![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cinaedSo, I owe ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lilyayl a song to tie to Atlantis, so here it is. *grins*
Indigo Girls - I Believe In Love
When we tried to rework all of this
Each to her rendition
Painted ourselves in a corner
Lost for ideas blindly fishing
For a compliment or kindness
Just to bring us into view
But you could not interpret me and I could not interpret you
I remember that cold morning when the trees were black with birds
I tried to make out some connection
We were at a loss for words
After all that we've been through
I could not see giving up
Despite the picture of our coffee growing colder in the cups
I want to say that underneath it all you are my friend
And the way that I fell for you I'll never fall that way again
I still believe despite our differences that what we have's enough
And I believe in you and I believe in love
So we went rolling on down through the years
Taking time off we could steal
Until the thief of things unreconciled
Stuck its stick into the wheel
Now we're tumbling in a freefall
No one's gonna go unscathed
But it's not because you held back and it's not how I behaved
I want to say that underneath it all you are my friend
And the way that I fell for you I'll never fall that way again
I still believe despite our differences that what we have's enough
I believe in you and I believe in love
There are avenues and supplements and books stacked on the shelf
Labyrinths of recovery in search of our best self
But most of what will happen now is way out of our hands
So just let it go and see where it lands
I want to say that underneath it all you are my friend
And the way that I fell for you I'll never fall that way again
I still believe despite our differences that what we have's enough
I believe in you and I believe in love
I believe in you and I believe in love
And then I'm still feeling crummy so I decided to work on my brain-damaged/disturbed!Zelenka fic. Course, said-fic is horribly depressing, but it cheered me up to write it. Go figure. ;)
*
“What the hell is this?” Rodney asks, staring down at the piece of paper in bewilderment. There are numbers on the paper, yes, but jumbled together, some forming a chain and twisting around into circles, others forming goddamn triangles rather than neat, straight lines of numbers that make sense. He stares at it for another moment, willing something to leap out at him, but the jumble of numbers remain chaotic, with no discernable pattern that he can see at first glance. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
When he looks up, Jackson appears almost amused. Or at least Rodney hopes that gleam in his eyes is amusement rather than irritation. “You’ll figure it out,” is all Jackson says, leaning back in his chair and raising an eyebrow. There is an implied ‘Or else I will definitely be irritated’ in there somewhere, hidden beneath the slight smirk and casual tone, and Rodney resists the urge to touch the back of his neck where the implant is.
He forces a cocky smile onto his face and if his fingers twitch a little, Jackson doesn’t seem to notice. “Of course I will. Just give me a moment.” He studies the paper almost desperately now, searching for a pattern, any type of pattern at all, since Jackson seems to think there is one-- wait. He squints. “Okay, I see what he’s done, but it makes no sense at all. He’s been writing pi but every two or three digits he’ll throw in a prime number. Apparently at random, though I might be able to figure out a pattern given some more time.” He waves the paper at Jackson. “In either case, this guy is obviously insane.”
“Yes, he is,” Jackson says matter-of-factly, and half-smiles at Rodney’s expression, though the smile never reaches his eyes. “I take it he’s worthless then?”
“Worthless?” Rodney repeats hollowly, stomach twisting. He knows all too well that being worthless will mean a death sentence for this man who’s obviously insane and apparently obsessed with pi. He looks down at the paper, taking in the scribbles that almost radiate desperation. “Well, maybe not entirely worthless. He’s obviously got some math skills. If I could meet him….”
Jackson taps his headset. “Edwards, bring Zelenka in.”
Zelenka? Rodney frowns, because that name sounds familiar. Where has he heard it before? He is still racking his brain when the door opens and Edwards comes in, dragging a scrawny, twitchy form behind him. The man blinks owlishly at them from behind his glasses, mouth twisting downwards into a bemused frown, as though he’s very much confused as to why he’s here. Then his gaze falls upon the paper in Rodney’s hand, and his expression shifts to one of anger. “That’s mine! My map, my-- my--”
And the epiphany hits Rodney like a slap to the face; his stomach somersaults and his breath catches in his throat. There is a sour taste on his tongue as he says, “Radek Zelenka? But he-- you died in Moscow.” Died in Moscow when Jackson had annihilated the city. He closes his eyes and can still see the flames behind his eyelids.
“Apparently he didn’t,” Jackson says, sounding almost gleeful. “Unfortunately, he seems to be irreparably damaged. Pity, really. I think Sam told me once he was one of the most intelligent men she’s ever met.”
Rodney opens his eyes at that, just in time to watch Zelenka half-shuffle, half-lunge at him, an expression of desperate relief lightening the other man’s features when he manages to snatch the paper from Rodney’s grasp.
Not even flinching when Edwards grabs his arm and forcibly drags him away from Rodney, Zelenka all but cradles the paper to his chest. It’s as though the paper is his long-lost child, a prodigal son come home at last. He even smoothes out the wrinkles incurred during the snatch, the gesture slow and careful, like a lover’s caress, and almost, almost smiles. Some of the tension eases from his face, at the very least, and he doesn’t look quite so haggard. After a moment, he looks up at Rodney and frowns, a furrow appearing between his eyes. “Do I know you?”
There is a lump in Rodney’s throat, and so it takes a moment for him to answer the curious, guileless question, feeling both Jackson and Zelenka’s gazes upon him. “We’ve, ah, met.”
“Oh.” Zelenka blinks, processing that, and then tilts his head and says, “I don’t remember your name.” He sounds apologetic, and Rodney has the sudden urge to laugh, because-- because--
He thinks of Moscow in flames, of staring in stunned horror at the screen, of hearing one of his fellow scientists whimper, “Oh God, oh God, all those poor people! Oh God, Svetlana Markova, she was-- and Radek Zelenka and-- oh God!” and remembers thinking ‘Oh right, the Czech. He was-- he was rather-- if he’d lived--’
“McKay. Rodney McKay,” he says, the name scraping its way out his throat, and Zelenka smiles almost sweetly back and says, “I’m Radek.”
lilyayl a song to tie to Atlantis, so here it is. *grins* Indigo Girls - I Believe In Love
When we tried to rework all of this
Each to her rendition
Painted ourselves in a corner
Lost for ideas blindly fishing
For a compliment or kindness
Just to bring us into view
But you could not interpret me and I could not interpret you
I remember that cold morning when the trees were black with birds
I tried to make out some connection
We were at a loss for words
After all that we've been through
I could not see giving up
Despite the picture of our coffee growing colder in the cups
I want to say that underneath it all you are my friend
And the way that I fell for you I'll never fall that way again
I still believe despite our differences that what we have's enough
And I believe in you and I believe in love
So we went rolling on down through the years
Taking time off we could steal
Until the thief of things unreconciled
Stuck its stick into the wheel
Now we're tumbling in a freefall
No one's gonna go unscathed
But it's not because you held back and it's not how I behaved
I want to say that underneath it all you are my friend
And the way that I fell for you I'll never fall that way again
I still believe despite our differences that what we have's enough
I believe in you and I believe in love
There are avenues and supplements and books stacked on the shelf
Labyrinths of recovery in search of our best self
But most of what will happen now is way out of our hands
So just let it go and see where it lands
I want to say that underneath it all you are my friend
And the way that I fell for you I'll never fall that way again
I still believe despite our differences that what we have's enough
I believe in you and I believe in love
I believe in you and I believe in love
And then I'm still feeling crummy so I decided to work on my brain-damaged/disturbed!Zelenka fic. Course, said-fic is horribly depressing, but it cheered me up to write it. Go figure. ;)
“What the hell is this?” Rodney asks, staring down at the piece of paper in bewilderment. There are numbers on the paper, yes, but jumbled together, some forming a chain and twisting around into circles, others forming goddamn triangles rather than neat, straight lines of numbers that make sense. He stares at it for another moment, willing something to leap out at him, but the jumble of numbers remain chaotic, with no discernable pattern that he can see at first glance. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
When he looks up, Jackson appears almost amused. Or at least Rodney hopes that gleam in his eyes is amusement rather than irritation. “You’ll figure it out,” is all Jackson says, leaning back in his chair and raising an eyebrow. There is an implied ‘Or else I will definitely be irritated’ in there somewhere, hidden beneath the slight smirk and casual tone, and Rodney resists the urge to touch the back of his neck where the implant is.
He forces a cocky smile onto his face and if his fingers twitch a little, Jackson doesn’t seem to notice. “Of course I will. Just give me a moment.” He studies the paper almost desperately now, searching for a pattern, any type of pattern at all, since Jackson seems to think there is one-- wait. He squints. “Okay, I see what he’s done, but it makes no sense at all. He’s been writing pi but every two or three digits he’ll throw in a prime number. Apparently at random, though I might be able to figure out a pattern given some more time.” He waves the paper at Jackson. “In either case, this guy is obviously insane.”
“Yes, he is,” Jackson says matter-of-factly, and half-smiles at Rodney’s expression, though the smile never reaches his eyes. “I take it he’s worthless then?”
“Worthless?” Rodney repeats hollowly, stomach twisting. He knows all too well that being worthless will mean a death sentence for this man who’s obviously insane and apparently obsessed with pi. He looks down at the paper, taking in the scribbles that almost radiate desperation. “Well, maybe not entirely worthless. He’s obviously got some math skills. If I could meet him….”
Jackson taps his headset. “Edwards, bring Zelenka in.”
Zelenka? Rodney frowns, because that name sounds familiar. Where has he heard it before? He is still racking his brain when the door opens and Edwards comes in, dragging a scrawny, twitchy form behind him. The man blinks owlishly at them from behind his glasses, mouth twisting downwards into a bemused frown, as though he’s very much confused as to why he’s here. Then his gaze falls upon the paper in Rodney’s hand, and his expression shifts to one of anger. “That’s mine! My map, my-- my--”
And the epiphany hits Rodney like a slap to the face; his stomach somersaults and his breath catches in his throat. There is a sour taste on his tongue as he says, “Radek Zelenka? But he-- you died in Moscow.” Died in Moscow when Jackson had annihilated the city. He closes his eyes and can still see the flames behind his eyelids.
“Apparently he didn’t,” Jackson says, sounding almost gleeful. “Unfortunately, he seems to be irreparably damaged. Pity, really. I think Sam told me once he was one of the most intelligent men she’s ever met.”
Rodney opens his eyes at that, just in time to watch Zelenka half-shuffle, half-lunge at him, an expression of desperate relief lightening the other man’s features when he manages to snatch the paper from Rodney’s grasp.
Not even flinching when Edwards grabs his arm and forcibly drags him away from Rodney, Zelenka all but cradles the paper to his chest. It’s as though the paper is his long-lost child, a prodigal son come home at last. He even smoothes out the wrinkles incurred during the snatch, the gesture slow and careful, like a lover’s caress, and almost, almost smiles. Some of the tension eases from his face, at the very least, and he doesn’t look quite so haggard. After a moment, he looks up at Rodney and frowns, a furrow appearing between his eyes. “Do I know you?”
There is a lump in Rodney’s throat, and so it takes a moment for him to answer the curious, guileless question, feeling both Jackson and Zelenka’s gazes upon him. “We’ve, ah, met.”
“Oh.” Zelenka blinks, processing that, and then tilts his head and says, “I don’t remember your name.” He sounds apologetic, and Rodney has the sudden urge to laugh, because-- because--
He thinks of Moscow in flames, of staring in stunned horror at the screen, of hearing one of his fellow scientists whimper, “Oh God, oh God, all those poor people! Oh God, Svetlana Markova, she was-- and Radek Zelenka and-- oh God!” and remembers thinking ‘Oh right, the Czech. He was-- he was rather-- if he’d lived--’
“McKay. Rodney McKay,” he says, the name scraping its way out his throat, and Zelenka smiles almost sweetly back and says, “I’m Radek.”
