Choice by Miriel
May. 26th, 2007 03:18 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
mardahin.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
sga_flashficTitle: Choice
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
miriel
Rating: PG?
Spoilers: Rising.
Author's Notes: Written for the Dopplegangers challenge over on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sga_flashfic. A concept I've wanted to play with, and have never gotten around to really fulfilling. This isn't what I'd been planning for this, but I think it works passably. YMMV. 1800 Words. Written about John Sheppard for beaniesheppard's birthday, because she asked for John Gen.
Summary: It might not have been much, but John liked the freedoms of working on the ice...
Like many things in his adult life, John Sheppard had decided whether or not to go on the Atlantis Expedition based on the flip of a coin. The method had gotten him through 17 years of military service without getting him killed, after all. The coin, a silver Australian 50 cent piece, said "no"; John listened. When he returned to base from leave, he informed Doctor Weir politely but firmly that he would not be joining her on her expedition.
The week after the expedition was scheduled to leave - he had no idea if they'd gotten wherever it was they were going - he received transfer orders, and was subsequently shipped to Nevada. John fought the transfer; while it might not be much, he liked the freedoms that working the ice allowed. He liked being able to grow his hair long and never filing a piece of paper outside of his flight logs. Last time John had checked, the so-called "Area 51" didn't have anything worth flying, and certainly not for a prop-jockey.
John lost the fight, surprise surprise. It wasn't like he had friends who could help him out; there were maybe two classmates who even spoke to him anymore, and both of them were pushing papers at NORAD - potentially useful, but neither was high enough in the ranks to do him any good at present. Especially after he'd pissed off General O'Neill by turning down the Atlantis assignment. Sitting on a plane to Ass-End-of-Nowhere, Nevada, John admitted that might have been a mistake. In fact, he was pretty sure that turning down a personal invitation from a general was always a mistake, but really! Aliens and space monsters? It was a bit beyond belief, and sounded like far more of an investment than the 2.5 years he had left on his twenty warranted.
Except turning down the offer apparently didn't exclude him from a life of aliens and space monsters and inter-galactic travel, it just settled him firmly in the location of 'one step removed.' Area 51, it turned out, fell under the supervision of the "Stargate" program, which translated to John turning into a glorified on-switch. It was regular, 9-5 work - well, it was when there wasn't an intergalactic assault fleet en route, but that had only happened twice - and according to the engineers he worked with, it was even important.
It was also boring as hell, and there weren't even any good bars within easy driving distance. For lack of anything better to do, and because no one had told him expressly that he couldn't, John took to exploring the vast storage facilities under the wasp-nest of higher-clearance-required hangers and research buildings. That was how he found the mirror.
He hadn't realized it was a mirror at first; it was just another piece of alien junk in a massive underground warehouse that could well have held the Ark of the Covenant for all John knew. It wasn't actually a mirror; that was the revelation of the second visit. Sure, it reflected his surroundings, but whenever he looked into it head-on it showed other people, another place; it was more like a television that was stuck on one channel. Or at least one station; if John concentrated hard enough he could get the view to change to another room, but the people were always in the same clothing, with the same gray and bronze background. He'd tried thinking about sound, but apparently the thing was stuck on mute. Eventually, he dragged one of the other guys down to take a look, but no one else ever saw anything interesting. Sometimes, the people vanished for days at a time; once, the 'camera' looked out on what had to be a flooded room, complete with dead body in a copper-and-gray uniform and clutching an oddly shaped gun. John hadn't been able to go back down for a week and a half; when he did, everything was back to 'normal', and he wondered what was supposed to have happened. Slowly, the Mirror Room became his place; if a few of the people in the images were vaguely familiar, it couldn't possibly be more than chance.
When his one-year-left mark came around, John retreated to the Mirror Room with a bottle of good whiskey and a comfortable pillow. Not the most festive of celebrations, but they didn't get cable in the base-housing, and it had been a few days since he'd checked in on the strange people in the mirror. There had been something big going on the last time he'd had a chance to spend any real time watching, and he wondered if had resolved itself. That was the thing with the mirror; he never knew what he was going to find. Once, he'd even wandered in to find what amounted to free alien porn; that had been a good day, even if he had been ten minutes late getting back from 'lunch'.
Two shots of whiskey, and the cute alien in the really high-cut skirt had popped up; that told him right there that it was going to be a good night. He'd only seen her a handful of times before, but she was always worth watching; she said more with her body language than most people said with their entire vocabularies. Not to mention she was hot; that always helped.
Five shots in, and the mirror was starting to grow distinctly fuzzy. Not that John minded; there were degrees of pathetic-ness involved in spending your nineteen-year-anniversary with the Air Force with the alien version of "Big Brother" that John just really didn't want to examine too closely. He was just debating curling up on the floor with the pillow he'd brought along for just that purpose when it happened. There was a flash of light, and the scene flickered for a moment before resolving again into a familiar hallway that fell fourth in the rotation of 'camera' locations. He closed his eyes, preparing to do the concentration thing again to shift back to the earlier view, when a voice came from the mirror. "John?"
John's eyes snapped open, but there was no one in the room. "John, come on. I need to find out where these readings are coming from before we have a serious problem."
Before John could say anything, his own voice answered the comment. "Rodney, relax. Zelenka said it was just a minor flicker; we're just down here because you want to skip your session with Ronon." John frowned, because he definitely hadn't been the one talking.
There was a disgruntled harumph, and a figure came into sight of the 'camera'. "That is entirely beside the point. There's still no reason to...Hey. I wonder what...? Come here, I need your gene."
John gaped at the image, because he knew that man - had been insulted by that man in Antarctica. That doctor was supposed to be on the Atlantis Expedition. In another galaxy. He barely registered 'his' teasing response. "Aw, are you telling me you only love me for my gene?" A figure that looked far too familiar walked into the visible area, and John's heart nearly stopped. He'd heard about these kinds of things; you didn't work in Area 51 and not hear the rumors. He just hadn't believed them. Unable to take his eyes from the image in the mirror, John groped blindly for the whiskey and took a swig directly from the bottle.
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going to sit here and stroke your ridiculously over-sized ego. Touch this." The 'John' in the image obliged, and the surface of the image flickered again. "Now this." The doctor pointed, and again the 'other John' did as instructed. "Huh."
"Good 'huh', or bad 'huh'?"
"I need to get back to the main lab." The doctor waved a hand dismissively. "Go and do whatever it is good majors do when they're ignoring their paperwork."
"I resent that. And it's lieutenant colonel, Rodney; that joke's way past old." John took another gulp of whiskey, because he knew that annoyed slouch. Knew the way the 'other' John's hands had slid into his pockets. It was downright disturbing. The only thing wrong was the rank, and that was another place he just didn't want to go right now.
The scientist waved his hand again. "Right, right. Busy now. I'll call you when I know something."
"Rod-"
"Or dinner. Whatever's first, I know. I know. Shoo!" 'Other' John seemed to think about it, but then turned and ambled back out of sight the way he'd come without further complaint. The doctor - Rodney - followed a moment later, and John was left all alone with his thoughts. A moment later, the image flickered again, but John turned away. He'd seen enough, no, more than enough.
It was one thing to watch anonymous strangers and make up stories about their lives; that was a good time-waster, but it was also safe. It meant he didn't have to bother making real friends, getting to know the airmen who whispered behind his back about how he'd turned down "the expedition". It was quite another to have your decisions thrown back in your face by another version of you, and that was really the only way he could think to explain the images he'd seen, the words that he'd heard. Drunk or not, he just wasn't creative enough to pull that kind of thing out of thin air. Not even close.
After a few tries, John managed to grab his pillow and the now-mostly-empty bottle of whiskey before standing and making his way to the door of the warehouse. As he climbed the stairs to ground-level, he shook his head harshly, attempting to dislodge the recent memories. He would go home, he would go to bed, and he would never, ever, think about what he'd seen that night. One more year to go; he could do that. He could get through that with his head held high; at this point there was no choice.
After all, John had always done better when there was no choice. It made things ever so much easier.
~ Finis ~
Author:
mirielRating: PG?
Spoilers: Rising.
Author's Notes: Written for the Dopplegangers challenge over on
sga_flashfic. A concept I've wanted to play with, and have never gotten around to really fulfilling. This isn't what I'd been planning for this, but I think it works passably. YMMV. 1800 Words. Written about John Sheppard for beaniesheppard's birthday, because she asked for John Gen.Summary: It might not have been much, but John liked the freedoms of working on the ice...
Like many things in his adult life, John Sheppard had decided whether or not to go on the Atlantis Expedition based on the flip of a coin. The method had gotten him through 17 years of military service without getting him killed, after all. The coin, a silver Australian 50 cent piece, said "no"; John listened. When he returned to base from leave, he informed Doctor Weir politely but firmly that he would not be joining her on her expedition.
The week after the expedition was scheduled to leave - he had no idea if they'd gotten wherever it was they were going - he received transfer orders, and was subsequently shipped to Nevada. John fought the transfer; while it might not be much, he liked the freedoms that working the ice allowed. He liked being able to grow his hair long and never filing a piece of paper outside of his flight logs. Last time John had checked, the so-called "Area 51" didn't have anything worth flying, and certainly not for a prop-jockey.
John lost the fight, surprise surprise. It wasn't like he had friends who could help him out; there were maybe two classmates who even spoke to him anymore, and both of them were pushing papers at NORAD - potentially useful, but neither was high enough in the ranks to do him any good at present. Especially after he'd pissed off General O'Neill by turning down the Atlantis assignment. Sitting on a plane to Ass-End-of-Nowhere, Nevada, John admitted that might have been a mistake. In fact, he was pretty sure that turning down a personal invitation from a general was always a mistake, but really! Aliens and space monsters? It was a bit beyond belief, and sounded like far more of an investment than the 2.5 years he had left on his twenty warranted.
Except turning down the offer apparently didn't exclude him from a life of aliens and space monsters and inter-galactic travel, it just settled him firmly in the location of 'one step removed.' Area 51, it turned out, fell under the supervision of the "Stargate" program, which translated to John turning into a glorified on-switch. It was regular, 9-5 work - well, it was when there wasn't an intergalactic assault fleet en route, but that had only happened twice - and according to the engineers he worked with, it was even important.
It was also boring as hell, and there weren't even any good bars within easy driving distance. For lack of anything better to do, and because no one had told him expressly that he couldn't, John took to exploring the vast storage facilities under the wasp-nest of higher-clearance-required hangers and research buildings. That was how he found the mirror.
He hadn't realized it was a mirror at first; it was just another piece of alien junk in a massive underground warehouse that could well have held the Ark of the Covenant for all John knew. It wasn't actually a mirror; that was the revelation of the second visit. Sure, it reflected his surroundings, but whenever he looked into it head-on it showed other people, another place; it was more like a television that was stuck on one channel. Or at least one station; if John concentrated hard enough he could get the view to change to another room, but the people were always in the same clothing, with the same gray and bronze background. He'd tried thinking about sound, but apparently the thing was stuck on mute. Eventually, he dragged one of the other guys down to take a look, but no one else ever saw anything interesting. Sometimes, the people vanished for days at a time; once, the 'camera' looked out on what had to be a flooded room, complete with dead body in a copper-and-gray uniform and clutching an oddly shaped gun. John hadn't been able to go back down for a week and a half; when he did, everything was back to 'normal', and he wondered what was supposed to have happened. Slowly, the Mirror Room became his place; if a few of the people in the images were vaguely familiar, it couldn't possibly be more than chance.
When his one-year-left mark came around, John retreated to the Mirror Room with a bottle of good whiskey and a comfortable pillow. Not the most festive of celebrations, but they didn't get cable in the base-housing, and it had been a few days since he'd checked in on the strange people in the mirror. There had been something big going on the last time he'd had a chance to spend any real time watching, and he wondered if had resolved itself. That was the thing with the mirror; he never knew what he was going to find. Once, he'd even wandered in to find what amounted to free alien porn; that had been a good day, even if he had been ten minutes late getting back from 'lunch'.
Two shots of whiskey, and the cute alien in the really high-cut skirt had popped up; that told him right there that it was going to be a good night. He'd only seen her a handful of times before, but she was always worth watching; she said more with her body language than most people said with their entire vocabularies. Not to mention she was hot; that always helped.
Five shots in, and the mirror was starting to grow distinctly fuzzy. Not that John minded; there were degrees of pathetic-ness involved in spending your nineteen-year-anniversary with the Air Force with the alien version of "Big Brother" that John just really didn't want to examine too closely. He was just debating curling up on the floor with the pillow he'd brought along for just that purpose when it happened. There was a flash of light, and the scene flickered for a moment before resolving again into a familiar hallway that fell fourth in the rotation of 'camera' locations. He closed his eyes, preparing to do the concentration thing again to shift back to the earlier view, when a voice came from the mirror. "John?"
John's eyes snapped open, but there was no one in the room. "John, come on. I need to find out where these readings are coming from before we have a serious problem."
Before John could say anything, his own voice answered the comment. "Rodney, relax. Zelenka said it was just a minor flicker; we're just down here because you want to skip your session with Ronon." John frowned, because he definitely hadn't been the one talking.
There was a disgruntled harumph, and a figure came into sight of the 'camera'. "That is entirely beside the point. There's still no reason to...Hey. I wonder what...? Come here, I need your gene."
John gaped at the image, because he knew that man - had been insulted by that man in Antarctica. That doctor was supposed to be on the Atlantis Expedition. In another galaxy. He barely registered 'his' teasing response. "Aw, are you telling me you only love me for my gene?" A figure that looked far too familiar walked into the visible area, and John's heart nearly stopped. He'd heard about these kinds of things; you didn't work in Area 51 and not hear the rumors. He just hadn't believed them. Unable to take his eyes from the image in the mirror, John groped blindly for the whiskey and took a swig directly from the bottle.
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going to sit here and stroke your ridiculously over-sized ego. Touch this." The 'John' in the image obliged, and the surface of the image flickered again. "Now this." The doctor pointed, and again the 'other John' did as instructed. "Huh."
"Good 'huh', or bad 'huh'?"
"I need to get back to the main lab." The doctor waved a hand dismissively. "Go and do whatever it is good majors do when they're ignoring their paperwork."
"I resent that. And it's lieutenant colonel, Rodney; that joke's way past old." John took another gulp of whiskey, because he knew that annoyed slouch. Knew the way the 'other' John's hands had slid into his pockets. It was downright disturbing. The only thing wrong was the rank, and that was another place he just didn't want to go right now.
The scientist waved his hand again. "Right, right. Busy now. I'll call you when I know something."
"Rod-"
"Or dinner. Whatever's first, I know. I know. Shoo!" 'Other' John seemed to think about it, but then turned and ambled back out of sight the way he'd come without further complaint. The doctor - Rodney - followed a moment later, and John was left all alone with his thoughts. A moment later, the image flickered again, but John turned away. He'd seen enough, no, more than enough.
It was one thing to watch anonymous strangers and make up stories about their lives; that was a good time-waster, but it was also safe. It meant he didn't have to bother making real friends, getting to know the airmen who whispered behind his back about how he'd turned down "the expedition". It was quite another to have your decisions thrown back in your face by another version of you, and that was really the only way he could think to explain the images he'd seen, the words that he'd heard. Drunk or not, he just wasn't creative enough to pull that kind of thing out of thin air. Not even close.
After a few tries, John managed to grab his pillow and the now-mostly-empty bottle of whiskey before standing and making his way to the door of the warehouse. As he climbed the stairs to ground-level, he shook his head harshly, attempting to dislodge the recent memories. He would go home, he would go to bed, and he would never, ever, think about what he'd seen that night. One more year to go; he could do that. He could get through that with his head held high; at this point there was no choice.
After all, John had always done better when there was no choice. It made things ever so much easier.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 07:36 am (UTC)I could see this happening - how he is after refusing to go to Pegasus. Being used as an on-off switch here on Earth instead.
To be slapped in your face with it by way of Ancient tech though...that's something else...
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 03:31 pm (UTC)In keeping with this particular canon, I have all these interesting questions about how life in Pegasus would have evolved w/out him - after all, John woke the Wraith; John took Elizabeth back in time; John brought the Wraith down on the Athosians; John provided the moral backing that led to discovery of the Genii secret; etc...
The unfortunate thing is, now that the know he's got the gene they're not just going to ignore him - he will help with the defense of Earth whether or not he wants to, and what that means is a small office and requisite lab time in Nevada. No more McMurdo, because the ZPM's drained out down there - the outpost is of limited use for SGC until they get a back-up power source.
So, yeah. Glad you liked it *Hugs* Happy Belated Birthday!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 03:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 07:54 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 03:36 pm (UTC)The sad, sad truth is that John was just biding his time in McMurdo until he could retire out, and Atlantis was the only thing that changed that. And, I mean, honestly - you can't believe Jack would let a perfectly good gene-boy just slip through his fingers, now could you? Jack's head of Homeworld Security; he has more influence than God in certain circles.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 11:59 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 03:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 01:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 03:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 03:01 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 03:39 pm (UTC)Glad you liked it ^_^
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 03:05 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 03:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 03:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 03:42 pm (UTC)Being shown that alternate-universe you made the 'right' decision just plain sucks, because it's not like John can change things at this point - the info isn't useful in the way it would have been before the Expedition left. And we don't even know what happened to his universe's Expedition - he wasn't there to fly Elizabeth to the past, he wasn't there to wake the Wraith, etc. For all we know, they drowned on the ocean floor and were listed Missing Presumed Lost.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 05:49 pm (UTC)The whole AU thing is a lot of fun to play with, isn't it?
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 06:11 pm (UTC)I'll have to meander on over to yours; my life's been screwy enough lately that I haven't been reading much of anything.
Thanks for reading!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 09:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-27 02:01 am (UTC)Aah, the curse of the author. I know it well. *Hugs* Best of luck on that!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 06:52 pm (UTC)Tiny beta: we don't have nickels in in Australia. 5c is the smallest coin, but John probably would have tossed a 20c or 50c (both of which are silver coloured).
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 07:45 pm (UTC)*Wanders off and changes it*
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 08:34 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-27 01:41 am (UTC)Each side has its goods and bads, and once John retires out he could well find something to dedicate himself to. It's just a really bad patch of his life right now.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-26 08:36 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-27 01:57 am (UTC)You've hit the nail on the head - John desperately, desperately needs to feel like he's doing some good, serving a purpose. Atlantis allowed him to do that; Area 51? Not so much. And I can see him being kept in the dark about the F-302 projects, too, just because he doesn't have the right clearances and it's not 'his' department.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-27 09:26 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-27 11:20 pm (UTC)Yeah, one of the things behind the way this ended up is the fact that to the John on Earth, it looks like a no brainer that his doppleganger has the better life, but I'm not sure that's actually true. Yes, John has a place and a purpose, but he's also got a hell of a lot of guilt driving that purpose.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-29 03:01 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-05-30 05:39 am (UTC)Thanks for reading!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-30 11:55 pm (UTC)And I see your response above where you suggest that this John has less guilt, but I think I'm too existentialist to think that John would prefer in the end to have less pain and joy...even if at that particular moment when he decided, he thought he would...
Thank you!!!