Close Contact

Title: Close Contact
Author: Wendy Parkinson
email: wendyparkinson@hotmail.com
Rating: PG13
Category: Humour
Pairings: none
Spoilers: none
Summary: Rodney has a close encounter. ;-)
Author’s notes: Written for the "First Contact" sga_flashfic challenge - the subject was 'alien' aliens, ie aliens that didn't look human. We were asked to "Show us your weird." Um... think I may have managed that... ;-)

Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis and its characters belong to MGM. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Close Contact

“I don’t see why I can’t go and get a shower first,” protested Rodney McKay as he ineffectually tried to wipe his sleeve. He shuddered. The stuff was everywhere. In his hair, on his jacket, on his pants, in his pants (and he really didn’t want to think about that), all over his hands, his face… in fact every square inch of his body was covered in slimy, sticky goo. It made his skin crawl.

“I need to get a sample,” said Beckett, wincing as he scraped some of the gloop into a petrie dish.

“It could be corrosive… poisonous. I need a shower!” Rodney whined.

“I doubt it,” said Carson, patiently. “You’d be showing some ill effects – burns or a fever – by now if that was the case.”

“But you’re not sure.” Rodney was beginning to panic. He just had to wash this stuff off. He’d never felt so dirty in his life. “You’re playing fast and loose with my health, Carson. I demand a second opinion.”

“Nothing wrong with his vocal chords,” said Sheppard, as he walked into the infirmary.

“Unfortunately not,” agreed Beckett wryly, going over to a workbench and putting some of the gloop on a slide. “Just let me have a look at this, then I should be able to let you go.”

“So how are you feeling?” asked Sheppard.

“Sticky. Revolting. Filthy. And this power-mad Scotsman won’t let me go and get cleaned up.”

“I won’t be long,” said Beckett. “I know it’s difficult for you, but try and be patient.”

Rodney looked down at the floor. The stuff was dripping off him and leaving small puddles on the tiles. It looked as pathetic as he felt. “Why me?” he muttered to Sheppard. “Why, when it had the choice of you, Teyla and Ford, did it pick me? It could have gone for your gene. Why me?”

“Don’t know.” John shrugged. “Perhaps it liked you?”

“It’s got a funny way of showing it. It comes bouncing along like an animated jello, jumps up and down a few times in front of me… then it sneezes… or spits. And I end up looking like a refugee from Ghostbusters.”

“Yeah, you got slimed real good, McKay,” said Sheppard, nodding and not quite stifling a grin.

“A-ha,” murmured Beckett.

Rodney glanced over at the Doctor who was still peering down a microscope. “I don’t think I actually want to know which orifice this stuff came from, if that’s all right with you, Carson. I’d just like to wash it off. Just tell me if it’s going to have any lasting effect on my well-being.”

Sheppard grinned. “Oh, but I want to know, Doc. The grosser the better. Do tell.”

“Ah, well,” said the Doctor carefully as he stood up and walked back across the room. “The… er… gloop… isn’t saliva, or phlegm…” He stopped in front of Rodney and shuffled awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“Then what the hell is it?” Rodney’s voice has risen at least an octave.

Carson licked his lips. “Well, let’s just say the alien did like you…. A lot.”