TITLE: Gene Therapy

AUTHOR: Lady Ra

E-MAIL ADDRESS: LadyRa11@yahoo.com

RATING: NC-17

PAIRING: McKay/Sheppard, Clark/Lex

SUMMARY: Joolz wrote a book jacket blurb for me: "An engaging tongue-in-cheek romp from the Pegasus Galaxy to Comic Book World and back again. The characters manage to find time for sensual exploration in between alien attacks and geek-fests. Gene Therapy supplies everything you need for an afternoon of feel-good reading."

NOTES: This happens when Clark is 18, a senior in high school, but it doesn't follow canon at all. In my happy little universe, life continues in a happier tone following the end of season 1 in Smallville. And no red kryptonite and ship nonsense in my little fantasy world. Season 1 for Atlantis, as Ford's still with them.

EPISODE SPOILERS: None

DISCLAIMER: It all belongs to whoever the heck owns Stargate and Smallville. And that's not me. Except when I go off my meds, then I'm sure they belong to me. Because they do, right? (Chews nails nervously). I'm sure of it.

DISTRIBUTION: Area 52, Smallville Archive, Wraith Bait, and my home site: www.visionsofprettyboys.com.

FEEDBACK: Hmm. Let me see. Do I want people to write me and tell me they like my stories? Hmm. That's a tough one. <g>

THANKS: Thanks to my vunderbar betas. My stories are always so much better for their hard work. For this story that includes: Joolz, Jenn, Morr, Susan and Prentice.

Merry Christmas to my slash pals. They came up with the characters they wanted slashed and some of the situations. I just had to fit it all together.

A special thanks to digitalwave@livejournal.com for making this awesome banner!!

Smallville

Lex pulled up in front of the modest two-story home and furrowed his brow. He couldn't imagine why Clark had requested he join him here. Despite his confusion, Lex got out of his car, walked up the pathway to the house and rang the doorbell.

He heard the stomping of feet and the door was flung open to reveal a girl of four to five years of age, who stared up at him, her eyes open wide.

"Who is it, Dana?" Clark's voice called from within the house.

She made a perfect circle of surprise with her lips as if she'd completely forgotten she was supposed to do more than fling open the door and stare at whoever stood beyond it. Her eyes lit on his head, and she said, "Hey, mister, why donst you got no hair?"

Lex would make Clark pay for this.

Before Lex could come up with a proportional response appropriate for a five-year-old, Clark was there, picking the little girl up. "Dana," he gently scolded, "you can't just open the door. You need to look through the peephole."

She and Lex both looked at the peephole which, if she were on the ground, would be about two feet over the top of her head.

Clark grinned in defeat. "Or you can look out the window. You can't just open doors without knowing who's on the other side."

"Said the town's poster boy for safety?" Lex commented wryly. Not that he disagreed with Clark's words of wisdom. Especially in Smallville. After all, she'd flung open the door and a Luthor had been on the other side.

The little girl--Dana, Lex recalled from Clark's call--wiggled in Clark's arms until she was facing Lex. Then, craning her head up at Clark she said, like some determined little fiend, "Why donst he got any hair, Mr. Clark?"

Clark shot Lex an apologetic look, which in no way was getting him off the hook. After a few seconds' thought, Clark said, "He's bald, Dana. Just like I have dark hair and that makes me a brunet, you've got red hair which makes you a redhead, and he's got no hair, which makes him bald."

She stared at Lex again. A pregnant silence filled the air. Then, finally, when Lex thought he might have to let out a yell just to cut the tension, she shrugged and let out a simple, "Oh." Then she grinned shyly at him. "Can I touch it?"

Clark was now mouthing the word 'sorry' at him, a tortured look on his face. Fortunately, Lex's senses of equilibrium and humor were returning and he grinned back at Dana. "Sure." He shut the door behind him, and moved in close.

Clark held her as she reached out and touched his head. "It's so soft," she said in wonder.

Lex glanced up at his friend, saw he was looking back at him. Despite the fact that Dana was doing the touching, something passed between them. One of a thousand somethings that had been happening with increasing frequency over the last few months.

Lex wondered just how long it was going to take Clark to catch a clue.

Meanwhile, Dana was tugging at his sleeve. "Hey, mister, what's your name?"

"Lex. My name is Lex."

"You should call him Mr. Luthor," Clark said formally.

Lex shot him a look. "Please. Let's not. Mr. Luthor is my father."

Clark grinned. "Fine. Then call him Mr. Lex," he compromised.

She was staring at him again.

Lex stared right back. He didn't get to be with many children, so this was something of an event.

Her brow furrowed, which Lex found amusing on someone so small, and she asked for clarification, "You not Mr. Luthor?"

Lex shook his head, very clear on that.

She smiled happily and with the air of having successfully worked out a troubling problem, she announced, "Mr. Luthor is a…is a…" her mouth screwed up in thought, "is a poopy dumbhead."

"Dana!" Clark said, mortified. "You can't say that."

Lex started laughing. "Yes, she can. That's one of the most apt descriptions of my father I've heard." He scooped Dana out of Clark's arms, saying, "I think you and I are going to be great friends."

Clark grabbed his arm. "I don't want to hear the words 'stuff of legends' coming out of your mouth. I'd hate to think you say that to everyone," he said sternly, with just a hint of anxiety.

"Only you, Clark," Lex reassured him.

Clark beamed at him.

Lex grinned back, then refocused on Dana. "Now, Dana, how is it that you seem to know so much about my father, this Mr. Luthor you dislike so much? You seem a bit young to have run afoul of him and his nefarious ways."

Dana giggled at him.

He mock frowned at her. "You won't talk, hmm? Well, we Luthors have ways of making you talk." He glanced around the living room. "Perhaps the comfy chair? That should strike fear into your heart."

She giggled again.

Lex decided she was too well-trained to crack under torture and sat down on the couch, setting her on the ground. She immediately climbed onto the couch and settled down in his lap. Glancing up, Lex found Clark gazing down at the two of them with a dopy grin on his face. "Clark? Why exactly am I here?"

Clark blinked. "Um."

Lex waited.

"Um," Clark said again. "I, um, needed your help with something."

Not for the first time, Lex observed that Clark was very bad at extemporaneous speaking. He really needed to keep some scripted cue cards on his person to whip out when the need arose. "And what would that something be?" Lex asked, enjoying Clark's discomfiture.

"I, um, had a question about a homework assignment," Clark said in a desperate rush.

Lex looked around the room, craning his neck to glance toward the dining room table, seeing no school books. To his amusement, he noticed that Dana was helping him look, even if she probably had no idea what she was looking for. "I see," Lex said. And he did see. Clark just wanted him here.

Lex could work with that. He grinned at Clark. "Dana's homework?" he teased.

Clark grinned back. "Yeah, she needs help with her ABCs."

Looking at Dana with admiration, Lex asked her, "You already know your ABCs?"

She nodded vigorously and started singing, "ABC…" There was a brief pause while she took a deep breath, then, "EFGHIKelemenopee."

"Very impressive," Lex commented when it was clear she was done. "I expect you'll be taking over LuthorCorp in no time. Time to topple the poopy dumbhead from his throne."

Dana giggled again and buried her head under Lex's chin. He ran his hand through her soft curls, thoroughly enjoying himself.

A squall came from down the hall, and Clark motioned in that direction. "That's the baby. I better go check."

Lex waved him off, looking down at Dana. "Okay, now that he's gone, tell me why he really called me over." Not that he expected any sort of sensible answer out of her, but it's not like he had anyone else he could pump for information.

She sat up and gave him some serious scrutiny.

He scrutinized her in return, wondering if he could help turn her into someone who could topple Lionel from his throne. Or perhaps his interference would turn her into a monster, when all she wanted was to be was a ballerina. Best just to leave her alone, he decided.

"He said you was a speshool friend," she suddenly answered him.

"Ah," he said in response, grinning. Damn, she was cute.

Cocking her head, as if she could hear something in a range only accessible to dogs and Clark, she got off his lap and headed for parts unknown down the hall.

Lex got up himself, curious as to whose house he was in. Before he could even start poking around, Clark reappeared with a baby in his arms, Dana at his heels.

"And who's this?" Lex asked, nodding toward the infant in Clark's arms.

"That's my baby brudder," Dana informed him. "Wanna see?" She tugged at Clark, dragging him toward Lex. "Show him."

Clark obeyed her commands, in fact, exceeding them, when he handed the baby over to Lex. Lex's heart skipped a beat, but then he rallied, trusting himself to hold a small infant without somehow inadvertently bashing its head open. "What's his name?" He jiggled the baby a little until he got it settled in the crook of his arm. There, he thought to himself, I can do this.

"Mark," she said proudly, as if she'd named him herself, loudly pronouncing the 'k'. "It's my daddy's name."

"And a fine name it is," Lex pronounced. He cautiously sat back down on the couch.

Dana scrambled up next to him and patted the baby on the head. "He's got a peepee cuz he's a boy," she instructed him. "Do you gotst a peepee?" she asked Lex.

Lex's eyebrows went up and he glanced up at Clark. "That sounds like a perfect question for the babysitter." That's all he needed was for Dana's parents to come home and find that Lex Luthor had been in their living room affirming for their very young daughter that, yes, he had a penis. Jesus.

Clark went for a distraction. "Do you want a snack, Dana?"

She nodded her head and worked her way off the couch.

"Coward," Lex whispered loudly at Clark.

Clark grinned back as he herded Dana toward the kitchen.

Lex snickered and, looking down, found Mark staring up at him with a pair of amazing blue eyes. "Hey, there," Lex said, feeling the wonder of all this potential in his arms. This child could grow up to be anything. A scientist, an astronaut, a cut-throat attorney, an exotic dancer. Lex snickered again.

"Glad to see you're keeping yourself amused," Clark teased as he appeared in front of him holding out a chocolate chip cookie for Lex. Dana was busy noshing on hers, more of the chocolate on her face than in her mouth.

"Is this for me, or for Mark?"

Clark rolled his eyes. "This," he said, as he brandished a baby bottle, "is for Mark."

Not wanting to miss out on the full experience, Lex reached for the bottle, passing on the cookie. Clark seemed amenable as he took a big bite out of the cookie, relinquishing the bottle.

"Is it the right temperature?" Lex asked, feeling it with his fingers. He might not have much access to babies, but he knew temperature was important.

Clark nodded, mouth as full as Dana's.

Lex grinned at them both, as he teased Mark's lips with the nipple. In less than a second, the baby latched on, sucking his heart out.

Producing a towel out of nowhere, Clark leaned over Lex, arranging it over his shoulder. Just by moving an inch or so, Lex could be nibbling on Clark's nipple. Depressingly practiced at restraint, Lex ignored the temptation.

It helped that Dana was tugging at his sleeve. "Mr. Lex, Mr. Lex."

"Yes, Dana," Lex said, proud of himself for not wincing at the chocolate fingerprints all over his silk shirt.

"Are you Mr. Clark's speshool friend?"

Ah. Back to that conversation.

Lex glanced at Clark, saw that look again. The look Clark didn't give to anyone but him. Lex specifically watched for it whenever he and Clark were with other people, and he never saw it directed at anyone else. "Yes, I am. Clark and I have a friendship that is the stuff of legends."

"Stuffin lejens?" she asked, her brow furrowed again.

That got a laugh out of him and Clark. "He means yes, Dana," Clark explained. "Lex and I are best friends."

"Like me and Ne-ne?"

Clark nodded. "Just like you and Ne-ne."

"'Kay." She started licking her fingers.

That hadn't been quite what Lex was going for. He liked to think bigger than best friend, certainly bigger than Dana and this Ne-ne, whatever that was. He wanted him and Clark to truly be the stuff of legends, wanted there to be talk of destiny, of forever, of being remembered in history books. Lex and Clark, like Lewis and Clark, like Stanley and Livingston, like Thomas Becket and King Henry II. Lex frowned and decided against that last one.

The point being, Lex continued thinking in his mind, the names belonged together. One meant less than both together.

Mark kicked his feet, and Lex gazed down at him. The baby grinned around the nipple, and Lex grinned back. Maybe he'd keep track of these kids, make sure they got into some good schools.

"You might want to burp him now," Clark advised.

Frowning, Lex considered the logistics.

"Want me to take him?" Clark offered.

"No. I'll do it." If he could run a million dollar corporation and deal on a daily basis with his father, he could burp a baby. He handed the bottle to Clark, and carefully repositioned Mark until he was in what Lex thought was the classic burp position. He gently patted him on the back.

Clark looked exceedingly nervous about the entire affair.

Feeling somewhat affronted, Lex said, "I am capable of this, Clark."

"I know you are," Clark assured him. "I just don't want him to throw up all over you."

Lex was momentarily alarmed. "Is that likely to happen?" He glanced down at Mark, sure he was ready to explode like something out of a James Cameron film.

Dana giggled. "He throws up all the time. And he poops, too. And he pees out of his peepee like this." She described an arc through the air, which, if it were true, would earn Mark an award for long distance peeing.

"Charming," Lex said, promising to make Clark pay if he was puked, pooped or peed on. The chocolate stains were already above and beyond the call of duty. Only for Clark would he allow his sartorial standards to be so compromised.

Just then, Mark let out a truly magnificent burp. They all looked at him, waiting for the encore. When he gurgled happily, Dana looked disappointed.

Lex smiled at them both benignly. "No one throws up on a Luthor," he stated unequivocally.

"In a perfect world," Clark stated emphatically, "Mark would now puke all over you."

Again, all eyes moved to Mark, but he only gurgled some more, smacking his lips a little.

Lex decided he better quit while he was ahead. He carefully stood and handed the baby back to Clark, then draped the towel over Clark's left shoulder. The baby promptly vomited all over Clark's right shoulder.

Lex tried very hard not to laugh, biting his lips until they hurt, but he heard Dana's giggle, and catching her eye, he let out a laugh. Life, Lex thought with an evil grin, was decidedly good.

Clark let out a disgusted sound, and glared at both Lex and Dana. Dana just giggled again. "See, Mr. Lex? See?" She clearly found the whole event vastly amusing.

Handing the baby back to Lex, Clark headed for the bathroom. Lex gave the baby the patented Luthor stare, making sure he understood that the one demonstration was more than sufficient, especially as Clark had taken the towel with him.

Mark blew out a bubble of spit.

Lex could handle that. However, to be on the safe side, he went in search of Clark, assuming he would find the bathroom and more towels in the vicinity.

What he found when he got there was a Clark without his shirt. Lex gave the moment its proper due, silently paying homage to the temple that was Clark Kent. The baby could throw up all over him at this point and Lex wouldn't care. In fact, maybe he could get Mark to throw up on the rest of Clark's clothes.

Mark gurgled in his ear.

"I couldn't agree more," Lex whispered back.

Dana came stomping down the hall. "Mr. Lex, Mr. Lex."

Lex could hardly bear to tear his eyes away from Clark, who had his face buried in a washcloth. Just as Lex was about to turn to Dana, Clark's face emerged, and their eyes met in the mirror. Another look. It was a miracle Lex didn't just spontaneously combust. Especially when the look, like this one, included a head-to-toe-and-back-again component. Jesus. If Clark liked what he saw, Lex complained to himself, he wished he'd just go for it. These looks were killing him.

There was a tug on his pant's leg. "Mr. Lex, Mr. Lex."

Tearing his eyes away from the ones still locked with his, Lex crouched down. "Yes, Dana."

"Will you color with me?"

"Absolutely," Lex informed her. "Crayons?" It was important to know what tools he'd be using.

She nodded. "The big set." Her hands spread out to encompass a width of about two feet.

"That would indeed be a big set," Lex said admiringly. "By the way, Dana, exactly how old are you?"

Dana looked at her hand, her lips pursed, brow wrinkled in serious contemplation. Her fingers began to move, as if she were playing a riff on the saxophone. Finally, she held up two fingers for Lex, but addressed Clark saying, "Is this how many fingers, Mr. Clark?"

A towel wrapped around his neck, unfortunately hiding his nipples, Clark hunkered down and helped Dana display four fingers. "This many, Dana. You're four."

She proudly displayed her fingers to Lex. "This many, Mr. Lex."

He nodded at her gravely. "That's a great many fingers." He glanced at Clark and found his friend grinning at him.

"How many fingers are you?" Dana asked.

He reached for Clark's hands and made him hold up all ten fingers, then he made Dana do the same. Finally he held up four of his own. "This many."

Her eyes grew huge and she stared at him as if she simply couldn't believe it. Her gaze shifted to Clark. "Are you that many fingers?"

Clark shook his head, grinning. "No, Lex is the old man in the room." He made her keep her ten fingers up, and then manipulated Lex's fingers until eight were showing. "This is how many fingers I am. I'm eighteen."

Lex heard the emphasis on the eighteen, wondered if Clark was making a point for Lex's benefit. He decided to do some prodding on the off chance a miracle was occurring, and Clark was actually dropping a hint. "That makes you of legal age, Clark, doesn't it?" Lex could always claim to be talking about voting, if Clark took umbrage.

The look Clark shot him was heated enough to make Lex want to fan himself. "Yes," Clark enunciated clearly. "Very legal."

Lex was ninety-five percent sure that communication was occurring. Contracts being drawn up by both parties, agreements being reached, pens rapidly scrawling signatures. "Perhaps," Lex purred, hoping that five percent wasn't about to blow him out of the water, "we could finish this conversation at the mansion tomorrow night."

This time the look was incandescent. Pilgrims could follow the light from Clark's face to find their place of worship. Which is exactly what Lex planned to do.

Before further conversation could take place, Lex was reminded by a pouting face that he was overdue for an art assignation. He stood and handed the baby off to Clark, doing his best to touch as much of Clark as he could, his fingers tingling at the velvet of his skin. When Clark let out a quiet whimper, only the underage audience kept Lex from falling down to his knees and getting better acquainted with Clark's cock.

Instead he licked his lips, watched Clark's eyes as they followed his tongue, and, at another tug on his pant's leg, Lex spun around and followed Dana out to the living room.

She imperiously ordered him to sit on the floor by the coffee table and then brought out several coloring books and a box of 64 crayons. "This is an excellent box of crayons," Lex said appreciatively. He glanced at the books. "Are we working on separate projects or collaborating?" he asked.

"Colobrated?" she echoed.

"It means working together," Lex explained.

She gave it some thought and then, decisively, shoved one book at Lex. "You do that one."

Lex took a look at it. "SpongeBob SquarePants," he read aloud. "Adventures Under the Sea." He could hardly wait. "What will you be working on, whilst I journey on my undersea adventure?" He flipped open the book until he found a scene where the hero of the book was sunbathing on a tropical beach.

She showed him her book.

"Ah. Blossom, Buttercup and Bubbles, the Powerpuff Girls." The fates were definitely tossing the dice in his favor. First Clark half naked, and now he'd been spared coloring in pink. "Excellent choice," Lex said, reaching for an array of crayons from aquamarine-blue to teal-green to ivory. He was hoping to recreate the look of the ocean on his last vacation to Rio de Janeiro.

Clark chose to enter the room at that point, re-clothed, much to Lex's dismay. Lex decided only a nice peek at Clark's ass would make up for it. "Clark, would you mind getting me something to drink?" he asked, looking forward to Clark leaving the room, thus putting his ass on view.

"Yes, boss," Clark teased. "Anything in particular?"

"Some water?" Lex suggested.

"I doubt they have TyNant here, Lex. Will tap water do?"

Lex shot Clark a look that hopefully communicated something along the line of inquiring if Clark had temporarily lost his mind.

Grinning, Clark headed for the kitchen. "I'll see what else they have."

Under the guise of choosing a color, Lex surreptitiously watched that glorious ass move out of sight. Letting out a silent sigh, Lex wondered if he'd finally, finally, get to touch that perfect ass. Three years. Jesus. Someone should give him a damn halo.

He started working on the wave tips, coloring them ivory.

"Mr. Lex?"

"Yes, Dana," he answered, trying to decide if turquoise or the aquamarine-blue would work best next.

"Are you Mr. Clark's boss?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Who's you boss, Mr. Lex?"

"The poopy dumbhead."

A peal of giggles headed his way.

Lex couldn't help but grin.

"My daddy has a boss," she informed him.

"Most people do."

"My daddy likes his boss," she said definitively, even as the tip of her tongue slid out between her small teeth, a sign of her serious concentration on her artistic endeavors.

"I'm very glad for your father. No one should have a poopy dumbhead as a boss."

That got more giggles.

Lex decided to blend the turquoise with the ivory to get a more subtle shade.

"My daddy says his boss is smawt. And con--consi--consenshus," she finally attempted.

"Conscientious?" Lex clarified.

She nodded, tongue once again peeking out of her mouth as she passionately, and quite creatively--obviously feeling no constraints to pay any mind to the lines--colored in pink.

"Where does your father work?" Lex asked, wondering who this paragon of a boss was. Maybe he should hire him.

Clark appeared again, handing him a can of Coke. "Her dad works at the plant, Lex. Mark McInerny."

Lex was stunned for a second as he realized that he was that boss. A sort of glowy feeling flushed through his body. He didn't often get genuine compliments and this one had taken him by surprise. Not that a Luthor needed compliments, but still.

Then he frowned and stood. "Clark, I shouldn't be here, not without an invitation. It's a bit inappropriate."

Scrunching his face up, Clark said, "Sorry. I didn't even think about it, but you're right. I just wanted--" He cut off.

Lex smiled at him. "I know, and I'm glad. And we'll talk tomorrow night." He hoped his eyes were conveying the fact that there might not be much talking going on.

The gleam in Clark's eyes told him that that was fine with Clark.

"Mr. Lex, Mr. Lex." Small hands were tugging on his pants again. "Where you going?"

Suddenly the front door opened and Mark McInerny and his wife were in the doorway, looking a bit taken aback.

Lex couldn't blame them.

"Lex," Mark said nervously. "Is anything wrong?"

Clark stepped into the fray. "Nothing's wrong, Mr. McInerny, Lex is a good friend, and I invited him over without thinking it through. I apologize."

Dana got up and ran to her father. "Daddy, Daddy," she said, expressing her pleasure at this arrival.

He swung her up in his arms. "How's my little girl?"

"We was coloring, daddy. Mr. Lex was making the ocean for SpongeBob SquarePants."

"Oh," Mark said, a bit flummoxed.

Blithely, Dana continued on. "Daddy, Daddy, Mr. Lex has a boss, and he's the poopy dumbhead, and I told Mr. Lex that Mark has a peepee, and he threwed up." That started up another riff of giggles, as if, all in all, this night couldn't be beat for its sheer entertainment value.

Mark sent a pleading look Lex's way. "God, he threw up on you?" He looked like he was sure a pink slip would be accompanying his next paycheck.

Lex grinned. "No, he threw up on Clark. And I happen to completely agree with your description of my father." And, he thought to himself, you think I'm a good boss, smart and conscientious. He saw raises coming Mark's way.

Mark still looked uncomfortable.

Moving toward the doorway, Lex said, "I apologize for invading your home like this. Your children are delightful. I'll be leaving now." He sent a quick glance toward Clark. "Good night, Clark."

"Night, Lex."

"Good night, Lex," Mark echoed faintly.

"Night, Mr. Lex," Dana yelled after Lex. "Come back and color s'more."

Lex grinned at her as he beeped his car open. Looking forward to tomorrow night, he got in his car, started it up, and drove away.

*****

The Pegasus Galaxy

"Dr. McKay," Teyla said urgently.

"I'm working, I'm working," Rodney snapped. He was moving the crystal diagnostic tool down the array of crystals as fast as his hands could work.

"Not fast enough," Ford said tersely.

"Yes, and both of you bothering me is helping so much."

Another burst from a wraith dart hit the puddle jumper, rattling it. They all held on, then Rodney slammed the console he'd been working on shut and moved to the next one, yanking it open.

"Rodney," John's voice drawled from the pilot's seat, "what's going on?"

"Gee, I don't know. Not much," Rodney offered sarcastically as he again began to check the crystals in this new array. "Just the usual sort of facing certain death by imminent explosion or from life-sucking mutant aliens…" his voice grew louder and more strident, "while everyone wastes my time talking to me even though, apparently, I am the only one who can, once again, save the day." He slammed the console shut, shifted to where Ford was sitting next to John. "Move," he barked out.

Ford moved. From the look on Rodney's face, it wasn't fast enough.

"Perhaps if you hadn't chosen this particular time to work on the puddle jumper, Dr. McKay," Teyla said formally, "the ship would not now be in need of repair."

"I chose," Rodney answered between gritted teeth, "this time to work on the ship, because according to the readings, that I realize none of you could possibly understand, we were about to lose life support." He shot them a tight-lipped crooked smile. "Next time, I'll just let all the oxygen get sucked out, shall I?"

"Just concentrate, Rodney," John counseled, turning the shuttle sharply to avoid another blast.

"Just concentrate," Rodney muttered under his breath. He snorted.

John glanced out the window. "How many of those suckers are there? And where the hell did they come from?"

Ford and Teyla were both craning their necks to stare out the sides of the main window. "There appear to be six of them," Teyla informed the Major.

"How did they get out here without a hive ship to launch from?" John asked, diving this time. The blast scraped the side of the jumper, not-so-gently rocking them. "Rodney, shields would be good. Anytime."

"Oh, really? You think?" Rodney slammed the console by the co-pilot's chair closed and got down on the floor by John's feet.

"What are you doing?" John asked, trying not to be distracted by Rodney on his hands and knees, brushing against him. He got focused on the action outside just in time to dodge another dart. He circled around and managed to take out the dart with their rapidly diminishing weapon supply. This was supposed to have been a milk-run, dropping off trade goods and picking up food supplies. Piece of cake.

Rodney's head brushed his thigh. "Rodney?" He was not going to get an erection. He was not. Considering that flying aroused him in the first place, and danger was its own sort of aphrodisiac, it wouldn't take much for him to be at full mast.

Ford sat back down in the co-pilot's seat, looking frantically for one of the five remaining darts. John kept flying toward the Stargate. They'd be there in ten minutes if they could hold it together until then.

"Ah-ha," Rodney said. "I knew it." He pulled out a damaged crystal.

"Is that a good ah-ha?" John asked hopefully.

"Oh, well, not really. It just proves I was right. Now I have to fix it."

"Can you?"

"Of course I can fix it," Rodney said haughtily.

John chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, factoring through everything he knew about Rodney. "Can you do it before we get blown into little tiny puddle jumper bits? We're still eight minutes from the Stargate. No pressure or anything." He flew a zigzag pattern right through two approaching darts. Man, they were fast. Hard to get a lock on them.

"And this is different from every other life and death situation, how?"

John risked a quick look at Rodney, found himself captivated by how fast his hands could move, stripping wires, rewrapping them, shifting crystals, reading the rapid-fire information scrolling across his data pad. He heard the drone of a dart and instinct alone told him to ascend. When he did, he could see the flash of a dart ray shoot by underneath them.

"Shit," Ford said, lifting his feet as if the heat from the ray was going to singe him.

"That would have been bad," John said. Really, really bad. Six minutes to go. It felt like friggin' forever.

"Come on, McKay," Ford griped. "Fix something. Weapons, shields, something."

"And you're doing exactly what to help?" Rodney challenged. "Ah, sitting on your ass, of course. How helpful."

"May I be of assistance?" Teyla asked.

John liked that about Teyla. She was able to put the personal bullshit aside to get done what had to be done.

"Yes, hold that," Rodney shoved his data pad at her. "Tell me when the top left number reaches 100." He got down on the floor again, pulling open the storage container under one of the benches. He started tossing supplies every which way searching for something.

Five minutes. They'd been lucky so far with the darts, almost like they were playing with the puddle jumper. As soon as they saw the Stargate it would be all over. "Rodney. What's the problem?" Normally, fixing weapons and shields were child's play for Rodney.

"The problem," Rodney said with a grunt, as he pushed the first aid kit to the side, "is that the Ancients were firm believers in secondary and tertiary and even quaternary backup systems. Everything…" he stared at, then tossed, a pack of power bars at Teyla. "Huh. Open one of those for me, would you?"

"Rodney," John yelled, as he took defensive action again. One more direct hit and they were goners.

"Okay, okay. The problem is that because of all the redundancy, almost every system can provide back up to any other system."

"And…" That didn't sound so bad.

"But, of course, it doesn't do it the same way every time. It works at an intense number of flips as it shifts from one system to another."

"Flips?"

"Fuzzy logical inferences per second." Rodney pulled out another set of crystals attached to a staggeringly large number of wires. "Gotcha." He pulled out another damaged crystal, and replaced it with a new one. "How's that?"

"No shields, but I got another bank of weapons. That's good, Rodney. Keep going."

"It's reached one hundred, Dr. McKay," Teyla informed him.

"Ha, beat you, you sucker. Okay, give it back." He took the device from her, pushing buttons. "Okay, here." He gave it back to her. "Same thing."

"Finish your explanation," John said. Weirdly enough, Rodney generally did better if you could keep him talking. If things got too quiet, his imagination took over and he started panicking.

"Don't you have a ship to fly?" Rodney snarked.

"Just talk to me." Three minutes. Maybe they wouldn't need the shields. Fuck. He wished he hadn't even thought that. I didn't mean it, he said to whatever capricious gods were within thought-hearing distance.

"Fine. Just don't blame me if I don't…" Rodney took the pad from Teyla. "Huh." He handed it back to her. This time he moved to the rear of the puddle jumper, opening up the controls to the back bay doors.

John spoke out of the side of his mouth to Ford. "Do you see the darts anywhere?" They'd been conspicuously absent for the last minute.

Ford shook his head. "It's like they've disappeared."

"Or they're hiding," John guessed.

"By the Stargate," Ford said.

"By the Stargate," John agreed with a frown. "Crap." He risked turning around to see what Rodney was up to. "Not planning on ejecting us all into space, are you?" John asked.

"No, not planning on it. Keep annoying me and I might change my mind, though."

"Just keep talking. I want to keep your evil mastermind self engaged."

Rodney snorted. "It's like a treasure hunt. To keep life support on, I routed power from one of the secondary systems. But with shields, power and cloaking down, all the secondary systems are scurrying to back all the primary systems."

"Okay," John said slowly, peering through the windshield, feeling like a sitting duck. "And…?"

"So," Rodney said, as his hands raced to do his bidding, "I do a diagnostic so I can get the shields up. It tells me the secondary shield powers are being handled by the inertial dampening system. I go there, but too late, because suddenly the inertial dampening system needs a little boost so it takes all its power back, and something else takes over as the secondary shield power source."

"That doesn't seem very helpful," John said. Ancient stuff was usually very helpful.

"Actually it's very helpful," Rodney said. "Because it keeps us alive even when we've taken a massive hit. The problem is life support. Normally, that's the last to go. Like the brain in a human body. Every system on board is designed to shunt power to life support."

"But that went hinky first."

"Right. It shouldn't do that, ever."

"So why did it?"

"One hundred," Teyla informed him.

"Crap." Rodney slammed the control panel shut.

One minute. They should be able to see the Stargate now. Yup. There it was. And there were the four darts. John stopped the puddle jumper. "Rodney."

"Kind of busy," Rodney informed him in a sing-song snipe.

"I need you."

Rodney looked up and saw what John was staring at. "That's not good."

"No kidding," Ford threw in.

"I need shields, Rodney," John said. "I don't care about anything else. We can lose weapons, lights, I don't care. Well, I need the DHD, too."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Anything else while I'm at it?"

John was tempted to ask for a turkey sandwich but resisted. "Can you do it? Can you fix the shields?"

"I've been trying to fix the shields for the last ten minutes, Major," Rodney snapped out. "What do you think I've been doing? Learning to speak Portuguese?"

John put up his hands in a universal we-come-in-peace gesture. He didn't expect it to be wholly successful with Rodney, but he needed to keep him from escalating into a full-scale rant. "Rodney, tell me what to do."

"Okay. Fine. Okay." Rodney turned in a circle, eyes taking in everything.

Despite the situation, John loved watching Rodney like this, his computer-like brain pulling in all variables, drawing conclusions.

"See if the jumper will pull up every diagnostic it has."

John hadn't tried that before. At most he'd called for two or three. But he closed his eyes and thought at the jumper. Hard.

"Whoa."

John opened his eyes to find what looked like dozens, maybe a hundred data readouts hanging in the air all around the puddle jumper.

"There," Rodney said. All eyes moved to the screen Rodney was pointing at. The dysfunction was clear to all.

"So fix it."

"Watch." Rodney moved to that console and opened it up. By the time he was reaching in, John saw what the problem was.

"It's already fixed itself," he said. And it had. Like a set of sequenced lights, the ship was compensating for errors, the problem being that the main cause never stopped long enough to be identified or repaired. "Shit."

"It's the life support glitch that screwed it up," Rodney said.

"Or maybe it's whatever you did to fix the life support," Ford posited.

Rodney glared at him.

"Back off, Ford," John said calmly. "You know as well as I do that Rodney knows what he's doing."

Rodney stared at him, and then flashed him a crooked smile. "As nice as that sentiment is, I really don't know what I'm doing. I mean, I know what I'm doing, but I don't know how to fix this. Well, actually I do, but it would require being back on Atlantis with the jumper shut down, and a nice hearty breakfast first."

As Rodney babbled on, John gave him ten seconds to figure it out. In eight, Rodney snapped his fingers. John kept his grin to himself. Then he glanced at the darts, saw they were still waiting for him. He wondered how long they'd wait before coming after him. Rodney started making the circuit around the puddle jumper, pointing at stuff, telling John to shut it off.

One by one, John shut off systems. It grew increasingly quieter as fans stopped whirring, and electronics stopped humming. It was eerie. John hadn't realized how used to all that white noise he was.

The shifting error report stayed within the systems still running, and that was an ever-shortening list. Rodney passed by a readout and moved to the next one.

"What's that one for, the one you just passed?" John asked.

"I have no idea."

"Ah." Probably a g