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sga_flashfic2006-12-19 11:51 pm
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Laws of Conservation by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
audaxfemina Amnesty 2006
Title: Laws of Conservation
Author:audaxfemina
Pairing: None
Rating: PG
Warning: Shep-whumpage
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Season three would continue sooner in the US!
Summary: In the aftermath of a mission gone wrong, Rodney thinks about a property of physics. Set post-The Return 2. Unbetaed. Feel free to point out my typos. :)
A/N: This was inspired by two things: the first? The song "All These Things That I Have Done" by the Killers. But it didn't write itself until I saw a lovely post card byunsung_hero_99. It's the second on this post. I shook the picture, and look. There be fic.
Even in the minute period of time it takes for travel between Gates, it’s still possible to think. Random, disjointed, chaotic at times, but some of my best epiphanies occur when I’m being transported over a distance of light years, like I’m somehow closer to the mysteries of the universe.
The first time I’d seen a Stargate, I wasn’t even allowed to go through it. Now it’s as natural as rewriting the laws of physics, which weren’t so much laws as guidelines in the first place. Some remain the same, but we rewrite laws of physics, of ethics, of propriety every day.
And this galaxy rewrites people, those who it doesn’t kill outright. Ronon used to wear waistcoats, for God’s sakes. It turned Teyla from a leader to a quasi-outcast. It turned John from a disgraced cocky flyboy to a commando. It turned Carson into a mass murderer. It turned Elizabeth into someone who’d be charged with war crimes back on Earth.
It’s made us all a bit more cynical and realistic about the certainty of death, understanding of the nature of hardship… of having not, instead of always having. It’s pushed us until we were sure we’d shatter, but it’s never fully destroyed us. The dead? Well, most do leave behind bodies, you know?
Energy or matter cannot be created or destroyed, only converted.
Of course I understand this. I came to this galaxy as a scientist, didn’t I?
Rodney McKay, PhD, EngD. I knew everything, and I was always right. I stood back, and let other people… dumber people, make sure I was safe. After all, anyone could do that, any gorilla with a gun; but not everybody could push the envelope of wormhole physics, and pretty much assure himself a Nobel Prize when the SGC got declassified.
And yet it may not be something a lesser man could do. I certainly couldn't. I’m the first to tell everyone that I’m too important to die and that no one in the expedition would be alive if I had died that first year. Of course, I was thinking about getting more glory and going back home.
As if that word still applied to Earth, which we found out easily during our forced exile. No. The Pegasus galaxy, Atlantis is home. This is the most family I’ve ever had. This is where we sleep, where we bury our dead and where we live. There were times I knew for certain that the city would be our necropolis.
Yet here I am, Sheppard’s left hand gripped tightly in mine as Teyla supports him on the other side. Ronon exits the wormhole behind us, firing with both his own weapon and my pistol.
“Get the shield up!” I bark at the technician, who does so, as two thuds sound against the instantly raised shield.
They’d already been aware that we were coming in hot, with injuries, and Carson’s there with a stretcher, all but pulling John out of our arms. He’s been shot twice by rogue Genii, and the look of panic on Carson’s face as Sheppard is raced to the infirmary makes me wish we could go back there and kill the leftovers. Of course, hearing the whine of a portable defibrillator doesn’t make things much better.
A nurse, wide-eyed and new on the Daedalus after our return to the Pegasus galaxy, moves to my side, but wisely doesn’t touch just yet. Perhaps she’s learned that even the scientists on the Gate teams act like Special Ops now. “Doctor McKay? You’re bleeding.”
I look down at the floor, watching scarlet patterns form on the marble as blood drips from a graze to my left arm. I hadn’t even noticed. I should probably be quipping something about gangrene and alien germs and amputation by now, but I can’t. I can't be rude, abrasive, hypochondriac Rodney all the time anymore; it's a front I can't keep up around my friends, not when everything's on the line. I can’t follow them into the infirmary and pretend that John’s not nearly dead on the table. I want someone to stitch my arm here, even without the anesthetic, because I don’t want to hear the fight which someday Carson will lose. I look in the direction they’ve taken John, not doing much until Ronon hands me back my sidearm. I safety it, put it in the holster, and notice it feels lighter. I’d gone through one magazine on the Genii, and then half of another before I handed it to Ronon. It’s empty again.
Maybe it takes a bigger man to be a soldier than I’d ever been before. I certainly haven’t experienced a decrease in mental ability since I got here. I’d never fired a gun before I came here. I’d never killed to protect my own life. I’d never run five miles because my life depended on it. I’ve never had someone’s life depending on mine every day. I’d never destroyed five-sixths of a solar system for something that could have ended our war with the Wraith. In a way, I’m nothing like the man who came to the Pegasus galaxy nearly four years ago. He hasn’t been destroyed, per se. He’s still here, just changed, converted, and the Milky Way isn’t getting him or me back. I’m not sure the Milky Way wants a Rodney McKay who totes a gun to work, who’s as close as a man can get to being a soldier without actually being one, who's more likely to die from a gunshot wound or a Wraith feeding than his potentially fatal citrus allergy or heart attack.
“C’mon, McKay,” Ronon rumbles at me, pushing me towards the infirmary, where Teyla’s already trudging.
Tomorrow, I'll bluster, I'll be back to my usual abusive self. I'll pretend I'm nothing like those airmen and Marines, like Lorne didn't see something in my eyes today as I'm led past. I'll pretend Elizabeth doesn't see in my eyes what she sees in John's when its me in Carson's hands. Tomorrow, I'll tell my staff they know nothing about the laws of physics, and could they please not blow all of us up in less time than it takes for me to drink a cup of coffee. They won't. I know that. Tomorrow, I'll convince myself this whole line of thought was PTSD induced, or that I'd been hit on the head, or the result of blood loss and hypoglycemia.
Today, I'll get stitched up. I'll wash the dirt and blood from me, and wait for word on Sheppard. Then I'll go back to my labs and work until Radek throws me out, or Sheppard wakes up. Today I'll wallow, and convince myself I'm no longer just a scientist. I'm both and neither, anymore.
Nobel Prize winners don’t die from gunshot wounds. They don’t have their blood poured out on alien soil. They always make it home and die at age 93 in their sleep, after a slow decline.
Soldiers die young, usually saving people like the man I used to be. Deaths that matter, that are more than punctuation on a long peaceful life. Deaths like countless Marines on Atlantis, like Daniel Jackson or Peter Grodin. My staff who died from nanovirii, Wraith attack, Genii, or anything else we managed to bring down on our heads. They die because there's a cause worth fighting for, to bring peace, to save their teammates. But they don't stop fighting.
I may have come here as a scientist, like the rest of my staff. If Sheppard had been a half-second later today, I’d be dying as a soldier. I will die here as a soldier, there is little doubt.
Ronon’s arm on my shoulder and Teyla’s firm grip holding pressure on my arm remind me that when my time comes… My death won’t be alone and it'll mean something. My team will be fighting for me, or they’ll be close behind. I don’t want to die, and that they won’t let me die alone shouldn’t be a comforting thought. But it is.
While everyone's lost, the battle is won...
With all these things that I have done.
-- The Killers
Author:
audaxfeminaPairing: None
Rating: PG
Warning: Shep-whumpage
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Season three would continue sooner in the US!
Summary: In the aftermath of a mission gone wrong, Rodney thinks about a property of physics. Set post-The Return 2. Unbetaed. Feel free to point out my typos. :)
A/N: This was inspired by two things: the first? The song "All These Things That I Have Done" by the Killers. But it didn't write itself until I saw a lovely post card by
unsung_hero_99. It's the second on this post. I shook the picture, and look. There be fic.Even in the minute period of time it takes for travel between Gates, it’s still possible to think. Random, disjointed, chaotic at times, but some of my best epiphanies occur when I’m being transported over a distance of light years, like I’m somehow closer to the mysteries of the universe.
The first time I’d seen a Stargate, I wasn’t even allowed to go through it. Now it’s as natural as rewriting the laws of physics, which weren’t so much laws as guidelines in the first place. Some remain the same, but we rewrite laws of physics, of ethics, of propriety every day.
And this galaxy rewrites people, those who it doesn’t kill outright. Ronon used to wear waistcoats, for God’s sakes. It turned Teyla from a leader to a quasi-outcast. It turned John from a disgraced cocky flyboy to a commando. It turned Carson into a mass murderer. It turned Elizabeth into someone who’d be charged with war crimes back on Earth.
It’s made us all a bit more cynical and realistic about the certainty of death, understanding of the nature of hardship… of having not, instead of always having. It’s pushed us until we were sure we’d shatter, but it’s never fully destroyed us. The dead? Well, most do leave behind bodies, you know?
Energy or matter cannot be created or destroyed, only converted.
Of course I understand this. I came to this galaxy as a scientist, didn’t I?
Rodney McKay, PhD, EngD. I knew everything, and I was always right. I stood back, and let other people… dumber people, make sure I was safe. After all, anyone could do that, any gorilla with a gun; but not everybody could push the envelope of wormhole physics, and pretty much assure himself a Nobel Prize when the SGC got declassified.
And yet it may not be something a lesser man could do. I certainly couldn't. I’m the first to tell everyone that I’m too important to die and that no one in the expedition would be alive if I had died that first year. Of course, I was thinking about getting more glory and going back home.
As if that word still applied to Earth, which we found out easily during our forced exile. No. The Pegasus galaxy, Atlantis is home. This is the most family I’ve ever had. This is where we sleep, where we bury our dead and where we live. There were times I knew for certain that the city would be our necropolis.
Yet here I am, Sheppard’s left hand gripped tightly in mine as Teyla supports him on the other side. Ronon exits the wormhole behind us, firing with both his own weapon and my pistol.
“Get the shield up!” I bark at the technician, who does so, as two thuds sound against the instantly raised shield.
They’d already been aware that we were coming in hot, with injuries, and Carson’s there with a stretcher, all but pulling John out of our arms. He’s been shot twice by rogue Genii, and the look of panic on Carson’s face as Sheppard is raced to the infirmary makes me wish we could go back there and kill the leftovers. Of course, hearing the whine of a portable defibrillator doesn’t make things much better.
A nurse, wide-eyed and new on the Daedalus after our return to the Pegasus galaxy, moves to my side, but wisely doesn’t touch just yet. Perhaps she’s learned that even the scientists on the Gate teams act like Special Ops now. “Doctor McKay? You’re bleeding.”
I look down at the floor, watching scarlet patterns form on the marble as blood drips from a graze to my left arm. I hadn’t even noticed. I should probably be quipping something about gangrene and alien germs and amputation by now, but I can’t. I can't be rude, abrasive, hypochondriac Rodney all the time anymore; it's a front I can't keep up around my friends, not when everything's on the line. I can’t follow them into the infirmary and pretend that John’s not nearly dead on the table. I want someone to stitch my arm here, even without the anesthetic, because I don’t want to hear the fight which someday Carson will lose. I look in the direction they’ve taken John, not doing much until Ronon hands me back my sidearm. I safety it, put it in the holster, and notice it feels lighter. I’d gone through one magazine on the Genii, and then half of another before I handed it to Ronon. It’s empty again.
Maybe it takes a bigger man to be a soldier than I’d ever been before. I certainly haven’t experienced a decrease in mental ability since I got here. I’d never fired a gun before I came here. I’d never killed to protect my own life. I’d never run five miles because my life depended on it. I’ve never had someone’s life depending on mine every day. I’d never destroyed five-sixths of a solar system for something that could have ended our war with the Wraith. In a way, I’m nothing like the man who came to the Pegasus galaxy nearly four years ago. He hasn’t been destroyed, per se. He’s still here, just changed, converted, and the Milky Way isn’t getting him or me back. I’m not sure the Milky Way wants a Rodney McKay who totes a gun to work, who’s as close as a man can get to being a soldier without actually being one, who's more likely to die from a gunshot wound or a Wraith feeding than his potentially fatal citrus allergy or heart attack.
“C’mon, McKay,” Ronon rumbles at me, pushing me towards the infirmary, where Teyla’s already trudging.
Tomorrow, I'll bluster, I'll be back to my usual abusive self. I'll pretend I'm nothing like those airmen and Marines, like Lorne didn't see something in my eyes today as I'm led past. I'll pretend Elizabeth doesn't see in my eyes what she sees in John's when its me in Carson's hands. Tomorrow, I'll tell my staff they know nothing about the laws of physics, and could they please not blow all of us up in less time than it takes for me to drink a cup of coffee. They won't. I know that. Tomorrow, I'll convince myself this whole line of thought was PTSD induced, or that I'd been hit on the head, or the result of blood loss and hypoglycemia.
Today, I'll get stitched up. I'll wash the dirt and blood from me, and wait for word on Sheppard. Then I'll go back to my labs and work until Radek throws me out, or Sheppard wakes up. Today I'll wallow, and convince myself I'm no longer just a scientist. I'm both and neither, anymore.
Nobel Prize winners don’t die from gunshot wounds. They don’t have their blood poured out on alien soil. They always make it home and die at age 93 in their sleep, after a slow decline.
Soldiers die young, usually saving people like the man I used to be. Deaths that matter, that are more than punctuation on a long peaceful life. Deaths like countless Marines on Atlantis, like Daniel Jackson or Peter Grodin. My staff who died from nanovirii, Wraith attack, Genii, or anything else we managed to bring down on our heads. They die because there's a cause worth fighting for, to bring peace, to save their teammates. But they don't stop fighting.
I may have come here as a scientist, like the rest of my staff. If Sheppard had been a half-second later today, I’d be dying as a soldier. I will die here as a soldier, there is little doubt.
Ronon’s arm on my shoulder and Teyla’s firm grip holding pressure on my arm remind me that when my time comes… My death won’t be alone and it'll mean something. My team will be fighting for me, or they’ll be close behind. I don’t want to die, and that they won’t let me die alone shouldn’t be a comforting thought. But it is.
While everyone's lost, the battle is won...
With all these things that I have done.
-- The Killers
no subject
no subject
I did ROTC in college, and though I didn't enter the armed forces, a lot of the little boys I went with grew up right quick. I think Rodney will have grown up right quick too, but that he doesn't exactly want to let it show. And yet I can still see it.
no subject
Excellent, fantastic work.
no subject
It was a wonderful inspiration. :)
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Just one little thing, you wrote:
Rodney McKay, PhD, EngD
But a doctorate in engineering is still a PhD. It stands for Doctorate of Philosophy and covers pretty much any subject but medicine or theology.
But really great fic! Rodney has definitely come along way since we first saw him in SG-1.
no subject
Yep... I don't think anyone could be in that situation and not grow, or Ronon might have ripped his arm off. :)
no subject
It seems the longer they stay in the Pegasus Galaxy, the closer they will all approach Simon R. Green's Isobel Fisher: "Something had scoured all the human weaknesses out of her, and it showed."
And yet the one thing he seems to be missing in his musing is that the difference he draws is an artificial construction.
no subject
Glad you liked it, hon. :)
no subject
-- but it's only been within the past half-millennium or so that a scientist could confidently expect never to serve as a warrior.
no subject