Currency, by siegeofangels
Mar. 12th, 2006 04:31 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
siegeofangels.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
sga_flashficTitle: Currency
Author: siegeofangels
Rating: G, gen and slash (JS/RM) ~1000 words
Disclaimer: Stargate: Atlantis is the property of someone not me. No copyright infringement is intended.
Note: For the Left Behind challenge: the perils of the barter system. Special thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
2am_optimism and melannen for wonderful speedy and thoughtful beta.
It's been a long time since Rodney used real cash--greenbacks that never stopped reminding him of Monopoly money, all one color with Rich Uncle Moneybags looking at him; longer still since he's spent Canadian dollars. Years since he's slipped a loonie into his pocket.
This doesn't mean that he never has moments where he completely and totally forgets that they're on a barter system on Atlantis and have been ever since they set foot in the Pegasus galaxy. He realizes this just as Nancy Morgan's brushing the last of the cut hair off of his shoulders.
"Um," he says, and looks up at her still holding the scissors near his face.
"You said you had Skittles," she says, and raises one eyebrow like she's considering a pound of flesh.
"I did!" he yelps. He did, that much is true, he did have Skittles, but he does not have Skittles any longer, having traded them for a bag of Fritos that weren't really worth it. "I, I, here," he says, and grabs a Post-It note, hastily scribbles THIS NOTE MAY BE EXCHANGED FOR THIRTY MINUTES OF RODNEY MCKAY'S TIME, signs it, and hands it to her.
The haircut took about a half an hour; he figures it's only fair. "Actually," he tells her, standing up and ready to make his getaway, "considering my current pay scale, that's probably the most expensive haircut in history."
She's looking at the Post-It, considering, and then she rolls her eyes. "Yeah, okay," she says, and pockets it.
Rodney figures she'll probably exchange it within the week, the next time her laptop locks up or one of the many jury-rigged interfaces between the city and the modern technology falls apart. He doesn't anticipate Morgan trading it to Lars Bensen for a dozen warm muffins.
Rodney's never claimed to foresee every eventuality in the universe.
***
Bensen doesn't particularly want thirty minutes of Rodney McKay's time, and is actually a little afraid of trying to cash it in, so he trades it to Lieutenant Cadman for two fruit cups. It's a fair trade. In all the galaxy, they still haven't found anything quite like a papaya.
Cadman sticks the note up on her corkboard and for a week she entertains the thought of presenting it to Rodney, until four buttons fall off her jacket at once and she's got to go offworld now, and she manages to persuade Dr. Carles to take it in exchange for sewing them back on.
Carles isn't stupid, so she trades it as soon as possible to Popovich for a travel-sized bottle of shower gel.
Popovich loses the note in a game of five-card draw--Zelenka's got crazy luck tonight.
Radek reads it, snorts, and throws it back in the pot.
John takes it with a full house, aces over eights. The Post-It's creased and a little torn, has long since lost any any semblance of stickiness, and the signature's a little smudged, but it unmistakeably says RsquiggleMcsqui, and he now owns a half an hour of Rodney.
John grins.
***
1.
John cashes the note in a week later: swings by the lab and dangles the paper in front of Rodney's eyes one afternoon when there's not anything particularly pressing going on.
Rodney's eyes widen as he realizes what it is. "I, where did you get that?"
"Does it matter?"
He sighs. "No, I suppose not. What'll it be," he asks, resigned, "doing your hideous paperwork or fixing something you've broken while attempting, in your own ham-fisted way, to repair it yourself?"
John smiles the completely fake smile Rodney knows from trade negotiations. "Remember M8X-764?"
A mob of angry farmers, complete with pitchforks and torches, had chased them across two fields and a river. By the time they'd gotten back to the jumper, Rodney had almost fallen over wheezing. Rodney definitely remembers.
"No no," Rodney says. "No, no, no."
"But yes," John tells him, his grin widening. "We're going to take a nice little jog around the city. Maybe out to Pier Five."
Pier Five was the one furthest away from where they were now; it'd take a half an hour just to get out there.
"I hate you," Rodney says.
THE END
2.
John cashes the note in two weeks later: casually knocks on Rodney's door late at night and holds up the note, eyebrows raised.
It's the night after the mission where Rodney, caught up in the adrenaline rush of fighting for his life, maybe possibly could have said something without thinking, something about how good John looks saving their lives. He may even have used the word hot. John's eyes had shot wide open and he'd said, "Wait, what?" before he'd gone back to the fighting and the running.
They hadn't quite made eye contact all the way back and through the debriefing, and now John says, "I thought maybe we could finish our discussion from earlier," finally meeting Rodney's eyes and leaning against the doorframe.
Rodney takes the note, reads it, and says, "Thirty minutes, well. I suppose I am willing to extend a line of credit."
One step to the side, and John laughs as the door whooshes shut behind him.
THE END
3.
John cashes the note in three weeks later: during the aftermath of the latest crisis, he fishes it out of his pocket as Rodney, pale and shaky in an infirmary bed, tries to get up.
"I have to--"
"Beckett said rest," John says, and swats Rodney's hands away as he tries to reach for a laptop, holding the note up and then pushing it into Rodney's hand. "You're not in any condition to work right now, and Zelenka's got it under control."
"But, I, the," Rodney says, and can't finish the sentence, which is apparently a pretty good indicator to John that Rodney shouldn't have anything more technologically advanced than a spoon, because he moves the laptop across the room. John doesn't understand, though. Rodney has to check, he has to make sure.
"Rodney, sleep," John says, putting his thumb and forefinger on Rodney's burning forehead and pushing him back down onto the welcoming pillow. "You did fine, we're all fine, now take a nap. Really. We're good."
Rodney sort of manages to focus on him and tries to mumble " . . . bastard," but his fingers are tightening around the note, and thirty minutes, he can take thirty minutes, that's okay, and the last thing he sees before he falls into a deep sleep is John, standing over him.
THE END
Author: siegeofangels
Rating: G, gen and slash (JS/RM) ~1000 words
Disclaimer: Stargate: Atlantis is the property of someone not me. No copyright infringement is intended.
Note: For the Left Behind challenge: the perils of the barter system. Special thanks to
2am_optimism and melannen for wonderful speedy and thoughtful beta.It's been a long time since Rodney used real cash--greenbacks that never stopped reminding him of Monopoly money, all one color with Rich Uncle Moneybags looking at him; longer still since he's spent Canadian dollars. Years since he's slipped a loonie into his pocket.
This doesn't mean that he never has moments where he completely and totally forgets that they're on a barter system on Atlantis and have been ever since they set foot in the Pegasus galaxy. He realizes this just as Nancy Morgan's brushing the last of the cut hair off of his shoulders.
"Um," he says, and looks up at her still holding the scissors near his face.
"You said you had Skittles," she says, and raises one eyebrow like she's considering a pound of flesh.
"I did!" he yelps. He did, that much is true, he did have Skittles, but he does not have Skittles any longer, having traded them for a bag of Fritos that weren't really worth it. "I, I, here," he says, and grabs a Post-It note, hastily scribbles THIS NOTE MAY BE EXCHANGED FOR THIRTY MINUTES OF RODNEY MCKAY'S TIME, signs it, and hands it to her.
The haircut took about a half an hour; he figures it's only fair. "Actually," he tells her, standing up and ready to make his getaway, "considering my current pay scale, that's probably the most expensive haircut in history."
She's looking at the Post-It, considering, and then she rolls her eyes. "Yeah, okay," she says, and pockets it.
Rodney figures she'll probably exchange it within the week, the next time her laptop locks up or one of the many jury-rigged interfaces between the city and the modern technology falls apart. He doesn't anticipate Morgan trading it to Lars Bensen for a dozen warm muffins.
Rodney's never claimed to foresee every eventuality in the universe.
***
Bensen doesn't particularly want thirty minutes of Rodney McKay's time, and is actually a little afraid of trying to cash it in, so he trades it to Lieutenant Cadman for two fruit cups. It's a fair trade. In all the galaxy, they still haven't found anything quite like a papaya.
Cadman sticks the note up on her corkboard and for a week she entertains the thought of presenting it to Rodney, until four buttons fall off her jacket at once and she's got to go offworld now, and she manages to persuade Dr. Carles to take it in exchange for sewing them back on.
Carles isn't stupid, so she trades it as soon as possible to Popovich for a travel-sized bottle of shower gel.
Popovich loses the note in a game of five-card draw--Zelenka's got crazy luck tonight.
Radek reads it, snorts, and throws it back in the pot.
John takes it with a full house, aces over eights. The Post-It's creased and a little torn, has long since lost any any semblance of stickiness, and the signature's a little smudged, but it unmistakeably says RsquiggleMcsqui, and he now owns a half an hour of Rodney.
John grins.
***
1.
John cashes the note in a week later: swings by the lab and dangles the paper in front of Rodney's eyes one afternoon when there's not anything particularly pressing going on.
Rodney's eyes widen as he realizes what it is. "I, where did you get that?"
"Does it matter?"
He sighs. "No, I suppose not. What'll it be," he asks, resigned, "doing your hideous paperwork or fixing something you've broken while attempting, in your own ham-fisted way, to repair it yourself?"
John smiles the completely fake smile Rodney knows from trade negotiations. "Remember M8X-764?"
A mob of angry farmers, complete with pitchforks and torches, had chased them across two fields and a river. By the time they'd gotten back to the jumper, Rodney had almost fallen over wheezing. Rodney definitely remembers.
"No no," Rodney says. "No, no, no."
"But yes," John tells him, his grin widening. "We're going to take a nice little jog around the city. Maybe out to Pier Five."
Pier Five was the one furthest away from where they were now; it'd take a half an hour just to get out there.
"I hate you," Rodney says.
THE END
2.
John cashes the note in two weeks later: casually knocks on Rodney's door late at night and holds up the note, eyebrows raised.
It's the night after the mission where Rodney, caught up in the adrenaline rush of fighting for his life, maybe possibly could have said something without thinking, something about how good John looks saving their lives. He may even have used the word hot. John's eyes had shot wide open and he'd said, "Wait, what?" before he'd gone back to the fighting and the running.
They hadn't quite made eye contact all the way back and through the debriefing, and now John says, "I thought maybe we could finish our discussion from earlier," finally meeting Rodney's eyes and leaning against the doorframe.
Rodney takes the note, reads it, and says, "Thirty minutes, well. I suppose I am willing to extend a line of credit."
One step to the side, and John laughs as the door whooshes shut behind him.
THE END
3.
John cashes the note in three weeks later: during the aftermath of the latest crisis, he fishes it out of his pocket as Rodney, pale and shaky in an infirmary bed, tries to get up.
"I have to--"
"Beckett said rest," John says, and swats Rodney's hands away as he tries to reach for a laptop, holding the note up and then pushing it into Rodney's hand. "You're not in any condition to work right now, and Zelenka's got it under control."
"But, I, the," Rodney says, and can't finish the sentence, which is apparently a pretty good indicator to John that Rodney shouldn't have anything more technologically advanced than a spoon, because he moves the laptop across the room. John doesn't understand, though. Rodney has to check, he has to make sure.
"Rodney, sleep," John says, putting his thumb and forefinger on Rodney's burning forehead and pushing him back down onto the welcoming pillow. "You did fine, we're all fine, now take a nap. Really. We're good."
Rodney sort of manages to focus on him and tries to mumble " . . . bastard," but his fingers are tightening around the note, and thirty minutes, he can take thirty minutes, that's okay, and the last thing he sees before he falls into a deep sleep is John, standing over him.
THE END
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 09:52 pm (UTC)I also love the image of everyone trading Rodney's time around like a hot potato.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 10:10 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 10:03 pm (UTC)Very nice!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 10:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 10:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 10:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 10:05 pm (UTC)I liked how now John "owns a half an hour of Rodney" and he (in all your permutations) always uses it to Rodney's benefit.
and wouldn't we all like 30 minutes of Rodney McKay's time...
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 10:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2006-03-13 04:40 am (UTC) - Expand(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 10:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 10:19 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 10:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 10:20 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 10:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 10:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 10:21 pm (UTC)Thank you for writing,
~ Stormy
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 10:25 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 10:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 10:29 pm (UTC)Radek, of course, does not need thirty more minutes of Rodney McKay, thank you very much.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 10:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 10:47 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 11:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 11:07 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 11:03 pm (UTC)RsquiggleMcsqui made me go 'huh,' and then laugh out loud. Radek's crazy luck, hah. You just know the man is a stealth card shark.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 11:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 11:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 11:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 11:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 11:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 11:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-12 11:43 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-13 12:12 am (UTC)Like the little changes too. Brava!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-13 12:15 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-13 12:58 am (UTC)(I'd have cashed it in and made Rodney do things that he knew damn well I knew how to do, while doing my best imitation of a customer service nightmare. Rodney's probably lucky I'm not there.)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-13 01:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-13 01:09 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-13 01:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-13 01:50 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-13 01:54 am (UTC)Thanks a lot :)
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-13 01:51 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-13 01:59 am (UTC)I like to think he'd approve. Half the people on that base would probably trade Rodney himself for a dozen warm muffins.
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-13 02:04 am (UTC)*rereads*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-13 11:46 pm (UTC)*rereads*
Yay!
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-13 02:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-13 11:55 pm (UTC)Also, iconlove.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-13 02:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-13 11:56 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-13 02:57 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-13 11:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-13 03:27 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-03-14 12:00 am (UTC)