The Great Game. (S&S challenge)
Sep. 27th, 2005 09:16 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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sga_flashficTitle: The Great Game
Author: Doqz
Characters/Pairing: Barrett, McKay, goat.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author's Notes: I think I am skirting the lines of the challenge here, but hopefully not crossing them.
In his more morose moments, as for example the present, Barrett would often find himself wishing that he did what his Nana wanted and became a dentist. Dentists, as-far-as-possible-from-feeling-Special, Agent Barrett thought gloomily, rarely found themselves in his current predicament.
Life was a thorny path. Personally he blamed Carter. Well Stargate in general but Carter in particular. She could have gone out on a date with him. But she didn’t. He was fairly sure that’s when his mojo began to go all wonky on him.
He sighed again. All in all he was beginning to feel distinctly nostalgic about the halcyon days of yore he spent chasing Zarquawi around Sadr City. You hardly ever needed to worry about Space Vampires in Baghdad.
Ah, good times. Good times.
One of the brightest and most special moments about Baghdad, in his personal opinion, was the severe lack of McKay. What the hell was up with that guy and his unwholesome joy in personally checking Barrett for alien parasites every time he got half a chance. Talk about unlawful search and seizure. And Beckett just stood there, all approving.
Malcolm scowled somewhat petulantly. He only was possessed just the once. There really was no call for McKay to be that gung-ho about frisking and probing him every time Barrett stepped through the gate.
This was all Carter's fault. He wasn't sure HOW, but it definitely was.
Somebody was to blame for the fact that McKay was as close as he got to the second base in over a year.
He paused for a minute to shuder expressively.
Yeah. Definitely Carter's fault.
Still, nobody to blame but himself. Nobody was stopping him from becoming a dentist. But no, it was action, adventure and fast women for Malcolm Barrett.
The life in the National Intelligence Directorate proved to be big on the adventure which his boss, Luis Esobeda, darkly defined for him as someone else being in deep shit far, far away.
The someone else usually winded up being Malcolm Barrett who was slowly but surely coming to the uncomfortable conclusion that action and fast women were strictly restricted to the Air Force. Like that jackass Sheppard. Seriously. That guy was getting more alien tail than captain Kirk.
That just wasn’t right.
Fucking Air Force.
It wasn’t like Barrett wanted the world. A date with Carter (or anyone really, at this point), a raise, a cat and the recognition of his talents by the president with some sort of a shiny medal (that he could use to get a date). Maybe a corner office with the view. But he was willing to be flexible on that.
As long as the office was located in the general vicinity of the Solar System, that is. That point was strictly non-negotiable.
Malcolm petulantly putted a pebble into the goat trotting across the street from him. He missed.
Yes. Pegasus Galaxy was definitely working his last nerve.
It just figured.
His Dad warned him about the government work. Cackling into his beer about the only reward for a job well-done being a harder, shittier and even more impossible job.
But did he listen?
No.
And so instead of making a couple of grand per root canal, he got himself tracking rogue NID segments and got himself shot way to close for comfort and the prospect of continuing the glorious line of the Barrett clan.
But, hey, he was game. He did his part for king and country. And all he asked for was a raise. Well and a cat. A white Persian one. Named Fernando.
Instead they gave him a promotion and sent him to Pegasus, to build, from scratch, a local branch of NID capable of at least slowing the Genii down as they ran rings around the SGA. Well, hell. Not the first time NID was asked to make bricks without straw. But it would have been nice to have at least some sort of opportunity to work. He wasn’t about to wish for help. Oh, no. What was he new? Of course there would be no help. He just wished he didn’t have to spend half his time maneuvering against both Weir, who clearly considered him the representative of the basest elements of the capitalist military-industrial complex and thus rating on her moral scale slightly below Wraith’s afterbirth and Caldwell who apparently distrusted the entire NID on general principles and was trying to build his own intel operation. In what, Barrett assumed, Caldwell rather charmingly thought was a covert fashion.
Life, Malcolm decided, sucked.
It would have helped if he was dealing with morons on the other side. But neither Cowen nor Kolya were the sort of people you maneuvered against with anything but your full attention. Not to mention the fact that they, unlike he, had a respectable budget, an established net of agents all across the galaxy and if - his luck was holding true to form - a cat.
While he, even being ever so special of an Agent, was trundling through the dusty streets of Cherem, taunted by goats and the memory of lord Kalem’s bland face. Yes, of COURSE Latoans would be DELIGHTED to conclude a limited alliance and provide Lord Barrett with the Stargate address to the fabled world of Ys. The government simply needed a bit more time to work out the details.
The tacit message being that Cowen outbid him yet again. Ah, well. At least Kalem was giving him a chance to come back to the table with a counter offer. Rather decent of the old rat bastard, really.
If only Kolya was that sporting.
Yes. He definitely missed Baghdad.
Sighing gloomily one last time, Barrett slid through the door to the safe house and closed it behind him with careful nonchalance for the benefit of whoever might be watching. Turning around he whistled softly calling the attention of the people in the room, as he reached inside his overcoat and pulled back the bolt of his AK in smooth, controlled movement honed by frequent practice
“We’re about to get hit. ... hey, where the fuck is my sandwich?!”
Author: Doqz
Characters/Pairing: Barrett, McKay, goat.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author's Notes: I think I am skirting the lines of the challenge here, but hopefully not crossing them.
In his more morose moments, as for example the present, Barrett would often find himself wishing that he did what his Nana wanted and became a dentist. Dentists, as-far-as-possible-from-feeling-Special, Agent Barrett thought gloomily, rarely found themselves in his current predicament.
Life was a thorny path. Personally he blamed Carter. Well Stargate in general but Carter in particular. She could have gone out on a date with him. But she didn’t. He was fairly sure that’s when his mojo began to go all wonky on him.
He sighed again. All in all he was beginning to feel distinctly nostalgic about the halcyon days of yore he spent chasing Zarquawi around Sadr City. You hardly ever needed to worry about Space Vampires in Baghdad.
Ah, good times. Good times.
One of the brightest and most special moments about Baghdad, in his personal opinion, was the severe lack of McKay. What the hell was up with that guy and his unwholesome joy in personally checking Barrett for alien parasites every time he got half a chance. Talk about unlawful search and seizure. And Beckett just stood there, all approving.
Malcolm scowled somewhat petulantly. He only was possessed just the once. There really was no call for McKay to be that gung-ho about frisking and probing him every time Barrett stepped through the gate.
This was all Carter's fault. He wasn't sure HOW, but it definitely was.
Somebody was to blame for the fact that McKay was as close as he got to the second base in over a year.
He paused for a minute to shuder expressively.
Yeah. Definitely Carter's fault.
Still, nobody to blame but himself. Nobody was stopping him from becoming a dentist. But no, it was action, adventure and fast women for Malcolm Barrett.
The life in the National Intelligence Directorate proved to be big on the adventure which his boss, Luis Esobeda, darkly defined for him as someone else being in deep shit far, far away.
The someone else usually winded up being Malcolm Barrett who was slowly but surely coming to the uncomfortable conclusion that action and fast women were strictly restricted to the Air Force. Like that jackass Sheppard. Seriously. That guy was getting more alien tail than captain Kirk.
That just wasn’t right.
Fucking Air Force.
It wasn’t like Barrett wanted the world. A date with Carter (or anyone really, at this point), a raise, a cat and the recognition of his talents by the president with some sort of a shiny medal (that he could use to get a date). Maybe a corner office with the view. But he was willing to be flexible on that.
As long as the office was located in the general vicinity of the Solar System, that is. That point was strictly non-negotiable.
Malcolm petulantly putted a pebble into the goat trotting across the street from him. He missed.
Yes. Pegasus Galaxy was definitely working his last nerve.
It just figured.
His Dad warned him about the government work. Cackling into his beer about the only reward for a job well-done being a harder, shittier and even more impossible job.
But did he listen?
No.
And so instead of making a couple of grand per root canal, he got himself tracking rogue NID segments and got himself shot way to close for comfort and the prospect of continuing the glorious line of the Barrett clan.
But, hey, he was game. He did his part for king and country. And all he asked for was a raise. Well and a cat. A white Persian one. Named Fernando.
Instead they gave him a promotion and sent him to Pegasus, to build, from scratch, a local branch of NID capable of at least slowing the Genii down as they ran rings around the SGA. Well, hell. Not the first time NID was asked to make bricks without straw. But it would have been nice to have at least some sort of opportunity to work. He wasn’t about to wish for help. Oh, no. What was he new? Of course there would be no help. He just wished he didn’t have to spend half his time maneuvering against both Weir, who clearly considered him the representative of the basest elements of the capitalist military-industrial complex and thus rating on her moral scale slightly below Wraith’s afterbirth and Caldwell who apparently distrusted the entire NID on general principles and was trying to build his own intel operation. In what, Barrett assumed, Caldwell rather charmingly thought was a covert fashion.
Life, Malcolm decided, sucked.
It would have helped if he was dealing with morons on the other side. But neither Cowen nor Kolya were the sort of people you maneuvered against with anything but your full attention. Not to mention the fact that they, unlike he, had a respectable budget, an established net of agents all across the galaxy and if - his luck was holding true to form - a cat.
While he, even being ever so special of an Agent, was trundling through the dusty streets of Cherem, taunted by goats and the memory of lord Kalem’s bland face. Yes, of COURSE Latoans would be DELIGHTED to conclude a limited alliance and provide Lord Barrett with the Stargate address to the fabled world of Ys. The government simply needed a bit more time to work out the details.
The tacit message being that Cowen outbid him yet again. Ah, well. At least Kalem was giving him a chance to come back to the table with a counter offer. Rather decent of the old rat bastard, really.
If only Kolya was that sporting.
Yes. He definitely missed Baghdad.
Sighing gloomily one last time, Barrett slid through the door to the safe house and closed it behind him with careful nonchalance for the benefit of whoever might be watching. Turning around he whistled softly calling the attention of the people in the room, as he reached inside his overcoat and pulled back the bolt of his AK in smooth, controlled movement honed by frequent practice
“We’re about to get hit. ... hey, where the fuck is my sandwich?!”
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-27 02:24 pm (UTC)Sheppard and McKay viewed by a third party always makes me giggle :)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-27 02:47 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-27 03:08 pm (UTC)(PS. You have two spelling errors to fix: "definately" and "meadal". I only mention this because your writing is so good otherwise.)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-27 03:17 pm (UTC)Loved the cat. And the goat in the summary almost made me spew my gum.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-27 03:37 pm (UTC)Fun stuff.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-27 05:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-27 06:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-27 09:34 pm (UTC)Somebody was to blame for the fact that McKay was as close as he got to the second base in over a year.
Poor guy! He really does need a girl. Though with no one in Atlantis trusting him, there isn't much chance of that, I suppose.
And, um. If Barrett was my dentist, I'd pray for cavities. Any excuse at all...
(no subject)
Date: 2005-09-28 12:57 pm (UTC)This was much fun, and I'd certainly read more of the misadventures of Agent Barrett. ;)