A Mixture of Madness by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
audaxfemina
Aug. 3rd, 2006 12:28 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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sga_flashficFor the Secret Superpower challenge
Set after "Misbegotten"
Characters: Carson, OFC, Radek
Pairing? None. Genfic
Summary: Most of the time, he hated his ghosts. Carson gets another perspective on the trouble with the retrovirus.
A/N: So, this is my first story and first post for SGA, but I couldn't get it out of my head. Persistent little blighter. I had to get it out of my head so I could play with genes of my own. Sorry if what I've got doesn't fit entirely with canon, but I couldn't find much and I've missed a lot of show details. Am slowly catching up. I label this AU in advance, just in case. 1073 words. I SO TRIED!
Atlantis had always possessed an eerie feeling like the city held shades and shadows, now more so than ever. The longer he stayed here, the more he felt. He’d not been able to sleep for days, knowing that the ghosts of hundreds of formerly-human former-Wraith were weighing on him. Their deaths were on his head; it had been his failure. It was late, and the feeling didn’t abate with the dark of night.
No matter how many times he ran the data, it remained the same. The Wraith retrovirus had a 100% reversion rate within a matter of hours. It worked well enough to temporarily return a Wraith to human form… and that was all it could boast.
No mutation could keep the Wraith tissue samples permanently human. He’d screened thousands, and no matter how hard he looked through that microscope… it changed nothing.
“Then just maybe, the problem’s not with the virus,” a voice commented from Carson’s right side. “You're a genius, you designed the bloody thing, you know it’s perfect!”
“You alone this time?” It was an innocent enough question, but he had to know.
Sitting effortlessly on the table, swinging her legs freely, was a young woman in her late teens, clad in a wine-colored embroidered silk jacket and a long black skirt. The shadows seemed to fade around her, even as dark as the lab was now, and she looked as out of place as an elephant in a concrete jungle. “It’s not a problem with the virus,” she repeated firmly, ignoring his earlier question.
He really didn’t need this right now. Her visits usually came when he needed them most, not when he wanted them most. As opposed to the other distractions. They came when it suited them. “If it’s not a problem with the virus,” the geneticist replied, scrubbing his face wearily with his hands. “What is the problem?” His eyes moved to meet hers, bloodshot meeting perfect crystal blue which showed no sign of exhaustion despite the late hour.
“Tell me, is a virus alive?” she asked pedantically, in her soft brogue.
“No, Rachel,” the doctor replied, getting up from his chair and heading for an electric kettle where he’d set some tea to steep.
“Why not?”
“I told you for years, you bloody well know the answer! It’s not self-replicating!” Carson snapped, the fatigue and failure of the last few weeks catching up with him all at once. In that moment, understanding crystallized. “The problem’s the host.”
“Eureka!” She exclaimed sarcastically as she smiled brightly. “‘Tis the host. The Wraith’s defenses. Human body's got the same. It’s why our first sunburn dinna kill us from skin cancer, right?”
“Because they can repair the 'damage' the virus is doing too fast.” He’d weaken them that way, but it was better than letting Sheppard nuke every Wraith they found. They’d be weak, and human against their will, but they’d be alive. “I hate playing God, Rachel,” the doctor murmured, pouring the tea into a mug, before walking back to his chair.
“I know, but better you than one who dinna care about the sanctity of any life.” She cocked her head to the side, before crossing her arms. Her accent grew thicker as the words voiced more emotion. “I wouldna be helping you if I dinna believe in you.”
He sighed, interlacing his fingers as a prelude to cracking them. “Then I’d better get to work giving the Wraith cancer first.” Whatever happened to ‘first do no harm’?
“Hippocrates was fightin’ goth space vampires, now was he?” Rachel asked mockingly, hopping down from the desk.
"Will you stop reading my mind?"
She shrugged, ignoring his displeasure. “S like amputatin’ a leg. Cut off one thing to save the greater whole.” She crossed to a small framed picture, and picked it up, examining it closely. “You save the ones who can make it. That's what doctors have to do.”
And the analogy was sounder than anything his mind was coming up with at the moment, hitting far too close to home. Especially with the one standing in the room with him. It wasn’t like he could forget with her here. It wasn't like he could forget the car crash they'd been in together that had cost a life. He'd never forgotten that. “You’re right, o’ course,” Carson replied, taking a sip of the over-warm tea.
“Of course I'm right. I'm always right. You’re not thinkin’ straight. Go to bed,” she commented, ghosting a kiss over his temple. “Come back in the mornin’ and you can figure out the details then.” She turned towards the door, quietly retreating on bare feet.
“Rachel?” he asked, closing his laptop and doing as she suggested.
She turned, cocking her head to one side. “Aye?”
Carson brushed aside a wayward lock of hair from over her eyes. “Thank you,” he said honestly, completely unaware of his audience. He took the picture frame from her hands, and looked down at it for a moment, catching sight of them both smiling. The photo'd been taken shortly before he'd left Scotland the last time.
“You’re welcome, Da,” the younger Scot replied. “You’ll beat this. You'll beat them, you know?”
“Of course I will. With help.”
"And you'll get what you need," Rachel returned. "Might be dead, Da, but I'm not going anywhere."
"Carson?"
Ice trickled down Carson's spine and he took a deep breath to stave off the panic. The elder Scot turned from where he was standing, seeing Radek Zelenka framed in the doorway. Something told him the other had seen far too much, and more than he'd believe. “Radek.”
Dumbly, the Czech held out the tabletop centrifuge that had broken yesterday. “Is fixed.”
Zelenka had seen too much.
Carson smiled gently, prising it from Radek’s hands. He crossed to the table, setting it down. “Thank you. Are you feeling alright?”
A moment of silence passed between them. “Who were you speaking to, Carson?” Radek asked as his face betrayed the confusion. He surely thought Carson was mad now, that the strain had broken him.
It was so far from the truth. That he was mad helped him survive this place. Because he was never alone.
“Just… an old ghost,” the Scot replied, turning back to the empty space where Rachel had stood, with a sad smile. Most of the time, he hated his ghosts. But every time his dead daughter's ghost left, he'd give anything to see her again. “Or a young one.”
Set after "Misbegotten"
Characters: Carson, OFC, Radek
Pairing? None. Genfic
Summary: Most of the time, he hated his ghosts. Carson gets another perspective on the trouble with the retrovirus.
A/N: So, this is my first story and first post for SGA, but I couldn't get it out of my head. Persistent little blighter. I had to get it out of my head so I could play with genes of my own. Sorry if what I've got doesn't fit entirely with canon, but I couldn't find much and I've missed a lot of show details. Am slowly catching up. I label this AU in advance, just in case. 1073 words. I SO TRIED!
Atlantis had always possessed an eerie feeling like the city held shades and shadows, now more so than ever. The longer he stayed here, the more he felt. He’d not been able to sleep for days, knowing that the ghosts of hundreds of formerly-human former-Wraith were weighing on him. Their deaths were on his head; it had been his failure. It was late, and the feeling didn’t abate with the dark of night.
No matter how many times he ran the data, it remained the same. The Wraith retrovirus had a 100% reversion rate within a matter of hours. It worked well enough to temporarily return a Wraith to human form… and that was all it could boast.
No mutation could keep the Wraith tissue samples permanently human. He’d screened thousands, and no matter how hard he looked through that microscope… it changed nothing.
“Then just maybe, the problem’s not with the virus,” a voice commented from Carson’s right side. “You're a genius, you designed the bloody thing, you know it’s perfect!”
“You alone this time?” It was an innocent enough question, but he had to know.
Sitting effortlessly on the table, swinging her legs freely, was a young woman in her late teens, clad in a wine-colored embroidered silk jacket and a long black skirt. The shadows seemed to fade around her, even as dark as the lab was now, and she looked as out of place as an elephant in a concrete jungle. “It’s not a problem with the virus,” she repeated firmly, ignoring his earlier question.
He really didn’t need this right now. Her visits usually came when he needed them most, not when he wanted them most. As opposed to the other distractions. They came when it suited them. “If it’s not a problem with the virus,” the geneticist replied, scrubbing his face wearily with his hands. “What is the problem?” His eyes moved to meet hers, bloodshot meeting perfect crystal blue which showed no sign of exhaustion despite the late hour.
“Tell me, is a virus alive?” she asked pedantically, in her soft brogue.
“No, Rachel,” the doctor replied, getting up from his chair and heading for an electric kettle where he’d set some tea to steep.
“Why not?”
“I told you for years, you bloody well know the answer! It’s not self-replicating!” Carson snapped, the fatigue and failure of the last few weeks catching up with him all at once. In that moment, understanding crystallized. “The problem’s the host.”
“Eureka!” She exclaimed sarcastically as she smiled brightly. “‘Tis the host. The Wraith’s defenses. Human body's got the same. It’s why our first sunburn dinna kill us from skin cancer, right?”
“Because they can repair the 'damage' the virus is doing too fast.” He’d weaken them that way, but it was better than letting Sheppard nuke every Wraith they found. They’d be weak, and human against their will, but they’d be alive. “I hate playing God, Rachel,” the doctor murmured, pouring the tea into a mug, before walking back to his chair.
“I know, but better you than one who dinna care about the sanctity of any life.” She cocked her head to the side, before crossing her arms. Her accent grew thicker as the words voiced more emotion. “I wouldna be helping you if I dinna believe in you.”
He sighed, interlacing his fingers as a prelude to cracking them. “Then I’d better get to work giving the Wraith cancer first.” Whatever happened to ‘first do no harm’?
“Hippocrates was fightin’ goth space vampires, now was he?” Rachel asked mockingly, hopping down from the desk.
"Will you stop reading my mind?"
She shrugged, ignoring his displeasure. “S like amputatin’ a leg. Cut off one thing to save the greater whole.” She crossed to a small framed picture, and picked it up, examining it closely. “You save the ones who can make it. That's what doctors have to do.”
And the analogy was sounder than anything his mind was coming up with at the moment, hitting far too close to home. Especially with the one standing in the room with him. It wasn’t like he could forget with her here. It wasn't like he could forget the car crash they'd been in together that had cost a life. He'd never forgotten that. “You’re right, o’ course,” Carson replied, taking a sip of the over-warm tea.
“Of course I'm right. I'm always right. You’re not thinkin’ straight. Go to bed,” she commented, ghosting a kiss over his temple. “Come back in the mornin’ and you can figure out the details then.” She turned towards the door, quietly retreating on bare feet.
“Rachel?” he asked, closing his laptop and doing as she suggested.
She turned, cocking her head to one side. “Aye?”
Carson brushed aside a wayward lock of hair from over her eyes. “Thank you,” he said honestly, completely unaware of his audience. He took the picture frame from her hands, and looked down at it for a moment, catching sight of them both smiling. The photo'd been taken shortly before he'd left Scotland the last time.
“You’re welcome, Da,” the younger Scot replied. “You’ll beat this. You'll beat them, you know?”
“Of course I will. With help.”
"And you'll get what you need," Rachel returned. "Might be dead, Da, but I'm not going anywhere."
"Carson?"
Ice trickled down Carson's spine and he took a deep breath to stave off the panic. The elder Scot turned from where he was standing, seeing Radek Zelenka framed in the doorway. Something told him the other had seen far too much, and more than he'd believe. “Radek.”
Dumbly, the Czech held out the tabletop centrifuge that had broken yesterday. “Is fixed.”
Zelenka had seen too much.
Carson smiled gently, prising it from Radek’s hands. He crossed to the table, setting it down. “Thank you. Are you feeling alright?”
A moment of silence passed between them. “Who were you speaking to, Carson?” Radek asked as his face betrayed the confusion. He surely thought Carson was mad now, that the strain had broken him.
It was so far from the truth. That he was mad helped him survive this place. Because he was never alone.
“Just… an old ghost,” the Scot replied, turning back to the empty space where Rachel had stood, with a sad smile. Most of the time, he hated his ghosts. But every time his dead daughter's ghost left, he'd give anything to see her again. “Or a young one.”
(no subject)
Date: 2006-08-03 11:13 pm (UTC)Ah. My first thought as a scifi fan was that the writers had found a stash of LSD. My first thought as a biologist? Sure, I'll study it, so long as it's dead and can't suck the life out of me. :) I work with bacteria. Of course... now I was struck with the thought of wanting to understand how they feed off people, and wondering if the process can be reversed, and maybe the Wraith are tasty. But I'm demented. I'm crazy.
I already got bitten with a McShep bunny for this same challenge.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-08-03 11:23 pm (UTC)______________________________________
I'm in front of the cage. My thought as a biologist: "WOW! That the most magnificent beast I ever seen!"
37 min later: ' WOW!' *still going around the cage in fascination with the mouth half opened*.
But seriously, the first thought is 'what do they eat?' I explained the situation to every member of my division - deputy director included - and all of my colleagues asked 'what do they eat?'
That fool who adapted the Wraith-girl was the only real doctor/scientist in that movie.
What is 'McShep bunny '?
(no subject)
Date: 2006-08-03 11:26 pm (UTC)Unfortunately, for the sake of my sanity, I suspend disbelief when I watch scifi, until it makes me insane.