Chapter 5 - Certain Recompense
All things must come to an end, including the good, the bad, and the downright insane. The night was no longer as young as it had been and the lolly, candy, chocolate, whatever supply was looking extremely poor by now. Of course, there would still be enough to last the rest of the night.
You don’t put Rodney McKay in charge of ordering sweets for nothing, right? Now I must step aside and give Ford some much needed fictime as airtime is limited. Poor guy.
“Dudes!” Luke Skywalker announced as he entered the mess hall.
A few able bodied souls waved. Ford shook his head. “Dudes, I am disgusted. Weight Wraithers would have a field day with you.”
“Weight Wraithers?” snorted the ghost of James Bond.
Aiden rolled his eyes. “Yes, like Weight Watchers. Now am I going to have to put you all on a diet?”
Everyone exchanged nervous glances. This is not what one would expect from a weirdo hopped up on enzyme. Of course, the only real hopping going on was in a secluded part of the city but I’m not going to elaborate for the sake of ratings. Ford bounced over to the last remaining bowl of sweets and threw them out the window.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” howled the ghost of James Bond, echoed across the universe, joined by those realising they were out of Halloween treats.
It is common knowledge that chocolate addicts are far, far more deadly when cornered than enzyme addicts. Even though Ford was fairly strong even he was backing away from the sea of dilated pupils approaching him.
“The first hour’s usually the hardest…” Aiden considered and sprinted away.
“I’ll meet your two chocolate cashews and raise you four. I’ve got a good hand tonight,” bluffed a man wearing only a chiselled military expression and fluffy pink – yes I reveal now they are pink – slippers.
Hermiod chuckled deviously, well as deviously as an Asgard can do when they’ve lost the first few rounds of reverse strip poker. He informed his competitor flatly, “That is most unwise, Colonel Caldwell.”
Scowling at his cards, the Daedalus’ commander failed to see the wink the Asgard directed at his grinning girlfriend who was sitting behind Caldwell. Novak cleared her throat. “Can I get you two more chocolate cashews?”
John Sheppard didn’t know how he’d ended up with a carrot instead of a gun. There seemed to be one memory involving a battle with a pumpkin he’d offended by addressing as a vegetable instead of a fruit, but even that had a haze of uncertainty to it.
“You!” John growled.
Ford smiled in a manner not entirely similar to how a Kelownan eyes up a banana.
He leered, “Eheb ut setna.”
“Uh huh,” Sheppard said to this, clearly unimpressed. “Well I have something to tell you Ford. I’m a wizard!”
He brandished the carrot, cackling as it lengthened and shimmered into an activated blue lightsaber. John grinned in that same infuriating way that seemed to appease the many Sheppard fangirls.
“I see your carrot is as big as mine,” Ford noted calmly. “We have no option other than to fight.”
They may well have slain each other had not at that precise moment Teyla the she-wolf came bounding around the corner and howled hungrily at them.
“I know, Colonel, this is heavy. Fight you another time?”
“Sure, Ford. Don’t forget to send a Christmas card.”
Both men bolted in different directions from each other.
Teyla shook her head and muttered under her breath, “Men!”
After some consideration – choosing between the smell of unexploded pumpkins and the smell of a human is somewhat difficult after all – the Athosian ran after John growling the customary mating call.
Sheppard tried running faster. After looking back at his pursuer, he decided there could be nothing disastrously wrong with running towards the ah…bundle of fur…or bundle of sex or whatever Teyla had turned into. He slicked his hair with some back up gel he kept in his pocket.
“So this thing about dating team members,” he began but didn’t get to say anything else for the duration of the night.
Atlantis found that eternal night didn’t really suit it and didn’t try to escape sunrise. The plight, it seemed, was over and now it was safe for all Wraith, Genii and innocent pumpkins to cross the gate room threshold. But the day would be forever marked in calendars with pictures of scenery, forever feared. Halloween was not to be meddled with.
A few of the survivors (that is, conveniently more popular characters minus Zelenka for unknown reasons) clustered in Elizabeth’s office all looking somewhat pained.
“I think we should forget last night ever happened,” John suggested, rubbing his eyes wearily.
Ronon growled from his position on the floor, “What last night?”
“You are in need of mourning, Ronon,” Teyla pointed out, one corner of her lips lifting. “And John, if I may say so, I would not like to forget last night.”
The Colonel tugged on the collar of his jacket uncomfortably. Adding to this female conspiracy, Elizabeth chuckled, “I would rather like to keep the image of Janus disappearing down the toilet in my head.”
“Hallucinations,” decided John.
There was no way a carrot could become a lightsaber, no matter how much he harboured a secret desire to be either Luke Skywalker or Harry Potter (shh tell no one).
“Right, sure, hallucinations.” Laura nodded solemnly.
But there was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes and she seemed intent on exploring Carson’s neck. Thus with this mysterious Halloween night explained away as Sheppard’s delusions, the meeting was adjourned.
Despite all attempts at escaping one Athosian, John Sheppard was later to insist that even though 99% of that night had been hallucination, the rather insatiable she-wolf was as real as real could be…meanwhile, Rodney and Elizabeth exchanged goofy grins and knew exactly what they’d be doing with Elizabeth’s replica costume of the Princess Leia slave outfit that night.
Yet that is another story. When they had gone, including a suggestively winking Dr McKay, gracing the office with much needed silence (ahh that blissful thing to soothe all hangovers), Atlantis’ leader decided such a recreational night would never need to be communicated to anyone back on Earth.
“It could have been an interesting report…” Weir mused to herself. “Atlantis compromised by special spooky punch, mythical creatures...”
“Dr Weir?” a meek voice asked from the doorway.
“Come in, Radek.”
Elizabeth regarded his two front teeth carefully for a moment and wondered if they’d been that large previously. The Czech scientist wrung his hands anxiously and managed to admit in a rush, “I may have done something foolish last night.”
Elizabeth snorted, a clash of only half believable memories flying past her inner eye.
She pointed out practically, “You aren’t alone.”
“Ano, but Dr Weir…” Zelenka mumbled, “I think I impregnated an Ancient.”
At first, only silence filled the office. Then Dr Weir smiled and nodded as one memory paused long enough for her to examine it. She shuffled her papers, now considerably less concerned than she had been, and mused, “Ah. I thought she was chasing you. She obviously caught you then.”
Two of Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose in perfect unison.
“The chasing was not without certain recompense,” Radek elaborated.
The expedition leader herself had experience with that sort of recompense and settled for an understanding nod. She pointed out, “You do realise, Radek, that all this is your fault.”
The scientist shrugged apologetically and then proceeded to ask if it was alright for his…girlfriend…to float about the city for a while. Elizabeth could hardly deny that request – it was more sensible than John’s request for his gun back from the kitchen.
For the next few hours, nothing disturbed Dr Weir’s sanctum – unless you count Katie Brown’s inexplicable shriek: “what do you mean your real name is Duncan MacLeod!?”
This story ends with baby turtles, as all good stories do.
One baby turtle rolled commando style from behind a lab bench. It held up one limb and shook it. The gesture meant all clear. Three other baby turtles appeared from their hiding spot, all sporting miniature hockey masks. Their hiding spot had provided a haven from the insanity of the humans.
A hunched figure adorned in a lab coat turned towards them, immediately withdrawing attention from any other activities.
“Was the mission successful, lads?”
The leader squeaked an affirmative. They were the elite of the elite, the baby mutant ninja turtles and they never failed a mission. Extremely profitable for their master, or rather extremely unfortunate for Atlantis, Operation Big Brother had been pulled off without a hitch. And it was just good luck on Carson Beckett’s part that the hidden cameras had been installed before the madness began.
The vampire smiled.
Meanwhile in the Milky Way Galaxy…
…a prior grumbled “oh no, not again” and then without further ado spontaneously combusted.