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sga_flashficTitle: Of Sheppards and Strangelets
Author: kodiak_bear
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: T
Warnings: Trek geekness, physic geekness and...self-sacrifice
Word count: 1,200+
Summary: McKay's been infected...
AN: (doh, yes, forgot to add this), thanks to Linzi for the super fast beta, and Happy Birthday oc_pixie
Of Sheppards and Strangelets
Captain’s Log; Stardate – does it really fucking matter what the exact date is? It was another incredibly disastrous day of facing peril, and it’s becoming more common than toenail fungus and assholes; honestly, I could care less about a numerical providence of tracking time right now.
I want to know one thing. That’s it. Unlike what everyone enjoys telling me, I’m not demanding. Really, I’m not. If I tell you to go away, at least I didn’t call into question your parentage and IQ. So, please, someone, tell me when I became John Sheppard’s personal bodyguard? Because, of all the things I’ve studied since being the tiny four-cell embryo in my mother’s womb to now, none of it included training in being a personal shield to the aforementioned individual.
I studied Bohr and Newton in grade school. I progressed to Faraday and Einstein, and I’m working hard to forget the embarrassing bomb incident, and when I say embarrassing, I mean to those moronic agents who actually thought I intended on blowing up my school. Did the Wright brother’s build the first flyer because they wanted a world full of B-52’s? I know most adults have brains – they merely have a penchant for an appalling amount of under usage. Seriously, to understand the severity of this condition, it has to be considered that on a good day, we only use ten percent of our brain’s capability. Take a fraction of a fraction – just saying.
And that brings me to the crux of my problem. There must be a virus in Atlantis. One that infects the victim with a flagrant disregard for his own well-being. The first instance, I rationalized it as merely a reaction. The personal shield had given me a near-death experience hours earlier, and it was only natural if I trusted in the Ancient technology and threw the generator out the gate. Someone had to get rid of the black energy creature that would’ve eventually feasted on my electrical synapses. That’s self preservation, so again, entirely predictable and not outside my realm of behavior. It had nothing to do with seeing Sheppard running up the stairs, away from the cloud that would’ve killed any of us. Nothing.
But then it happened again. And this time there was no rationalizing it. I stepped out and taunted a Wraith. Me. Taunted a life-sucking monster to come at me, and stop going after Sheppard. What the fuck was I thinking? Because believe me, when I ran out of bullets, there was panic. Heart stopping, gut clenching, point me to the bathroom after, because holy shit it was mean, and pissed, and I ran out of bullets.
That’s when I first began to suspect I’d been infected by something, because self-sacrifice wasn’t an ideal that I had previously subscribed to. The problem was the sacrifice part. How is doing anything that ends in your death a good idea? A good idea is one that leads to everyone living. A good idea doesn’t end in blood, and death, and permanence.
It’s Sheppard. He’s the virus, the force, the Newton that equals only w=mg, because all he’s got is gravity as a force pulling at me, and like a devastating singularity, I couldn’t and can’t resist. He looks at me, and I feel something inside just snap. I bluster, and groan, and bitch, and one fucking look makes me do things I wouldn’t have done in all my previous thirty-odd years. I’m leaving some wiggle room for my impressionable toddler years because there were some embarrassing moments with knickers and hats, and – disturbing thoughts and I’m not going there right now.
I’ve lived my life without complications. I was happy that way. People are annoying, with all their emotional needs and demands, and I get accused of being difficult? McKay this, McKay that – save the world, Rodney, save the universe, Rodney – and then my own internal id goes and screws me by shouting ‘Save Sheppard’ and where the hell did that come from?
Because I did. I stepped in front of a loaded gun today. Stepped in front of Sheppard, even as he was down on the ground, groggy and concussed, and told the bastard if he wanted to kill Sheppard, then he’d kill me first. And the really scary part – I meant it. Seeing John down, watching the bastard’s finger tighten on the trigger, and imagining life without that face, that voice, that body – I fucking did it again. Stepped right in front of him and practically dared the maniac with the lethal weapon to find a new target.
Strangelet. That’s what Sheppard was. He was a god damn strangelet, and everything he touched, turned into more strangelets, and became self-destructive. It was the only explanation. And if it hadn’t been for Ronon’s weapon that would seriously make Soldier of Fortune, I would’ve ceased existence. Self-sacrifice…
I let my fingers slide away from the keyboard. Shit. He was a damn strangelet, and I’d been lost the moment I looked into those eyes, and touched his face –
I groaned at the train of thought, clicked save, and considered for a moment deleting the entry. The clock reminded me that it was hours past bed time, and without my normal four cups of coffee, I was babbling. That’s what it was. The entry was pure caffeine deprived babble – except the strangelet part…and the self-sacrifice part…and the morons.
The hardness in my pants wasn’t helping, and the object that caused said hardness was nowhere around. Fuck. I shut the laptop, and pushed away from the lab counter. My knees ached, my back ached, my head ached – and I was not going to admit a little bit of heart attack because of a certain Colonel. Not. Going. To. Admit. It.
But my feet are two disconnected traitors, and they walked me right up to his bed in the infirmary, instead of my room. Carson’s got his head wrapped in white gauze that really does nothing to disparage the rakishness. The black hair pokes doggedly out from the circular entrapment, refusing to be cowed even by injury. The bruise over his right eye also peeks out from the bandage, but it makes him look vulnerable.
If my fingers brush over that bruise, it’s the strangelet in me. When the eyes flutter open, and blink away the disorientation, I grin like an idiot, and again, I refer you to the fact that I’ve become Sheppard’s strangelet. Wow. This is…freeing. I grin a little wider, and dip lower, brushing lips against his.
“Rodney? I’m not hallucinating again, am I?”
I pull back and murmur, “Not even ten percent, Colonel.” He’s watching me, but not protesting. I’m pretty sure I’m still grinning ridiculously wide, but I just kissed that mouth, and I’m hard and – oh, god. I pull a chair over and ask, “Have you ever heard of a phenomenon called strangelets?”
The End
Author: kodiak_bear
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: T
Warnings: Trek geekness, physic geekness and...self-sacrifice
Word count: 1,200+
Summary: McKay's been infected...
AN: (doh, yes, forgot to add this), thanks to Linzi for the super fast beta, and Happy Birthday oc_pixie
Captain’s Log; Stardate – does it really fucking matter what the exact date is? It was another incredibly disastrous day of facing peril, and it’s becoming more common than toenail fungus and assholes; honestly, I could care less about a numerical providence of tracking time right now.
I want to know one thing. That’s it. Unlike what everyone enjoys telling me, I’m not demanding. Really, I’m not. If I tell you to go away, at least I didn’t call into question your parentage and IQ. So, please, someone, tell me when I became John Sheppard’s personal bodyguard? Because, of all the things I’ve studied since being the tiny four-cell embryo in my mother’s womb to now, none of it included training in being a personal shield to the aforementioned individual.
I studied Bohr and Newton in grade school. I progressed to Faraday and Einstein, and I’m working hard to forget the embarrassing bomb incident, and when I say embarrassing, I mean to those moronic agents who actually thought I intended on blowing up my school. Did the Wright brother’s build the first flyer because they wanted a world full of B-52’s? I know most adults have brains – they merely have a penchant for an appalling amount of under usage. Seriously, to understand the severity of this condition, it has to be considered that on a good day, we only use ten percent of our brain’s capability. Take a fraction of a fraction – just saying.
And that brings me to the crux of my problem. There must be a virus in Atlantis. One that infects the victim with a flagrant disregard for his own well-being. The first instance, I rationalized it as merely a reaction. The personal shield had given me a near-death experience hours earlier, and it was only natural if I trusted in the Ancient technology and threw the generator out the gate. Someone had to get rid of the black energy creature that would’ve eventually feasted on my electrical synapses. That’s self preservation, so again, entirely predictable and not outside my realm of behavior. It had nothing to do with seeing Sheppard running up the stairs, away from the cloud that would’ve killed any of us. Nothing.
But then it happened again. And this time there was no rationalizing it. I stepped out and taunted a Wraith. Me. Taunted a life-sucking monster to come at me, and stop going after Sheppard. What the fuck was I thinking? Because believe me, when I ran out of bullets, there was panic. Heart stopping, gut clenching, point me to the bathroom after, because holy shit it was mean, and pissed, and I ran out of bullets.
That’s when I first began to suspect I’d been infected by something, because self-sacrifice wasn’t an ideal that I had previously subscribed to. The problem was the sacrifice part. How is doing anything that ends in your death a good idea? A good idea is one that leads to everyone living. A good idea doesn’t end in blood, and death, and permanence.
It’s Sheppard. He’s the virus, the force, the Newton that equals only w=mg, because all he’s got is gravity as a force pulling at me, and like a devastating singularity, I couldn’t and can’t resist. He looks at me, and I feel something inside just snap. I bluster, and groan, and bitch, and one fucking look makes me do things I wouldn’t have done in all my previous thirty-odd years. I’m leaving some wiggle room for my impressionable toddler years because there were some embarrassing moments with knickers and hats, and – disturbing thoughts and I’m not going there right now.
I’ve lived my life without complications. I was happy that way. People are annoying, with all their emotional needs and demands, and I get accused of being difficult? McKay this, McKay that – save the world, Rodney, save the universe, Rodney – and then my own internal id goes and screws me by shouting ‘Save Sheppard’ and where the hell did that come from?
Because I did. I stepped in front of a loaded gun today. Stepped in front of Sheppard, even as he was down on the ground, groggy and concussed, and told the bastard if he wanted to kill Sheppard, then he’d kill me first. And the really scary part – I meant it. Seeing John down, watching the bastard’s finger tighten on the trigger, and imagining life without that face, that voice, that body – I fucking did it again. Stepped right in front of him and practically dared the maniac with the lethal weapon to find a new target.
Strangelet. That’s what Sheppard was. He was a god damn strangelet, and everything he touched, turned into more strangelets, and became self-destructive. It was the only explanation. And if it hadn’t been for Ronon’s weapon that would seriously make Soldier of Fortune, I would’ve ceased existence. Self-sacrifice…
I let my fingers slide away from the keyboard. Shit. He was a damn strangelet, and I’d been lost the moment I looked into those eyes, and touched his face –
I groaned at the train of thought, clicked save, and considered for a moment deleting the entry. The clock reminded me that it was hours past bed time, and without my normal four cups of coffee, I was babbling. That’s what it was. The entry was pure caffeine deprived babble – except the strangelet part…and the self-sacrifice part…and the morons.
The hardness in my pants wasn’t helping, and the object that caused said hardness was nowhere around. Fuck. I shut the laptop, and pushed away from the lab counter. My knees ached, my back ached, my head ached – and I was not going to admit a little bit of heart attack because of a certain Colonel. Not. Going. To. Admit. It.
But my feet are two disconnected traitors, and they walked me right up to his bed in the infirmary, instead of my room. Carson’s got his head wrapped in white gauze that really does nothing to disparage the rakishness. The black hair pokes doggedly out from the circular entrapment, refusing to be cowed even by injury. The bruise over his right eye also peeks out from the bandage, but it makes him look vulnerable.
If my fingers brush over that bruise, it’s the strangelet in me. When the eyes flutter open, and blink away the disorientation, I grin like an idiot, and again, I refer you to the fact that I’ve become Sheppard’s strangelet. Wow. This is…freeing. I grin a little wider, and dip lower, brushing lips against his.
“Rodney? I’m not hallucinating again, am I?”
I pull back and murmur, “Not even ten percent, Colonel.” He’s watching me, but not protesting. I’m pretty sure I’m still grinning ridiculously wide, but I just kissed that mouth, and I’m hard and – oh, god. I pull a chair over and ask, “Have you ever heard of a phenomenon called strangelets?”
The End
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(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 01:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 02:01 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 03:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 03:23 pm (UTC)*laughing*
Glad you liked it. :) I completely picture Rodney doing Captain's logs, cause he's just that kind of my geek.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 03:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 03:47 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 04:12 pm (UTC)*giggles madly*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 11:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 05:08 pm (UTC)I LOVED IT!!!!!!!! So perfectly Rodney!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 11:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-03 04:21 am (UTC)Hey! Do you have AIM!? I just got mine back and I'm trying to gether up names!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-03 12:50 pm (UTC)~ thanks about the get well. I haven't been sick in a long time. Actually slept in till almost 8 am this morning. That's on top of going to bed at 10pm, both of which I never do LOL.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-03 03:38 pm (UTC)And Woot that you got sleep!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 07:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 11:18 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 10:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-02 11:18 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-03 04:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-03 12:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-06-09 12:22 am (UTC)