The Citrus Job - Chapter One
When life gives you lemons, grab an EpiPen.
Inspired by Whumptober and my discussions with @whump-star about the anaphylaxis prompt, I've accidentally stumbled upon a ridiculous plotline for a fic, In which Sheppard and Ronon form a bet to see who can make Rodney eat citrus first. Please enjoy the first chapter of what will undoubtedly be a ridiculous series of events.
word count: 2938
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Chapter One
“So, you mean to tell me, that you haven’t eaten anything citrus since you first found out you were allergic?”
No one could really remember where this conversation had even started. Something along the lines of things you couldn’t live without.
“Not even once? Aren’t you curious? Don’t you miss, like, oranges?” John continued on.
“You know, funnily enough, I don’t miss the feeling of my throat closing in on itself.” Rodney replied, waving his fork in the air between them.
“I don’t think I could do it.” John bit into his orange like an apple (heinous), the juices spraying across the table and into Rodney’s dinner.
“Oh that’s great. Just fantastic. You’ve ruined it” He pushed what remained of his dinner across the table and sulked back into his chair. Ronon eyed the situation for a moment, before reaching across and snatching it up, scraping the leftovers onto his plate. Rodney watched on in disdain.
“Well see, this is what I mean. There is no way you haven’t had citrus. You must have eaten it by accident at some point.”
“Nope. Not once. I’m like a sniffer dog. I could smell it a mile off.”
John smirked in Rodney’s direction, something sparking in his eyes. A similar light seemed to dance in Ronon's as well. Teyla’s eyes swivelled back and forth between the two of them, apprehension at the stupidity brewing in the air.
“Whatever it is that you two are planning, I want absolutely no part in it.”
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Sheppard fell to the floor as Ronon swept his legs from under him. Not for the first time that evening, his head bounced off the ground, and he vaguely wondered how many brain cells he lost every time they sparred. He got up slowly, rubbing the sore spot on his head, and limped over to the benches at the edge of the room. As he sipped on his water, his mind wandered back to the conversation of the previous night, and Rodney’s wild claims.
“Do you really think Rodney can ‘sniff out’ citrus?” He asked, fingers curling into air quotes.
“Seriously?” Ronon laughed, “There is absolutely no way that Rodney can sniff out citrus. I bet you could easily sneak citrus into his food without him knowing.”
“Yeah probably.” Ronon and John exchanged a look, a new idea for a bet forming in the space between them. “But it would be totally unethical right?”
“Right right. Totally unethical. Not to mention dangerous.” The silence hung a moment longer.
“Yes. Dangerous … But I mean, not lethal. There’s … epipens and stuff. He wouldn’t die.”
They held each other's stare for a moment longer, each weighing up their options for how best to both beat each other whilst simultaneously not getting arrested for murder by lemon.
“Ok, how about this,” John leapt up from his seat, instantly regretting the pain that now shot down his leg, “We both try to sneak some form of citrus into his food, BUT, to ensure maximum safety we both, just, start carrying around epipens.” He swivelled around, clasping his hands together in front of him, very pleased with his well crafted health and safety guidelines.
“Yes. And never leave him alone with contaminated food.”
“And absolutely no attempts whilst on mission.”
“Agreed.” Both men shook hands, the terms of the bet firmly planted in their minds.
“So all we have to do is get our hands on some EpiPens and we're good to go.” Ronon said, stepping away to pick up his kit from the bench.
“Leave that one to me. I think I know exactly where we can find some.” John wandered over to grab his own things, doing his best to seem mysterious.
“You’re going to break into McKay’s room aren’t you.”
John paused in picking his bag up from the ground, his air of mystery slowly seeping away. “Maybe.”
Ronon chuckled to himself as they left the gym. They wandered the halls, both seaking a shower and John some epsom salts to soak away his wounds.
“So, what do we get for winning?” Ronon asked, glancing across to Sheppard.
“Well, if I win, you have to go golfing with me.”
Ronon nodded, pondering just what he would make John do should he win.
“If I win, we spar. Properly this time, with real swords.”
As Ronon finished his sentence, he peeled away from John, heading in the direction of his room, leaving a very nervous looking John in his wake. He deeply hoped he would win this bet. He could already hear the lecture from Beckett when he steps into Sick Bay with a sword in his chest. Not to mention the paperwork.
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The act of sneaking into Rodney’s room was not the tricky part. Actually finding the secret stash of lifesaving drugs however left John stumped. He had pulled out seemingly every drawer, and still he had not found the EpiPens. As he rifled through yet another drawer, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and the annoying whine of Rodney’s voice drifting down the corridor. He scanned the room quickly, trying to find the best place to hide. In his panic, he threw himself onto the floor by the bed, landing hard on his elbow as he fell. He pulled his elbow into his body, cradling it in his arm, biting back the cry that threatened to spill out.
He heard the door slide open and the slow steps of Rodney pacing around his room. He pulled his legs into his chest, hiding his feet behind the bed. A soft thump sounded to his side. As he peeked over he saw Rodey’s shirt bunched on the floor where he threw it. He rolled his eyes back into his head, praying to whoever may listen that this was the only piece of clothing that would be leaving his body. Another thump sounded, centimetres from his head, a shoe joining the rumpled shirt. Before he could even begin to move, the second landed square on his forehead.
He clutched his forehead, letting out a muffled whelp. Realising his mistake as the pacing stopped, he swiftly pulled himself under the bed. He looked to his side, the sight of Rodney’s socked feet appearing next to his head. He held his breath, hoping Rodey’s tactical stupidity would kick in. Luckily for him, Rodney appeared unaware of his presence. Unluckily for him, this meant that Rodney’s trousers now joined the rest of his clothes in the pile on the floor. Then his socks. Then his underwear.
He sincerely hoped that Rodney did not sleep naked. He could not stand another minute under this bed, let alone the countless hours it would take for his mind to quiet into sleep. He watched as Rodney’s feet moved away from the bed, and he heard the sound of the bathroom door open. He let out a soft sigh, his head falling back in relief. As his head fell to the side, he noticed a small box hidden under the bed. Sincerely hoping he wasn’t putting his hand into a porn stash, he reached inside, his hand closing around a long, thin, hard, cylindrical … dear god he hoped this was an EpiPen.
He pulled it out.
He breathed a sigh of relief. Plastic. Definitely plastic. Also definitely an EpiPen. He grabbed another, wriggling them into his pockets in the limited space the underside of the bed provided. With his bounty retrieved, he grasped the edge of the bed, poking his head out to check the coast was clear. He surveyed the room, and as he swivelled his head around, he was greeted with a clear view of Rodney’s arse.
He had never moved so quickly, pulling himself back under the bed, whacking perfectly into the bruise now forming on his forehead. He only wished he had hit it harder so that he could purge the image now burned into his mind.
What kind of heathen showers with the door OPEN.
Not only was he now scarred for life, he now realised he was completely cut off from escape. He racked his brain, looking for any way he could leave this hellhole. He considered crawling for the door, but the chances of seeing any more than he needed to meant that was not an option. He briefly considered a smoke grenade, before concluding that was more conspicuous than simply standing up. And the thought of Rodney running out in the nude to investigate made him feel like throwing up in his mouth. Finally, he realised his only option. A cry for help.
He tapped the comms in his ear, and contacted the only person he could.
“Ronon, I need your help.” He whispered.
“Why are you whispering?” The sound of Ronon’s voice crackling in his ear.
“I am stuck under Rodney’s bed. I need you to distract him so that I can get out of here.”
He could hear the sound of Ronon’s laughter echoing through the comms.
“Why can’t you just wait until he leaves?” Ronon asked once he had composed himself.
“NO! Look, I need to get out. I can’t stay here anymore. He’s … He’s in the shower.”
The laughter that followed was so loud John almost pulled the comms from his ear to stop his eardrum from bursting.
“Are you going to help me or not?” He growled, trying to be heard over the noise of his laughter.
“I’m on my way” The following laughter made John yank the comms from his ear and throw them to the ground. John hoped desperately that Ronon would arrive before he learnt if Rodney really did have a porno stashed somewhere else in his pit.
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As Teyla wandered back to her bedroom, she thought back to seeing John sneaking about in the corridors of the crew quarters. As she wondered if this would become a problem she would undoubtedly have to solve, she was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of thundering footsteps and echoing chuckles. In fear of being trampled, she flattened herself against the wall, and watched Ronon speed past her, heading in the direction of Rodney’s room.
Shaking her head, she decided it was better she stay out of it. No doubt they would sort it out amongst themselves. Or they would end up killing each other. Either way, sleep seemed much more appealing.
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From under the bed, John could hear the sound of Ronon’s pounding knock on the door. And not a moment too soon, as just moments before he heard the sound of Rodney leaving the shower, and the tail end of a conversation he was having with some imaginary shower friend he hoped wasn’t Sam Carter. The door slid open, and from his vantage point on the floor, he could see the approaching footsteps of his saving grace.
“What is it? What do you want?”
He hoped that Ronon had come up with a convincing enough lie to get Rodney out of the room. He watched on as Ronon got closer and closer to the bed. As he wondered why Ronon would get further into the room, when he needed Rodney out of it, he was cut off in his thoughts by a crushing weight landing on his chest as Ronon launched himself onto the bed.
He let out a wheeze. He pondered slightly if this is what anaphylaxis felt like. Even so, after all the trouble this had caused him, there was no way he was backing out now. He just needed to get Ronon’s attention, because dying under McKay’s bed seemed the worst way to go out.
He lifted up an arm to try and talk to him over the comms, before realising that he had thrown it to the ground in anger. Frantically, he scrambled to grab his earpiece from the floor, but the more he felt, the less he could find. As his oxygen reached critical levels, his only option now seemed direct contact. He reached out, grabbing the hem of Ronon’s trouser leg, before tugging violently, and hoped he would get the message.
Just as John could feel the world falling away from, the sweet release of Ronon standing up allowed him to take a deep shuddering breath. As his vision cleared, he could hear the sound of retreating footsteps of both Ronon and McKay leaving his room. Ever so slowly, he pulled himself out from under his prison, careful of the numerous injuries he had somehow sustained in this heist. Having secured both the epipens and his discarded radio, he stumbled from the room.
As he moved to walk down the corridor back to his room, the leg Ronon had earlier swept from under him gave way, and he stumbled across the hall, slamming into the wall. As every area of his body began to throb, he sank to the floor as gracefully as he could, groaning as he went.
And scene
As she moved about her room, she could faintly hear snippets of conversation between Ronon and Rodney as they headed in the direction of what she could only assume was Rodney’s lab. The sound of Rodney’s complaints of sensitive equipment and Ronon keeping his hands to himself drifting in through the door. The quiet returned as she busied herself once again, getting ready for a well deserved rest, before she was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of Sheppard groaning in pain.
Her curiosity getting the better of her, she wandered out of her room, looking around to see the shape of John Sheppard slumped against the wall of the corridor.
“Are you alright Colonel Sheppard?” She asked, unable to hide the small smirk that came to her face at seeing his predicament. He tilted his head towards her, the action alone seeming to cause him much pain.
“Just fine, Teyla.” He rasped out.
“May I inquire as to what happened?”
“Ronon”
She rolled her eyes. As much as she wanted to stay out of it, unless he was willing to crawl the infirmary, there was no way he would be able to reach it on his own. And knowing his unwillingness to bother a medical team, she seemed his best option. She moved over to him, offering her hand to help him stand.
“No no, I’m fine. I just need a minute.”
“Please sir, I must insist. We need to get you to the infirmary. You’re no use to us if you’re injured.” She reached out again, hooking her arm under his and raising him to stand.
“Fine, just. Go slow.”
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As Teyla escorted a limping Sheppard into the infirmary, Becket lept up from where she was sitting, confused by what she saw. As far as he was aware Sheppard’s team had not been off-world in a few days, and what he saw before him seemed a step up from his usual sparring injuries.
“What happened? Are you ok?” He led them over to the closest bed, motioning for Sheppard to sit down. He immediately noticed Sheppard looked almost out of breath from walking the few metres from the door to the bed. His pale and sweaty complexion highlighted the bruises he could see forming on his forehead and poking out from under his shirt. If he didn’t know any better, he would think he’s been in a car accident.
Still having not received an answer, he pressed him further on what caused his injuries, as he began to examine his chest. He pulled up his shirt to look at the bruising, and noted the unusual pattern to his bruises. Parallel stripes now littered his chest and he wracked his brain as to what could have caused it.
“How exactly did you get these bruises? They’re very … symmetrical.” He placed a pulse oximeter onto his finger, and noted his quickened heart rate and slightly lowered o2 saturation.
“Bantos. With Ronon” The slight rasp to his voice and resultant wheeze further concerned him. He didn't have much experience with bantos, but he was pretty sure they weren't this wide.
“I think we need to get you under the scanner.” He said, handing him a pair of scrubs.
What the scanner revealed confirmed the extent of injuries he expected, and exposed other contusions he hadn’t even considered.
“Three cracked ribs, a bone bruise on your tibia, a mild concussion and several other random bruises, many of which not even from today.” He released a heavy sigh as he looked over at him.
“I’m fine. Really. I think Ronon’s just got a touch of cabin fever having been cooped up here so long.”
“I’m sure you feel fine Colonel, but I’m afraid I must insist you stay in the infirmary tonight so I can keep an eye on those ribs. What you need now is rest, and I doubt you would be doing so if I sent you back to your quarters.” Beckett helped Sheppard down from the scanner, getting him set up in one of the beds around the room. He slid an IV into his arm, administering a slightly larger than usual amount of analgesic, in the hopes it would stop Sheppard going walkabouts in the night.
“Now please Colonel, try and get some rest.”
As he lay in the bed, Sheppard couldn’t help but feel put out at the numerous injuries he had somehow managed to obtain in what seemed a simple bet. The only thing keeping him sane was the fact that he still held both EpiPens, meaning Ronon could not take advantage of him now being stuck in the infirmary for however long Becket saw fit.
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