t force him to sleep, however, and Carson was still considering lacing some power bars or coffee with tranquilizers, just to get the man to rest. Maybe a good night’s sleep would ease some of the lines carving their way across Rodney’s face, or take away a little of the electric tenseness that had his body on edge. Rodney was short-tempered and irritable by nature, but under these circumstances he’d become downright unbearable, always snapping and barking at his staff—and anyone else who got close enough. At the rate he was going, Rodney alone would end up doubling Kate’s workload.

•••

Rodney pushed back from his desk and rubbed his eyes, wishing that someone would develop computer screens that didn’t make his corneas ache after just twenty-nine straight hours of staring at damningly depressing data. His vision was blurry and he had a troubling pain just behind his nose that wrapped around his brain like a vise. His shoulders hurt, his back was a wreck, and his hands were trembling.

It was, he decided, time for a short break. Rodney knew that when he couldn’t remember the last time he ate, it was time to eat yet again. Under normal circumstances he was the last person in the known universe to forget food, but the current circumstances were anything but normal.

He stood up and looked over at the current staff, noting that their informally-arranged shifts had changed while he was working. What appeared to be third shift was now attempting to decipher schematics of another of Zelenka’s solar panels in the hope that it could be repaired or rerouted to provide additional power to the city. No matter how well-designed, any mechanical thing left alone for ten thousand years was going to have some disuse issues—Rodney was quietly amazed that the stargates themselves always seemed to work as well as they did. When he had more time, he was going to prove correct his theory that they were always working, constantly correcting minor damage done to their infrastructure so that they didn’t malfunction and send people to the great nowhere of space travel hell. He suspected that it had to do with a constant, though small, trickle of electricity running through the ‘gates. The city’s shields worked for more than 10,000 years without failing, but they were on all the time. The rest of the city’s mechanical parts worked to different extents. They’d gotten water running, lights turned on and the city itself to surface… but the city also bit them in the ass sometimes by not working precisely as it should have. Age had treated Atlantis well, but not perfectly.

Of course, Rodney didn’t have that time to spare; he was consumed with trying to make work all the technology that didn’t seem to miraculously fix and integrate itself, like long-forgotten solar panels and desalinization units. He closed down his computer and turned to the door, only to find what looked like Carson Beckett standing in the entranceway. Rodney blinked a few times and refocused his eyes, confirming his original perception.

“Um…” He began, flipping through his mental dayplanner to see if he’d managed to forget some sort of meeting.

Carson smiled grimly. “Come on; I’ve kept back some supper for you,” He said, gesturing for Rodney to follow him, and wasn’t that just like Antarctica, when Carson would get a tray full of what Rodney liked best and they’d share it in one of their labs, kibitzing over their monotonous yet strangely exciting days?

As Rodney silently followed Carson down the hall, he was struck again by how much he missed his time in Antarctica. It was, in its own way, the pinnacle of his professional contentment. He’d had a plethora of Ancient technology to study, and no Russians or seedy US operatives breathing down his neck. The food was good, the climate ruthlessly controlled and the company more or less stellar, provided he avoided most everyone but Carson and Dr. Weir.

“So I’m guessing you haven’t eaten lately,” Carson said conversationally as they wound their way to the residential area. “Seeing as how you’re barely walking upright, much less in a straight line.”

“I forgot,” Rodney said, a little too muzzy from overwork to bother denying the truth. “And I think I did eat this morning. No caffeine, though, because someone managed to get my staff to hide all of it.”

Carson’s expression turned serious for a moment, before fading back into nonspecific exhaustion. “You know it makes you anxious and paranoid, Rodney—two things you’ve got in spades anyway. Besides, you yourself complained of stomach pains just last week, and caffeine isn’t going to help them go away.”

Rodney sighed as Carson chided him—again—for not taking adequate care of himself. They’d reached Carson’s quarters and Rodney leaned against the wall while Carson opened the door. “I’ve heard this before, Beckett…and I’m going to say the same thing I always say: if we all die it won’t matter, and if we all live, I’ll take time off as soon as we find Pegasus Galaxy’s best day spa. I’ll even spring for a pedicure.”

Carson chuckled at the image of Rodney doing anything at a spa and ushered the man into his quarters. Rodney immediately took a seat at Carson’s small table, smiling happily at the sight of MREs and jell-o. “Who did you blow to get this stuff?” He asked as he reached for a still-warm MRE, dumping it into a nearby bowl. Carson slid into his own chair and began his meal, albeit with somewhat less gusto.

“No one,” Carson said, his voice underpinned by a note of smugness. “I’m the Chief Medical Officer.”

Rodney’s face morphed into the perfect expression of sarcasm. “Which translates into ‘Chief Drug Dealer’. I’ll rephrase the question: What did you trade for the MREs, morphine or amphetamines?”

Carson let himself laugh again, enjoying the feel of it. “Neither, actually. Two of the Major’s soldiers gave them to me out of gratitude for ordering them on bed rest for the next three days—not that I asked for the MREs; they really do need the rest.”

Rodney shook his head and reached for the pitcher of water that accompanied supper. “If we don’t figure out something soon, we won’t need the Wraith—or anyone else—to kill us; we’ll be doing it ourselves.”

“I know,” Carson admitted, “A little too well, honestly. I keep thinking that I should’ve requisitioned more antipsychotics before we came over here.”

“Ah, yes. The thorazine solution,” Rodney intoned dryly. “Although there is that pesky drooling issue.”

Carson smirked and finished his supper, deciding to forego dessert and let Rodney have his jell-o. The stuff was almost offensive in its insipidness and Carson had never developed a taste for what he considered brightly colored agarose gel he’d put in a petri dish. “Chess?” He inquired as Rodney leaned back from the table, looking more relaxed than he had for days.

Rodney frowned as he thought about the offer. “Hmm. I’m not sure; with as little sleep as I’ve had, you might stand a chance of playing me to a draw.”

“Oh, don’t you worry; if it looks like you might falter I’ll be sure to throw the match,” Carson promised with a wink. Rodney smiled in remembrance of similar such conversations back in Antarctica—including the very first one, where Rodney challenged Carson to a game after a long day arguing about whether Carson would activate some small gizmo Rodney was studying. Carson lost, Rodney gloated, and the gizmo ended up being thoroughly broken, which made Carson laugh and Rodney scowl—and thus was born a fast and firm friendship, albeit one challenged by their current situation.

“White or black?” Rodney asked as he and Carson cleared the table and Carson brought out the simple chess set they’d used ever since that first, fateful game.

“Black,” Carson replied, “I’m feeling generous considering your weakened state.”

A companionable silence fell as the game began. Neither man had the energy or wherewithal to be analytical and aggressive so the game moved rather quickly. Rodney winced a few times as both he and Carson made elementary mistakes in strategy but he chalked it up to the fact that they were operating under extremely bad conditions. He seriously doubted Gary Kasparov would’ve been in championship form after so many months in Atlantis—especially after weeks of cold showers, no caffeine, and pitiably minuscule amounts of sleep.

Carson was silently debating whether to concede or try trapping Rodney’s queen when he looked up and saw that his opponent was asleep, his head nodding forward onto one propped-up hand. Smiling to himself, Carson stood and gently nudged Rodney’s shoulder, knowing that the man would ache like the devil’s donkey if he slept in a chair all night long.

“Wha?” Rodney mumbled, not entirely awake but also not as asleep as he’d like to be. He’d been playing chess, with Carson of course, but it was a little dark and the room was somewhat warmer than he preferred. Of course without any climate control the entire city was warmer than he’d have liked.

“Come on,” Carson murmured, guiding Rodney to his feet. “You should lie down; it’s better for your back.” In a testament to his utter exhaustion, Rodney let Carson lead him to the couch and push him down onto it.

Rodney managed to get his boots undone and off by the time Carson found a pillow and blanket. He curled up on the couch, asleep before Carson turned the lights off, sighing as his body finally found some rest.

Carson found his bed a few minutes later, happy to have finally gotten Rodney to get some sleep—even if it meant tiring the man out to the point of unconsciousness and then corralling him onto a couch. At least this way Carson was sure Rodney was actually resting and not sneaking back to work when no one was watching.

•••

Rodney walked into the meeting room a few minutes early, for once not completely dreading the coming arguments. Oh, he still felt it would be a monumental waste of his precious time and genius, at least this morning he wasn't so tired he felt at a disadvantage to Major Sheppard. Rodney absolutely despised ever being so compromised that he lost a verbal battle to anyone wearing a military uniform. It wasn't anything personal, most days anyway; for Rodney it was a matter of principle.

To Rodney's surprise, when Teyla walked in Halling accompanied her. His immediate conclusion was that the Athosians had reached some sort of breaking point and that today's meeting would be dominated by them being nasty to everyone else and Dr. Weir attempting to mediate. He wondered if he could sneak out early, since he had little to say about what the Athosians did so long as they didn't do anything to all the things that were his responsibility.

Which was pretty much everything, but that was beside the point.

John arrived just before Dr. Weir and Dr. Beckett, choosing a seat across from and slightly left of Rodney's own place. The Major looked alert and tense and Rodney hypothesized that he knew something about what was going to be said today. If it was enough to make Sheppard look worried, it was going to be something really irritating. Rodney revised his plans to escape before the meeting's conclusion, knowing that he'd kick himself if a decision was made he didn't like.

"Good morning," Dr. Weir said as she took her seat. "I know that we're all busy, so we'll keep this as short as possible. Let's start with your reports. Dr. Beckett?"

Carson passed his report to Dr. Weir and began speaking. "There's been little change since the last meeting; the Athosian children are still passing around a mild upper respiratory tract infection, but it hasn't affected the adults to speak of. The more important issue is stress--Dr. Heitmeyer and I have been treating an ever-increasing number of people for psychosomatic complaints. At the rate we're going, no one is going to be qualified for or capable of off-world missions."

Dr. Weir sighed while Major Sheppard snorted. Carson's face got cold and challenging. "It's not an exaggeration! How many of you want to talk about how often you've come to see me, unable to sleep or eat, your bodies aching from tension and overwork? Humans aren't built for this kind of situation."

"Sieges aren't known for their comfort," Dr. Weir snapped in an uncharacteristic voice. "Do you have any suggestions to improve the situation?"

"Sieges are, however, known for their epidemics," Carson shot back gruffly. "As for what to do... Besides the glaringly obvious, I strongly suggest we reconsider our scheduling and move everyone to shorter shifts with more downtime. We also need to improvise some sort of recreation--people are going stir crazy, always listening for the day's Wraith visitations."

"I don't think that flag football is going to solve our personnel issues," John muttered, rolling his eyes, "As much fun as it might be. We need to find a way out of this mess--and yes, Rodney, I know your people are doing every damned thing they can. So are mine, if you'll recall. I'm simply saying that the stress we're all under is pretty fucking self-evident."

Rodney could hear Carson grinding his teeth, even as Dr. Weir geared up to intervene or at the very least chastise John's language. "He's right," Rodney said, before Elizabeth could start on some meaningless administrative spiel. "What will reduce stress around here most is actually making progress on finding a way to get rid of our least favorite Rottweilers in the sky."

Carson seemed to back down a bit when Rodney spoke and Dr. Weir managed only a brief glare at Rodney for stepping in when she obviously wanted to do so herself. "Speaking of which, Dr. McKay?" She said, looking pointedly at him.

Rodney passed his report along. "Our last request to cut power usage was nearly universally ignored, with notable exceptions by the science and military staff," He began, doing his best not to glare at Teyla. "However we've estimated that we should have another set of solar cells online today and if successful they should take some of the strain off the matrix generators, allowing us to have a few basic amenities back."

"Like hot water?" John asked hopefully. Rodney nodded and continued.

"Hot water, although not unlimited amounts of it, as well as more power for lighting. Also, we've been mapping out some tech Zelenka and Kavanagh found and they look quite promising as power storage. Provided we can make them work and can generate surplus power, they could be used to gather enough energy to power the 'gate more effectively, instead of relying on line power from the generators," Rodney concluded.

"How long?" Dr. Weir inquired about the storage.

Rodney shrugged. "We've yet to actually make them work, which could be because they're nonfunctional or because we don't currently have the power capacity to make them do anything. I can't really give you a hard-and-fast timetable, but we should know if it's worth pursuing by the next meeting."

"Major?" Dr. Weir said, nodding her head towards the military representative.

"Nothing new to report here," John said flatly. "No one's getting along very well, everyone's antsy and to quote my men, 'it's hot, it stinks and the water's damn cold.' So far I haven't seen any signs of breakdown, though. Most of us are used to combat situations."

"How nice," Rodney muttered under his breath, drawing a smirk from Sheppard.

Up to this point, Teyla and Halling had been sitting silently, following along with the meeting without adding anything of their own. "We are not so content as you," She said now, before Dr. Weir could request her input. "We are not comfortable in Atlantis, quietly awaiting our fate."

Rodney and John groaned in unison, both knowing what was coming next. "We aren't waiting on our fates," John said with a sigh. "We're simply not rushing into something before we're ready. Right now, everyone here is safe."

"But for how long?" Teyla challenged. "Even if your technology holds, we will run out of food eventually. Athosians are not accustomed to being held against their will, and that is what you are doing when you refuse to let us use the stargate."

Dr. Weir obviously took exception to that particular accusation. "You aren't being held against your will," She countered angrily. "But we can't assure either your security or ours if you go through the 'gate right now. We can't even be sure we have enough power to use the 'gate frequently, not with so many other drains on our resources. We do, however, have more than enough supplies to last until our power situation is less critical, and until we devise a more secure way to leave this planet. Once we can minimize the risks to the city, 'gate travel will not be an issue."

Halling and Teyla were not mollified by Weir's speech. "The stargates are gifts from the ancestors," Halling began, his voice raised, "You cannot deny us access to them, not and still say that we are not held captive. We do not wish to stay trapped in this city, not when there are planets that would welcome us. You brought us here to save us from the Wraith, and we are grateful for that, but this is not our home and if we cannot return to the one we have made on the mainland, we wish to find yet another one somewhere else."

"So you're going to run away, just like that?" Rodney asked incredulously. "The first time the Wraith show up, you're going to leave? Is that what you did before? Or what you plan on doing every time they show up?"

"Rodney..." Dr. Weir murmured warningly. Rodney knew he wasn't helping, but he didn't care. If the Athosians were so eager to leave Atlantis, than their gratitude was shallow indeed. If they would bother to actually help out, the city would be easier to maintain for the simple fact that they would have more hands working on things. But no, they had to sit around whining about their lot in life. At least the Athosians were in their own galaxy and had their entire civilization around them. The same could not be said of the rest of them.

"At least let us trade with other worlds," Teyla demanded. "There are people whom you have contacted; they are trustworthy and would not endanger the city. Even you could use fresh supplies."

"We also need the power to run the city, not the 'gate," Rodney bit out. "Do you have any idea how tenuous our power situation is?"

"And not to be a killjoy," John said as soon as Rodney took a breath, "But there's a difference between people not trying to kill us the first time we meet them and those same people not being a threat to this city."

"You think so little of us, that we would fail to see such danger?" Teyla said icily.

This time, when Dr. Weir began to do her diplomatic thing, Rodney stayed silent. "I don't think that's what they're implying," She said evenly. "Perhaps we should evaluate our resources to determine the feasibility of more frequent trading missions. Dr. McKay, Major Sheppard, see what you can do with regards to increasing the number of off-world missions. We'll revisit the subject during our next meeting."

Rodney decided that the end of Elizabeth's speech was also the end of the meeting and quickly made his exit, Major Sheppard only a few steps behind him. Carson caught up with Rodney as he was heading for his lab. "Rodney?" Carson called out, stopping the man's quick pace.

"Yes?" Rodney asked, turning around.

"Sleep well?" The doctor asked casually.

Rodney grinned. "Yes, doctor, I slept a sound six hours, which as you well know is as much as I ever sleep at a given time." Carson nodded, accepting what he knew to be the truth. Six hours was more than he'd hoped for, to be honest.

"But next time we play chess, it's going to be after I've slept, not before," Rodney added as he turned to go to his laboratory. "Making me play when I'm about to keel over is cheating."

Carson shook his head and retreated to his own lab, happy that Rodney was in better spirits, at least for the moment.

Meanwhile, John stomped off to find Lieutenant Ford and brief the man as to the day's schedule. He was furious about the Athosians' attitude, but he knew there was little he could do about it. Even with Rodney agreeing with him in principle that extensive 'gate travel was a bad idea at the moment, John knew full well that if Dr. Weir decided to cave on the issue, they'd be going on more missions. They didn't have the staff or the energy to spare, but what did that matter? The Athosians were bored, which obviously mattered more than their collective safety. Teyla and Halling could paint it however they liked, but the bottom line was that they were bored and they wanted to go play on some other world where the Wraith weren't circling overhead.

John would've loved a vacation right about now, but he was mature enough to understand that there were more important things to do. Right now he had to find a way to make going off-world sound like an incredibly bad idea, in the hopes that between his pitch and Rodney's most assuredly apocalyptic report on power usage Dr. Weir would feel beholden to can the idea before something stupid and deadly happened.

"How'd the meeting go?" Ford asked when John found him. The man was way too bouncy and eager for a guy facing a very uncertain future and his youthful enthusiasm grated on John's last nerve. Maybe he should make Ford attend all the meetings he had to go to, and not just the few mission briefings in which he already participated.

"Civilians," John spat, "Are idiots." He gestured for Ford to follow him to Bates' office.

Ford smirked. "All of them, or just Dr. McKay?"

John managed to think a door open violently and Ford jumped back. "Right now? McKay is looking downright brilliant."

"Oookay," Ford hummed worriedly. "Should I ask?"

John gritted his teeth. "Ask me what? Do I think it's a good idea to go on field trips when there's a fucking army floating around above our heads, waiting to eat us for breakfast, lunch and dinner? Huh?" He growled as they entered Bates' office.

Ford winced. "Oh, right. The trading missions?"

John spun around. "Been talking to Teyla?"

"Yes," Ford admitted, somewhat confused as to why that was suddenly a problem.

"Well, stop it," John ordered. "Bates, where are the duty rosters?"

Lieutenant Ford stared at the back of Major Sheppard's head and wondered just what had happened at the meeting. Maybe Teyla would fill him in later.