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sga_flashficTitle: No Place Like
Rating: PG
Category: Gen, totally gen.
Spoilers: “Intruder” (S2)
Summary: Sheppard and McKay debate computer protocol, coffee, and mud packs.
Notes: For the Buildings and Food challenge at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sga_flashfic.
*
John’s computer dies hours within his return to Atlantis. Dark screen, failure to respond to both the restart button and humble begging: the classic signs of a computer that has lost the will to live-- or at least boot up.
At first, he panics, thinking that it’s been infiltrated by the Wraith virus that took control of the Daedalus as they were on their way back from Earth. Only after McKay assures him that his laptop is most definitely free of all alien viruses does he relax-- at least until the scientist adds that the problem is an Earth computer virus.
“But how--”
“Have you downloaded anything from the Internet or from an email attachment recently?”
He thinks back several weeks, and vaguely remembers clicking on several attachments on emails sent by some SGC brass. “Well-- maybe, yeah. But I don’t think that’d be it--”
“Yes, that actually would be it.” McKay rolls his eyes and hands John back his laptop. “Come back tomorrow, please.”
John’s too tired to argue and so he takes his ailing computer back to his quarters for the night. He’s relieved that it isn’t something worse. A Earth computer virus is bad of course, but he’ll sleep much easier that night knowing that his computer isn’t likely to start trying to kill him. He has a feeling that he would never live that one down.
Before he goes to sleep, he tries the restart button a couple times-- just in case. But the screen remains woefully black, and once again, John is reminded of why he decided to join the military, despite his aptitude for math and the promising career of an engineer or scientist. It’s much more satisfying to punch a person than a machine.
That and the whole thing about how he never looked very good in laboratory goggles.
With a final jab at the restart button, John closes his laptop, stumbles his way through the dark to his bed, and is fast asleep within minutes.
*
As promised, Rodney sits down with him that morning in the control room to try to figure out what has caused John’s laptop to cease functioning.
Apparently McKay has been drinking coffee nonstop since they got back (the instant coffee supply aboard the Daedalus ran out on day five of their trip; he’d been jonesing for three weeks) because he’s talking so fast that John has trouble keeping up, not to mention understanding a word of the techie jargon that peppers their conversation.
Though it’d probably be a stretch to call it a conversation, since all John has done for the last ten minutes is nod and make vague, noncommittal noises whenever Rodney happens to pause for breath or dramatic effect, which isn’t often. So it’d probably be more accurate to call it a monologue or a diatribe, in which John is simply the silent, passive recipient of Rodney’s ranting.
But on the bright side, John’s computer works now. He still is fuzzy on the specifics of what went wrong and why the SGC would send him a computer virus and how Rodney was able to fix it, but hey, at least the computer is back to normal. And that’s what matters, really. Even if it does bug him a little how easily Rodney was able to repair the malfunctioning laptop. Of course, since Rodney’s the head computer geek on Atlantis, John knows, he should be the one who could fix the laptop.
It’s still a little annoying, though. Lately, John’s gotten used to his sway over the city’s systems. But Earth technology has never seemed to like John as much as its Ancient counterpart does.
Rodney seems to be on the same wavelength as John. “Funny, isn’t it?” he says as he taps away at the keyboard of John’s laptop. “You can control practically every piece of Ancient technology in this city with your mind, but when it comes to technology from Earth, well, you don’t have quite the same rapport, hmm?”
He looks exceedingly pleased at this, but John lets it go. He’s feeling forgiving. Getting back on Atlantis and out of the cramped confines of the Daedalus has put him in a good mood.
“Well, that’s why we keep you around, Rodney,” he says, and lightly claps Rodney on the shoulder in what he intends as a friendly gesture.
But instead Rodney looks offended and flinches away from John’s touch. “Hey! This is a personal favor,” he says, pointing at the computer screen. “Rebooting your computer for you is a sad waste of my intellect. A child could do this.”
“Right,” says John. “That’s what I meant.”
“You meant to say that a child could fix your laptop, which is why you brought it to me?”
“No, no, no,” John waves his hands in the air, dismissing the idea. “I meant about the personal favor part. I need my computer working, so I went to you for help and now I owe you a favor, and so that’s what I meant about-- hey, uh, what are you doing?”
But Rodney’s not paying attention. Instead he’s lifting his hands from the keyboard. He flips his hands palms-up and stares at his fingers, looking horrified. He looks back at the keyboard. “Are these keys sticky?”
“Uh,” says John. “No. They aren’t.”
But Rodney has lowered his hands and is touching the keyboard. “You’ve-- you’ve spilled coffee on your keyboard!” he splutters, moving his hands back and forth over the keys. “You’ve been drinking coffee while using your computer!”
“No! I mean-- well, I don’t think so. I hope not.” John tries to remember when he spilled coffee on his laptop. During the early days of the Daedalus trip, most likely, or perhaps on Earth? He can’t recall exactly.
“You hope not?” Rodney raises his fingers to his nose and sniffs them. “I can smell it! That’s coffee! You’ve spilled coffee on your computer!” He touches the sides of the laptop, the mouse pad; he looks disgusted. “What have you been doing, Sheppard, bathing your computer in coffee every night?”
“Yeah, sure, right after the mud pack,” says John before he realizes that, judging by the expression on Rodney’s face, that he probably shouldn’t be joking around now.
“You think that’s funny! You actually think that’s funny! Well, it’s not! What is this, another home remedy out of the John Sheppard book of computer repair? You, you-- you can’t do this!”
“Hey, you drink coffee around your computer all the time,” John points out. “Look, coffee cup right there!”
“I am a trained professional!” says Rodney. “I’m allowed to drink coffee because I have the hand-eye coordination to hold a mug and move it periodically to my mouth without spilling it all over my keyboard! And this, apparently, is too difficult for you! No wonder your computer craps out on you, it’s probably out of self-defense!”
“Hypocrite.” John has decided to stick with what works.
“Hey! I need coffee to stay awake! It’s how things stay working around here. It’s how this city keeps floating while you’re out galavanting around in your puddle jumper! If it weren’t for me, you and the rest of Atlantis would probably be swimming with the fishes about now!”
“Hypocrite,” says John, singsong.
It goes downhill from there.
*
Two hours, a lecture about the correct protocol concerning the downloading of attachments and opening emails from strangers (including those strangers who hold positions at SGC), and a scolding about drinking coffee within five feet of an open laptop later, John is free to leave.
“See ya, McKay,” he calls as he walks out, his now fully-functioning laptop under his arm. “I owe you one.”
Rodney does something with his fingers that may or may not be an obscene hand gesture. “I don’t want to see you drinking anything anywhere near a computer!” he calls after John’s retreating back.
John waves back cheerily. “Only coffee, right, I got it.”
This time, Rodney does flip him off.
It’s good to be home, John thinks.
end.
Rating: PG
Category: Gen, totally gen.
Spoilers: “Intruder” (S2)
Summary: Sheppard and McKay debate computer protocol, coffee, and mud packs.
Notes: For the Buildings and Food challenge at
sga_flashfic.*
John’s computer dies hours within his return to Atlantis. Dark screen, failure to respond to both the restart button and humble begging: the classic signs of a computer that has lost the will to live-- or at least boot up.
At first, he panics, thinking that it’s been infiltrated by the Wraith virus that took control of the Daedalus as they were on their way back from Earth. Only after McKay assures him that his laptop is most definitely free of all alien viruses does he relax-- at least until the scientist adds that the problem is an Earth computer virus.
“But how--”
“Have you downloaded anything from the Internet or from an email attachment recently?”
He thinks back several weeks, and vaguely remembers clicking on several attachments on emails sent by some SGC brass. “Well-- maybe, yeah. But I don’t think that’d be it--”
“Yes, that actually would be it.” McKay rolls his eyes and hands John back his laptop. “Come back tomorrow, please.”
John’s too tired to argue and so he takes his ailing computer back to his quarters for the night. He’s relieved that it isn’t something worse. A Earth computer virus is bad of course, but he’ll sleep much easier that night knowing that his computer isn’t likely to start trying to kill him. He has a feeling that he would never live that one down.
Before he goes to sleep, he tries the restart button a couple times-- just in case. But the screen remains woefully black, and once again, John is reminded of why he decided to join the military, despite his aptitude for math and the promising career of an engineer or scientist. It’s much more satisfying to punch a person than a machine.
That and the whole thing about how he never looked very good in laboratory goggles.
With a final jab at the restart button, John closes his laptop, stumbles his way through the dark to his bed, and is fast asleep within minutes.
*
As promised, Rodney sits down with him that morning in the control room to try to figure out what has caused John’s laptop to cease functioning.
Apparently McKay has been drinking coffee nonstop since they got back (the instant coffee supply aboard the Daedalus ran out on day five of their trip; he’d been jonesing for three weeks) because he’s talking so fast that John has trouble keeping up, not to mention understanding a word of the techie jargon that peppers their conversation.
Though it’d probably be a stretch to call it a conversation, since all John has done for the last ten minutes is nod and make vague, noncommittal noises whenever Rodney happens to pause for breath or dramatic effect, which isn’t often. So it’d probably be more accurate to call it a monologue or a diatribe, in which John is simply the silent, passive recipient of Rodney’s ranting.
But on the bright side, John’s computer works now. He still is fuzzy on the specifics of what went wrong and why the SGC would send him a computer virus and how Rodney was able to fix it, but hey, at least the computer is back to normal. And that’s what matters, really. Even if it does bug him a little how easily Rodney was able to repair the malfunctioning laptop. Of course, since Rodney’s the head computer geek on Atlantis, John knows, he should be the one who could fix the laptop.
It’s still a little annoying, though. Lately, John’s gotten used to his sway over the city’s systems. But Earth technology has never seemed to like John as much as its Ancient counterpart does.
Rodney seems to be on the same wavelength as John. “Funny, isn’t it?” he says as he taps away at the keyboard of John’s laptop. “You can control practically every piece of Ancient technology in this city with your mind, but when it comes to technology from Earth, well, you don’t have quite the same rapport, hmm?”
He looks exceedingly pleased at this, but John lets it go. He’s feeling forgiving. Getting back on Atlantis and out of the cramped confines of the Daedalus has put him in a good mood.
“Well, that’s why we keep you around, Rodney,” he says, and lightly claps Rodney on the shoulder in what he intends as a friendly gesture.
But instead Rodney looks offended and flinches away from John’s touch. “Hey! This is a personal favor,” he says, pointing at the computer screen. “Rebooting your computer for you is a sad waste of my intellect. A child could do this.”
“Right,” says John. “That’s what I meant.”
“You meant to say that a child could fix your laptop, which is why you brought it to me?”
“No, no, no,” John waves his hands in the air, dismissing the idea. “I meant about the personal favor part. I need my computer working, so I went to you for help and now I owe you a favor, and so that’s what I meant about-- hey, uh, what are you doing?”
But Rodney’s not paying attention. Instead he’s lifting his hands from the keyboard. He flips his hands palms-up and stares at his fingers, looking horrified. He looks back at the keyboard. “Are these keys sticky?”
“Uh,” says John. “No. They aren’t.”
But Rodney has lowered his hands and is touching the keyboard. “You’ve-- you’ve spilled coffee on your keyboard!” he splutters, moving his hands back and forth over the keys. “You’ve been drinking coffee while using your computer!”
“No! I mean-- well, I don’t think so. I hope not.” John tries to remember when he spilled coffee on his laptop. During the early days of the Daedalus trip, most likely, or perhaps on Earth? He can’t recall exactly.
“You hope not?” Rodney raises his fingers to his nose and sniffs them. “I can smell it! That’s coffee! You’ve spilled coffee on your computer!” He touches the sides of the laptop, the mouse pad; he looks disgusted. “What have you been doing, Sheppard, bathing your computer in coffee every night?”
“Yeah, sure, right after the mud pack,” says John before he realizes that, judging by the expression on Rodney’s face, that he probably shouldn’t be joking around now.
“You think that’s funny! You actually think that’s funny! Well, it’s not! What is this, another home remedy out of the John Sheppard book of computer repair? You, you-- you can’t do this!”
“Hey, you drink coffee around your computer all the time,” John points out. “Look, coffee cup right there!”
“I am a trained professional!” says Rodney. “I’m allowed to drink coffee because I have the hand-eye coordination to hold a mug and move it periodically to my mouth without spilling it all over my keyboard! And this, apparently, is too difficult for you! No wonder your computer craps out on you, it’s probably out of self-defense!”
“Hypocrite.” John has decided to stick with what works.
“Hey! I need coffee to stay awake! It’s how things stay working around here. It’s how this city keeps floating while you’re out galavanting around in your puddle jumper! If it weren’t for me, you and the rest of Atlantis would probably be swimming with the fishes about now!”
“Hypocrite,” says John, singsong.
It goes downhill from there.
*
Two hours, a lecture about the correct protocol concerning the downloading of attachments and opening emails from strangers (including those strangers who hold positions at SGC), and a scolding about drinking coffee within five feet of an open laptop later, John is free to leave.
“See ya, McKay,” he calls as he walks out, his now fully-functioning laptop under his arm. “I owe you one.”
Rodney does something with his fingers that may or may not be an obscene hand gesture. “I don’t want to see you drinking anything anywhere near a computer!” he calls after John’s retreating back.
John waves back cheerily. “Only coffee, right, I got it.”
This time, Rodney does flip him off.
It’s good to be home, John thinks.
end.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-02 03:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-03 08:34 pm (UTC)