Pick a fic!
Mar. 24th, 2007 01:51 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cinaedI have...a lot of WIPs. And when I say a lot, I mean a lot. And I need to focus on one or two of them. That's where you, my lovely f-list, comes in. I'm putting up excerpts of nine of my stories, and then you get to use the ticky boxes to choose your favorites, the ones you want me to start, you know, finishing. All of them are McKay/Zelenka, unless otherwise noted.
...And if you select all of them, you FAIL, just so you know. *eyes*
Mechatronics (AU)
Current Word Count: 3,700
Radek Zelenka stared at his thesis paper suspiciously. That was definitely not his thesis advisor’s writing. Professor Kavanagh had precise handwriting, neat and legible, an unusual trait for a scientist, and this-- well, this handwriting could only be described as chaotic, the letters running together as though the writer couldn’t keep up with his or her own thoughts. Moreover, Kavanagh used post-it notes to point out errors or make suggestions. He definitely did not slash out an entire paragraph of Radek’s dissertation with a bright red pen and make snide remarks in the margins about whether or not Radek understood the concept of redundancy.
“Is this a joke?” he said at last, and his two suitemates looked up from their books.
“What are you on about?” Brendan asked, raising an eyebrow, and Radek silently handed his dissertation over to the other man. Brendan glanced at the chaotic handwriting, and immediately blanched. “How the hell did McKay get his hands on your paper?” There was both horror and bewilderment in his voice.
“McKay?” Radek frowned. The name sounded familiar. “The new astrophysics professor?”
“That everyone already wants to kill even though he’s only been at the university for a few weeks?” his other suitemate added helpfully, and looked a little amused. Of course, Carson could afford to be amused. He was getting a Ph.D. in Genetics. There was little chance of him ever running into the infamous Professor McKay.
Brendan nodded, color slowly returning to his face. “He’s been looking over all of the dissertations for the astrophysics department and destroying every last one.”
Ah, so McKay was the reason that Brendan had been so angry and gloomy all week. Radek wondered what, exactly, McKay had written about Brendan’s thesis. Then he frowned. “Why would McKay look at my dissertation? I am attempting to get a Ph.D. in Engineering, not Astrophysics.”
Brendan snorted. “Hell if I know. Maybe he’s looking to crush a few more egos and thought the engineering department was the best place to start.” He glanced at the comments McKay had written all over Radek’s dissertation, and his eyes narrowed. “Wait a second.” His tone was almost accusatory. “He’s complimenting you.”
*
The Slow and Subtle Art of Drowning (MENSA-verse, spoilers for “Grace Under Pressure”)
Current Word Count: 11,900
“Are you going to be all right?”
Radek looked up, fought back the frown that wanted to twist his lips at the inquiry. He never should have told Rod about his mild anxiety when it came to heights. It had been in a moment of weakness, and he’d regretted it the second the admission escaped his lips. Sure enough, Rod had been his normal, overly helpful self ever since, offering to take all of the missions that involved using Jumpers, even going so far as to offer to test-fly all the Jumpers for him, as though by ‘mild anxiety’ Radek had actually meant ‘horrible, crippling fear.’
“Of course I am,” he said, raising an eyebrow and forcing his mouth into a bland smile that probably didn’t reach his eyes. “It is a simple test-flight, to make certain Jumper Six is back in working order.”
“Right, right, of course,” Rod said, smiling agreeably and going on as though Radek hadn’t actually spoken. “But you know, if you want, I could go with Griffin instead--”
Radek resisted the urge to curse under his breath. Grumbling in his native tongue had lost much of its appeal the day that Rod had laughed and responded to an insult with a casual, ‘Actually, my parents were married when I was born. And to each other no less.’ (Radek still wanted to know who had taught the man Czech. He had much to say to that person.)
*
The next time you listen to Borodin (AU, one week after “The Rejects of McMurdo”)
Current Word Count: 1,200
“You want me to look after your cat,” Radek says, flatly, and pulls the phone far enough away from his ear to shoot it a deeply suspicious look. He’s fairly certain that either he misheard the other man or he’s dreaming-- or maybe a mixture of both, because when he checks his clock, he realizes that it’s three in the morning, and who in their right mind would call at that indecent hour? Especially on a Friday morning.
“Er, well, yes,” Rodney says, and at least he has the decency to sound embarrassed. “It’s just that, that my neighbor who takes care of Salieri just found out her mother’s in the hospital, you see, and she’s going to be gone for a couple days, and I don’t really know any of the other neighbors, and I know you and Elizabeth live about, um, an hour or two from my apartment. I wouldn’t ask, but a certain someone couldn’t be a decent human being and go and take care of my cat for the weekend!”
The last bit seems to be directed, loudly, to someone near Rodney, and Radek can just barely make out the muffled, cross response of, “For the last time, Rodney, I’m the manager of the band, not your bloody cat-sitter!”
“We pay you enough to be the manager and my damn cat-sitter,” Rodney snipes back.
There’s an indignant sound and the sound of a brief struggle, and after a moment, Laura says into the phone, voice a jumbled, breathless mixture of exasperation and desperation, “For the love of God, Radek, I’ll pay for the gas myself if you and Liz will take care of Rodney’s damn cat.”
*
In the Black (AU, sequel to “Scorecards”)
Current Word Count: 900
At the sound of Radek’s cell phone snapping shut, Rodney turned and folded his arms against his chest. “You could have distracted him for me, you know, introduced yourself or something,” he informed the other man, to which Radek rolled his eyes.
“I am so sorry that I failed in my duties, Rodney.” Blatant insincerity flavored every word. “I’m afraid I was a bit distracted by my sister accusing me of being a terrible uncle for not wanting to fly back to Prague for New Year’s to see the demon spawn.” He added something in Czech, darkly, before he tucked the cell into a pocket. “So, who was that?”
“John Sheppard, from Accounting,” Simpson informed him. She made a face. “Did he really say Liz? Please tell me he was joking, McKay.”
“How should I know?” Rodney rolled his eyes. “More importantly than that, why should I care? Though I thought Elizabeth had better taste in men.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Sheppard is supposed to be quite a catch,” Simpson said breezily. “Half of the accountants are in love with him, you know. Teer once told me--”
Rodney raised an eyebrow. “Teer? Wasn’t she the one who joined the cult?”
“Yes,” Simpson said, frowning. “And she was such a nice girl too.”
“Nice and crazy,” Rodney muttered under his breath, and ignored Simpson’s glare. Refocusing on Radek, who was watching them with a look of mixed amusement and bemusement, he added, “Sheppard’s been the head of accounting for about five years now, and has been flirting with Elizabeth even longer.”
“Nobody knows if he actually means it,” Simpson added. “Or if Elizabeth’s even noticed the flirting.” She smiled suddenly, and Rodney recognized the look as one of pure, unadulterated evil. “There’s a betting pool, if you want in--”
“Oh, please, like Radek’s going to get ensnared by your crazy gambling ways,” Rodney said, though apparently the other man was, judging by the way Radek’s eyes had gleamed with interest at the mention of a betting pool.
*
Nußknacker und Mausekönig (AU, McKay/Sheppard, Weir/Zelenka)
Current Word Count: 10,200
The first sense that comes back to him is touch, in that he can feel the snow settling feather-soft onto his face, the snowflakes melting when they land on his uncovered skin and catching on his eyelashes. He’s lying on snow as well; he can feel it beneath his hands. He’s not cold though, and even only one-fifth of the way conscious, Rodney knows that’s a bad sign.
He struggles to open his eyes, to regain his sight, and after a moment they obey his commands and he finds himself staring into a sky that is darkening, no, almost bruising its way into a dark, dark blue. There is an ache at the back of his head, a dull throbbing that ebbs and flows with its intensity, and he winces even as he moves his fingers and toes, trying to coax his heavy limbs into moving or at the very least getting him up into a sitting position so that the snow doesn’t bury him.
Unfortunately, his body doesn’t seem to want to cooperate, eyes sliding shut on their own, and it’s odd how Rodney can feel the darkness shift, how there is a difference between the black beneath his eyelids and the black of his impending unconsciousness. He’s so fascinated by its sheer subtlety that he almost doesn’t hear the crunching of snow beneath boots, that it takes a moment for him to even process the sound.
He feels someone’s hand, the warmth of callused fingertips pressing gently against his throat in search for a pulse, the flat of that someone’s palm brushing snow off his cheeks and forehead, and struggles to open his eyes again. They open a crack, not enough to see anything more than smudges of color, but thankfully enough that whoever’s touching him inhales sharply and says, “Ronon, he’s awake,” and then, “You know, falling asleep during a snowstorm is not a good plan.”
*
Skating on the Thin Ice of a New Day (AU)
Current Word Count: 1,400
“You’re retiring,” Rodney repeated, flatly. “You can’t retire.”
John smiled back, the grin with too much teeth that always meant he was about to tell Rodney something he didn’t want to hear. It was one he wore whenever he was siding with Sam during their latest argument, the grin that meant Rodney was fucked. “Can’t? I just did.”
“John,” Sam said, and when Rodney glanced at her, he saw the tension in the downward curve of her mouth, the anxiety darkening her bright blue eyes. “You can’t be serious. You’ve been our coach for four years--”
“--And everyone wonders why the hell I haven’t shot myself or overdosed on Valium by now,” John said, far too pleasantly. “Truthfully, I’m surprised and a bit at a loss myself. But now that Elizabeth’s, uh, well--” He faltered briefly, then offered them a little shrug and a look that was partly future fatherly pride and partly pure terror and concluded, “Now that we’re having kids, I need to do something less stressful.”
“Like skydiving with no back-up chute and a torn main chute?” Rodney suggested darkly, and then he yelped as Sam punched him in the shoulder, hard. Rubbing at the abused spot where a bruise was definitely going to form, he scowled. “Goddamnit, Sheppard, you can’t quit! Who’ll protect me from Sam and all of her random acts of violence if you’re gone?”
John’s expression was almost beatific at that. “Someone else.”
*
The Unfortunate Pied Piper (AU)
Current Word Count: 1,500
"We're sleepin' outside?" one of the boys asked and grinned at Rodney's nod, showing off his lack of front teeth. "My mother never let me sleep outside!" He looked around, expression almost hopeful, as though he expected something amazing to happen.
Why did Rodney get the feeling the boy would be excited if a bear came out of the nearby woods and tried to devour them? He sighed, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands. Maybe he could convince John to take the children back to Hamelin. The townspeople would hail him as a hero, maybe give him the mayor's daughter as a thank-you, and Rodney could go back to experimenting with the pipe far, far away from children.
"Excuse me," someone said politely, with an accent Rodney couldn't place. "Are you Rodney McKay?"
He squinted up at the man, who had mussed unmanageable-looking hair and what seemed like a day-old beard. "That depends on who's asking," he said slowly. "If you're the father or uncle of one of these brats, then yes, and please, please take them home. If you're one of the townspeople looking to lynch Rodney McKay, then these are all my nieces and nephews."
*
Our Conversations are Like Minefields (“Absolute Power” AU)
Current Word Count: 5,700
When Daniel destroys Moscow, Rodney is in Area 51, celebrating with his fellow scientists that the damn satellites had actually worked. A bottle of champagne is offered up (by Bill Lee, and Rodney should’ve known the overly cheerful bastard was hoarding alcohol).
Someone else breaks out some plastic cups and they all drink a toast to science, to the salvation of the world, to Daniel fucking Jackson. Rodney is working on his second cup, probably grinning like an idiot, when someone runs into the room and shouts, voice breaking halfway through, “Turn on the news, oh god, turn on the news!” When Lee obeys, they all stare in stunned silence at the flames.
The details come in short, sporadic bursts from shaken reporters, who are white as ghosts and trembling like leaves as they report, “Moscow, no apparent survivors, all ten million dead -- Daniel Jackson, supervisor of the formerly secret satellite program, is now in apparent control of the satellites -- Jackson has issued a statement to the press that the current governments have been deemed unnecessary and inept -- America has unknowingly been at war for years, based on the statement Jackson has just issued regarding the true nature of the Stargate program and an alien enemy known as Goa’uld -- Jackson has declared leadership over Earth and urges the former world leaders to comply with all future demands -- China has attempted to protest, and Beijing has met the same fate as Moscow. Jackson--”
It is seven hours later, give or take, when Daniel appears at the doorway of Rodney’s lab. Most of the other scientists have wandered home, all in a daze, to comfort their families and see what’s going to happen next. All Rodney has waiting for him in his tiny, cramped apartment is Eliot, and he doesn’t want to try explaining that the world has ended to the cat.
“So,” Daniel says when Rodney stares and says nothing. His voice is terrible and so damn casual, as though he hasn’t just murdered over twenty million people in less than twenty-four hours.
*
Till Human Voices Wake Us
Current Word Count: 2,300
“I still do not see why you could not do this yourself, McKay,” Radek complains into his radio, shining his flashlight down the hall and ignoring the sergeant walking next to him who is fighting back an amused grin. “But I think I understand. There is an abandoned Ancient outpost giving off strange energy readings, half-submerged in a lake, and you need someone to investigate. You see it is damp and smelly, and think, oh, Radek can do this job. He likes the damp and the smell.”
“Beckett said I couldn’t get my cast wet, Radek.” Despite his words, Radek can hear the smirk in Rodney’s voice, and if the other man had been in view, he would have been on the receiving end of a very dirty look. “You’re just lucky I convinced him to let me even come to the planet period.”
“Oh yes, I feel extremely blessed by Lady Luck,” he says shortly, and wrinkles his nose, trying to ignore the rancid smell. It smells as though something has died, an intense, putrid scent that makes his stomach twist unhappily, and he starts breathing through his mouth. “So, you are thinking that this is possibly a ZPM?”
“Yes, well, we don’t know for certain, which is why you’re down there,” Rodney says, and a hint of annoyance creeps into his voice.
This time it’s Radek who smirks, because he knows that Rodney is actually put out about not getting to investigate the energy readings himself. He makes a mental note to taunt Rodney about this as often as possible. And if there is a ZPM down here? Rodney will never, ever hear the end of it.
“We need to see if the readings--”
“Of course we do,” Radek interrupts, voice far too agreeable not to be condescending, and Rodney huffs. Radek feels his lips curve into a self-satisfied grin, and this time he directs the grin towards the sergeant next to him, who is now obviously trying not to laugh.
[Poll #952808]
...And if you select all of them, you FAIL, just so you know. *eyes*
Mechatronics (AU)
Current Word Count: 3,700
Radek Zelenka stared at his thesis paper suspiciously. That was definitely not his thesis advisor’s writing. Professor Kavanagh had precise handwriting, neat and legible, an unusual trait for a scientist, and this-- well, this handwriting could only be described as chaotic, the letters running together as though the writer couldn’t keep up with his or her own thoughts. Moreover, Kavanagh used post-it notes to point out errors or make suggestions. He definitely did not slash out an entire paragraph of Radek’s dissertation with a bright red pen and make snide remarks in the margins about whether or not Radek understood the concept of redundancy.
“Is this a joke?” he said at last, and his two suitemates looked up from their books.
“What are you on about?” Brendan asked, raising an eyebrow, and Radek silently handed his dissertation over to the other man. Brendan glanced at the chaotic handwriting, and immediately blanched. “How the hell did McKay get his hands on your paper?” There was both horror and bewilderment in his voice.
“McKay?” Radek frowned. The name sounded familiar. “The new astrophysics professor?”
“That everyone already wants to kill even though he’s only been at the university for a few weeks?” his other suitemate added helpfully, and looked a little amused. Of course, Carson could afford to be amused. He was getting a Ph.D. in Genetics. There was little chance of him ever running into the infamous Professor McKay.
Brendan nodded, color slowly returning to his face. “He’s been looking over all of the dissertations for the astrophysics department and destroying every last one.”
Ah, so McKay was the reason that Brendan had been so angry and gloomy all week. Radek wondered what, exactly, McKay had written about Brendan’s thesis. Then he frowned. “Why would McKay look at my dissertation? I am attempting to get a Ph.D. in Engineering, not Astrophysics.”
Brendan snorted. “Hell if I know. Maybe he’s looking to crush a few more egos and thought the engineering department was the best place to start.” He glanced at the comments McKay had written all over Radek’s dissertation, and his eyes narrowed. “Wait a second.” His tone was almost accusatory. “He’s complimenting you.”
*
The Slow and Subtle Art of Drowning (MENSA-verse, spoilers for “Grace Under Pressure”)
Current Word Count: 11,900
“Are you going to be all right?”
Radek looked up, fought back the frown that wanted to twist his lips at the inquiry. He never should have told Rod about his mild anxiety when it came to heights. It had been in a moment of weakness, and he’d regretted it the second the admission escaped his lips. Sure enough, Rod had been his normal, overly helpful self ever since, offering to take all of the missions that involved using Jumpers, even going so far as to offer to test-fly all the Jumpers for him, as though by ‘mild anxiety’ Radek had actually meant ‘horrible, crippling fear.’
“Of course I am,” he said, raising an eyebrow and forcing his mouth into a bland smile that probably didn’t reach his eyes. “It is a simple test-flight, to make certain Jumper Six is back in working order.”
“Right, right, of course,” Rod said, smiling agreeably and going on as though Radek hadn’t actually spoken. “But you know, if you want, I could go with Griffin instead--”
Radek resisted the urge to curse under his breath. Grumbling in his native tongue had lost much of its appeal the day that Rod had laughed and responded to an insult with a casual, ‘Actually, my parents were married when I was born. And to each other no less.’ (Radek still wanted to know who had taught the man Czech. He had much to say to that person.)
*
The next time you listen to Borodin (AU, one week after “The Rejects of McMurdo”)
Current Word Count: 1,200
“You want me to look after your cat,” Radek says, flatly, and pulls the phone far enough away from his ear to shoot it a deeply suspicious look. He’s fairly certain that either he misheard the other man or he’s dreaming-- or maybe a mixture of both, because when he checks his clock, he realizes that it’s three in the morning, and who in their right mind would call at that indecent hour? Especially on a Friday morning.
“Er, well, yes,” Rodney says, and at least he has the decency to sound embarrassed. “It’s just that, that my neighbor who takes care of Salieri just found out her mother’s in the hospital, you see, and she’s going to be gone for a couple days, and I don’t really know any of the other neighbors, and I know you and Elizabeth live about, um, an hour or two from my apartment. I wouldn’t ask, but a certain someone couldn’t be a decent human being and go and take care of my cat for the weekend!”
The last bit seems to be directed, loudly, to someone near Rodney, and Radek can just barely make out the muffled, cross response of, “For the last time, Rodney, I’m the manager of the band, not your bloody cat-sitter!”
“We pay you enough to be the manager and my damn cat-sitter,” Rodney snipes back.
There’s an indignant sound and the sound of a brief struggle, and after a moment, Laura says into the phone, voice a jumbled, breathless mixture of exasperation and desperation, “For the love of God, Radek, I’ll pay for the gas myself if you and Liz will take care of Rodney’s damn cat.”
*
In the Black (AU, sequel to “Scorecards”)
Current Word Count: 900
At the sound of Radek’s cell phone snapping shut, Rodney turned and folded his arms against his chest. “You could have distracted him for me, you know, introduced yourself or something,” he informed the other man, to which Radek rolled his eyes.
“I am so sorry that I failed in my duties, Rodney.” Blatant insincerity flavored every word. “I’m afraid I was a bit distracted by my sister accusing me of being a terrible uncle for not wanting to fly back to Prague for New Year’s to see the demon spawn.” He added something in Czech, darkly, before he tucked the cell into a pocket. “So, who was that?”
“John Sheppard, from Accounting,” Simpson informed him. She made a face. “Did he really say Liz? Please tell me he was joking, McKay.”
“How should I know?” Rodney rolled his eyes. “More importantly than that, why should I care? Though I thought Elizabeth had better taste in men.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Sheppard is supposed to be quite a catch,” Simpson said breezily. “Half of the accountants are in love with him, you know. Teer once told me--”
Rodney raised an eyebrow. “Teer? Wasn’t she the one who joined the cult?”
“Yes,” Simpson said, frowning. “And she was such a nice girl too.”
“Nice and crazy,” Rodney muttered under his breath, and ignored Simpson’s glare. Refocusing on Radek, who was watching them with a look of mixed amusement and bemusement, he added, “Sheppard’s been the head of accounting for about five years now, and has been flirting with Elizabeth even longer.”
“Nobody knows if he actually means it,” Simpson added. “Or if Elizabeth’s even noticed the flirting.” She smiled suddenly, and Rodney recognized the look as one of pure, unadulterated evil. “There’s a betting pool, if you want in--”
“Oh, please, like Radek’s going to get ensnared by your crazy gambling ways,” Rodney said, though apparently the other man was, judging by the way Radek’s eyes had gleamed with interest at the mention of a betting pool.
*
Nußknacker und Mausekönig (AU, McKay/Sheppard, Weir/Zelenka)
Current Word Count: 10,200
The first sense that comes back to him is touch, in that he can feel the snow settling feather-soft onto his face, the snowflakes melting when they land on his uncovered skin and catching on his eyelashes. He’s lying on snow as well; he can feel it beneath his hands. He’s not cold though, and even only one-fifth of the way conscious, Rodney knows that’s a bad sign.
He struggles to open his eyes, to regain his sight, and after a moment they obey his commands and he finds himself staring into a sky that is darkening, no, almost bruising its way into a dark, dark blue. There is an ache at the back of his head, a dull throbbing that ebbs and flows with its intensity, and he winces even as he moves his fingers and toes, trying to coax his heavy limbs into moving or at the very least getting him up into a sitting position so that the snow doesn’t bury him.
Unfortunately, his body doesn’t seem to want to cooperate, eyes sliding shut on their own, and it’s odd how Rodney can feel the darkness shift, how there is a difference between the black beneath his eyelids and the black of his impending unconsciousness. He’s so fascinated by its sheer subtlety that he almost doesn’t hear the crunching of snow beneath boots, that it takes a moment for him to even process the sound.
He feels someone’s hand, the warmth of callused fingertips pressing gently against his throat in search for a pulse, the flat of that someone’s palm brushing snow off his cheeks and forehead, and struggles to open his eyes again. They open a crack, not enough to see anything more than smudges of color, but thankfully enough that whoever’s touching him inhales sharply and says, “Ronon, he’s awake,” and then, “You know, falling asleep during a snowstorm is not a good plan.”
*
Skating on the Thin Ice of a New Day (AU)
Current Word Count: 1,400
“You’re retiring,” Rodney repeated, flatly. “You can’t retire.”
John smiled back, the grin with too much teeth that always meant he was about to tell Rodney something he didn’t want to hear. It was one he wore whenever he was siding with Sam during their latest argument, the grin that meant Rodney was fucked. “Can’t? I just did.”
“John,” Sam said, and when Rodney glanced at her, he saw the tension in the downward curve of her mouth, the anxiety darkening her bright blue eyes. “You can’t be serious. You’ve been our coach for four years--”
“--And everyone wonders why the hell I haven’t shot myself or overdosed on Valium by now,” John said, far too pleasantly. “Truthfully, I’m surprised and a bit at a loss myself. But now that Elizabeth’s, uh, well--” He faltered briefly, then offered them a little shrug and a look that was partly future fatherly pride and partly pure terror and concluded, “Now that we’re having kids, I need to do something less stressful.”
“Like skydiving with no back-up chute and a torn main chute?” Rodney suggested darkly, and then he yelped as Sam punched him in the shoulder, hard. Rubbing at the abused spot where a bruise was definitely going to form, he scowled. “Goddamnit, Sheppard, you can’t quit! Who’ll protect me from Sam and all of her random acts of violence if you’re gone?”
John’s expression was almost beatific at that. “Someone else.”
*
The Unfortunate Pied Piper (AU)
Current Word Count: 1,500
"We're sleepin' outside?" one of the boys asked and grinned at Rodney's nod, showing off his lack of front teeth. "My mother never let me sleep outside!" He looked around, expression almost hopeful, as though he expected something amazing to happen.
Why did Rodney get the feeling the boy would be excited if a bear came out of the nearby woods and tried to devour them? He sighed, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands. Maybe he could convince John to take the children back to Hamelin. The townspeople would hail him as a hero, maybe give him the mayor's daughter as a thank-you, and Rodney could go back to experimenting with the pipe far, far away from children.
"Excuse me," someone said politely, with an accent Rodney couldn't place. "Are you Rodney McKay?"
He squinted up at the man, who had mussed unmanageable-looking hair and what seemed like a day-old beard. "That depends on who's asking," he said slowly. "If you're the father or uncle of one of these brats, then yes, and please, please take them home. If you're one of the townspeople looking to lynch Rodney McKay, then these are all my nieces and nephews."
*
Our Conversations are Like Minefields (“Absolute Power” AU)
Current Word Count: 5,700
When Daniel destroys Moscow, Rodney is in Area 51, celebrating with his fellow scientists that the damn satellites had actually worked. A bottle of champagne is offered up (by Bill Lee, and Rodney should’ve known the overly cheerful bastard was hoarding alcohol).
Someone else breaks out some plastic cups and they all drink a toast to science, to the salvation of the world, to Daniel fucking Jackson. Rodney is working on his second cup, probably grinning like an idiot, when someone runs into the room and shouts, voice breaking halfway through, “Turn on the news, oh god, turn on the news!” When Lee obeys, they all stare in stunned silence at the flames.
The details come in short, sporadic bursts from shaken reporters, who are white as ghosts and trembling like leaves as they report, “Moscow, no apparent survivors, all ten million dead -- Daniel Jackson, supervisor of the formerly secret satellite program, is now in apparent control of the satellites -- Jackson has issued a statement to the press that the current governments have been deemed unnecessary and inept -- America has unknowingly been at war for years, based on the statement Jackson has just issued regarding the true nature of the Stargate program and an alien enemy known as Goa’uld -- Jackson has declared leadership over Earth and urges the former world leaders to comply with all future demands -- China has attempted to protest, and Beijing has met the same fate as Moscow. Jackson--”
It is seven hours later, give or take, when Daniel appears at the doorway of Rodney’s lab. Most of the other scientists have wandered home, all in a daze, to comfort their families and see what’s going to happen next. All Rodney has waiting for him in his tiny, cramped apartment is Eliot, and he doesn’t want to try explaining that the world has ended to the cat.
“So,” Daniel says when Rodney stares and says nothing. His voice is terrible and so damn casual, as though he hasn’t just murdered over twenty million people in less than twenty-four hours.
*
Till Human Voices Wake Us
Current Word Count: 2,300
“I still do not see why you could not do this yourself, McKay,” Radek complains into his radio, shining his flashlight down the hall and ignoring the sergeant walking next to him who is fighting back an amused grin. “But I think I understand. There is an abandoned Ancient outpost giving off strange energy readings, half-submerged in a lake, and you need someone to investigate. You see it is damp and smelly, and think, oh, Radek can do this job. He likes the damp and the smell.”
“Beckett said I couldn’t get my cast wet, Radek.” Despite his words, Radek can hear the smirk in Rodney’s voice, and if the other man had been in view, he would have been on the receiving end of a very dirty look. “You’re just lucky I convinced him to let me even come to the planet period.”
“Oh yes, I feel extremely blessed by Lady Luck,” he says shortly, and wrinkles his nose, trying to ignore the rancid smell. It smells as though something has died, an intense, putrid scent that makes his stomach twist unhappily, and he starts breathing through his mouth. “So, you are thinking that this is possibly a ZPM?”
“Yes, well, we don’t know for certain, which is why you’re down there,” Rodney says, and a hint of annoyance creeps into his voice.
This time it’s Radek who smirks, because he knows that Rodney is actually put out about not getting to investigate the energy readings himself. He makes a mental note to taunt Rodney about this as often as possible. And if there is a ZPM down here? Rodney will never, ever hear the end of it.
“We need to see if the readings--”
“Of course we do,” Radek interrupts, voice far too agreeable not to be condescending, and Rodney huffs. Radek feels his lips curve into a self-satisfied grin, and this time he directs the grin towards the sergeant next to him, who is now obviously trying not to laugh.
[Poll #952808]
