Damaged Goods, Sheppard/Dex, 3/?
Title: Damaged Goods
Fandom/Pairing: SGA, John Sheppard/Ronon Dex
Rating: PG-13 (will go up in future chapters)
Spoilers: Runner, Vegas
Summary: AU: Ronon's immune to the wraith. Detective John Sheppard doesn't die in the Las Vegas desert. It would probably be easier if the opposites of both were true.
A.N: The formatting's fixed now!
Read previous chapters on AO3, DW or LJ. All chapters are linked through.
Chapter 3
It's been a month since his release from the hospital, and he really should have his head wrapped around it all by now. He's been face to face with an alien, but honestly, that's the least of his concerns.
He's still alive. He's not a cop any more.
At least he's square with his creditors- Mikey's crew included. It doesn't matter that he'd only done so because he's too tired to think of a better plan. It has nothing to do- at all- with Doctor McKay's weird offer.
The invitation was probably nothing more than a consolation prize, a pitying, polite gesture. Maybe McKay had just looked at him and decided he'd needed something to hope for.
He's got enough cash left over that he doesn't have to worry about the rent for a few years if he's careful with it, doesn't mess up again. But with nothing but time stretching out ahead of him, the odds of a backslide are looking pretty good. He needs something to do. And Captain Hendricks' reluctant references aside, dishonorably discharged ex-airmen don't tend to have a lot of options.
McKay's card is still staring up at him from the coffee table, but he doesn't need to look at it to dial, he just needs to finish his drink. Jameson's a policeman's drink, but on the rocks is a little too appropriate, and John really ought to switch to beer instead, one of these days.
It rings three times before someone- not McKay- picks up.
"I apologize, Doctor McKay is at this time unavailable," It's that Czech guy, John recognizes the awkward breaks in his speech, more than the voice, and he can't remember his name at all.
"That's all right. Any idea when he'll be around?"
"Is too early to tell with accuracy. I will pass it to him, Detective, that you called."
"Thanks," John signs off, tosses the phone back down on the couch. There's no need to panic, no reason to feel so stupidly disappointed. This was never going to go anywhere.
---
Monday night, he can barely hear the television over the rattling of the air conditioner in the window, but his team's losing anyway. Another five minutes and he'll force himself up, back to the kitchen for more ice water. It's too hot for anything stronger, and he's already exhausted from sweating through his clothes.
He's startled back to full wakefulness by the ringing of his phone.
"Sorry I missed your call," McKay says, sounding like he's far too energetic for this time on a Monday evening. "I was, ah-"
John catches himself grinning for no apparent reason. "On Mars?"
"Close enough. Anyway. You ready to come in from the cold?"
John stands, stretches, suddenly more awake than he's been all weekend. "It's a hundred degrees outside."
"Don't be obtuse," McKay mutters. "Just be ready at eight tomorrow morning. We'll send a car around."
---
He's in the back of a black SUV for over an hour, and it takes another twenty minutes just to get through security. McKay's office, once he's led back, looks more like a laboratory. There are whiteboards and computers everywhere, and McKay's attention barely strays from them as he fills John in. General orientation. Paperwork. Meeting with Woolsey.
It's ten minutes before he takes a breath long enough for John to interrupt. "Okay, so why me? I mean, I'm not exactly a scientist-"
"The three people on staff who file my supply requisitions have five doctorates between them, and they're still idiots," McKay shakes his head, continuing in a tone that's trying not to be bitter. "But that's kind of the point. With our budget, knowledge and manpower, you were the one to track the wraith down. Never mind the risk to life and limb-"
"Thanks for footing the hospital bills, by the way. You didn't have to-"
"Insurance coverage for unexpected circumstances? That, we do better than anyone in five galaxies, but don't interrupt." Shoving John out of the way to get around to check something on the board, he continues distractedly. "It was actually your handling of the reporter that caught Woolsey's attention. He liked what you did, there, directing it back here without blowing it. Gave us a shot at containing the story before it got out. She hadn't even been on our radar, and she should have been. We don't even know why she was talking to you."
"I've gone off the record for her in the past," John admits. It's been a while since he's had anything resembling a job interview, but he's pretty sure this isn't how it's done. "And she's capable of putting two and two together."
"Hmm." McKay nods, distracted again by something on one of his computers. John waits impatiently until he's tapped a few keys before trying again. "So what am I supposed to be doing, anyway?"
McKay looks up in confusion. Either he's just realizing he hasn't actually gone over that, or his attention's still on the screen. "Talk and walk," he says, confirming the latter as he strides towards the door. John has no choice but to follow, but at least McKay isn't so scatterbrained that he's forgotten the question. "It's come to our attention that we could use a new perspective. Some fresh blood, if you will." Turning a corner and stopping short at a door, he swipes his keycard and holds his face up to the retinal scanner to gain entrance. Once it's opened, though, he waves John in first. "See. In light of recent events, we're preparing for the inevitability that the wraith will start coming in larger numbers. Now. Planetary is not an overstatement when regarding the size of our operation. And while we are very good at keeping the major threats far off the radar it's stupid to assume that nothing will fall through the cracks."
"Like a wraith running around Las Vegas?" John recognizes the chair room; there's a console glowing in the far corner that seems to have most of McKay's attention; he's muttering to himself while bringing up some sort of schematic that doesn't make any sense and shaking his head. Suddenly, he turns back.
"Exactly. If things go the way we're thinking they might, we're going to need people who are more attuned to what's happening on the ground."
"You mean you don't have that already?"
"Don't get started. At the root, though, the issue is that our forces all train and fight off-world, on different planets. The best defense is a good offense, as the saying goes. But they've kept the threats so far away that few have ever dealt with any sort of foothold situation on Earth. They'd have no idea how to deal with a wraith running around a Vegas casino."
John thinks he might get a word in edgewise, but McKay's hand is shooting to his ear. "Zelenka. The ZPM distribution for the southern array is fluctuating again. Gonna need you in on the resistance field, I've got a thing." John has the distinct impression that this is what much of McKay's life probably looks like. Turning back, he finds his place again without missing a beat. "Anyway. These past few months have only proven that the current contingency plans we've developed are a little monolithic. Or is it megalithic? I can never remember." McKay frowns, apparently pondering it. "Anyway, yes. That's you," he says, and apparently he's on the line again.
"Zelenka. Yes. Subroutine 18XB's going to have to wait until the cycle resets if you don't want to blow- right. Just tell me when." He's waiting for the response, tapping his foot impatiently, and John's getting tired of watching him.
"Listen. That's great and all, but I still don't know what it is that you think I can actually do."
John's leaning- not even sitting on the chair- when it and half the dormant computers in the room suddenly start to glow. Jumping back, he notices a crackling hum in the air, so faint that he's not sure whether he's hearing it or feeling it, and McKay's spinning to stare at him, face breaking into a psychotic grin as he glances at the readouts pouring in from everywhere, even after John's jumped away from the chair, brushing his hands on his slacks.
McKay's laughing, and this is some kind of joke, some massive screw-up, the guy's insane anyhow, and-
"Believe me, Detective. You can do a hell of a lot more than even I thought was." Stepping forward, he's gotten himself back under control, but it's a close thing. "Seriously. You're going to love this."
---
Between straining to hear the conversation McKay and Woolsey are having on the other side of the wall, and the massive stack of papers that comprise the confidentiality agreement he's initialing, signing, and barely even reading, the thrumming sensation he's had under his skin since touching the chair is finally starting to abate.
It's completely gone by the time he's passing McKay on the way into the office. Sitting across from Woolsey, waiting as he scans over what has to be every page of the hand-crampingly thick agreement, though, he can barely remember the sensation. Eventually, though, Woolsey nods, closing the folder, setting it down carefully. Smiling at John, he taps a button on his phone. McKay's barreling back in a moment later, balancing coffee, a laptop, and a stack of folders that look like they'll topple at any minute.
For now, though, McKay's casting a questioning look at Woolsey that's answered when Woolsey extends his hand to John.
"Welcome to the Stargate program, Detective Sheppard," he says.
"Mister," John corrects as they shake hands. "Better yet, just John."
"Right. Well. Nevertheless. On to business, I should think." Woolsey fiddles with the folder again, centering it perfectly in the middle of his desk, glancing warily at the mess that McKay's brought in with him. "That is, if we're all ready?"
McKay doesn't roll his eyes, but it's clearly a close thing as he sets his files down on the floor and nods.
"I have to brief the General in fifteen minutes, so we'll have to go with the broad strokes, here. I understand that McKay has filled you in on much of what's going on, but your real orientation will begin tomorrow morning. In the meantime, the situation is this." Woolsey's frowning to himself, clearly not the sort to speak or act without thinking first. Whether it's full blown OCD is anyone's guess. "I'm sure you remember the your altercation with the wraith quite clearly..."
John smirks. "I don't know if it's the kind of thing people tend to forget."
"Yes. Well. He managed to make a transmission via subspace before his device was, shall we say, disrupted. At first, we believed that the force of that disruption caused the signal to be bounced through subspace and into a different dimension. That being the case, we believed that while the threat was technically still out there, it was far beyond our capabilities to control that there was nothing to be done for it."
"And as far as we were concerned, the threat to us was minimal," McKay interjects, sipping at his coffee. "Thing is, subspace is complex, which is why you don't see American Airlines offering faster-than-light travel. Although-" McKay's impending tangent is cut off by a gesture from Woolsey, and it momentarily derails him. When he does recover, he doesn't sound half as enthusiastic as he had. "Right. Anyway. It turns out that some of the signal, it managed to bleed through back into our own dimension. And it looks like someone's heard."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm assuming you know about our base in the Pegasus galaxy," Woolsey glances at McKay to confirm. "We received a data burst from them several days ago. Their long range sensors have indicated that a portion of the wraith presence in their area is breaking off. It seems that they are headed on a trajectory that will bring them to our doorstep."
The latter part of that statement, John finds, is just too big to deal with. "Only a portion?"
Woolsey nods grimly. "Yes. The wraith are as fractured as any other sentient species, a fact we've been able to use against them on more than one occasion, turning them against each other. However, while they're prone to infighting, there is one unifying factor at work. All of them, across the board, view us as food." He lets it sink in. "The few ships currently coming, they're not likely to share our location widely."
John sees where this is going. "But they're as capable of changing allegiances and sharing information as we are."
"Precisely."
"Okay," John nods to himself. "So what's the plan?"
"The plan," McKay snorts, "is to come up with a plan."
"This will be primarily a military operation." Woolsey glares. "We've got a few tricks up our sleeves, including tools and reinforcements from Pegasus. Some of them are arriving in through the stargate as we speak, and we'll have air support entering Earth's orbit within twenty four hours. The Daedalus, thankfully, was already fifteen days into its return trip when we got word that the wraith were moving out."
"How much lead time do we have?"
"A month and a half, if the wraith are able to sustain their current speed."
"That's not so bad." John's shrug sends McKay into a surprising amount of sputtering.
"Not so bad? Sheppard, you dealt with one wraith. This isn't just a few cruisers we're talking about here- and that would be bad enough, believe me. We're talking about full hive ships, plural, and hundreds, if not thousands of wraith. The only reason they haven't wiped us out already is that they didn't know where we were."
"Right. Sorry." John nods hurriedly, raising his hands. If the odds weren't clear enough, the manic tone in McKay's voice would've gotten it through. "So we've got weapons and manpower and a ship," he studies Woolsey. "What about those other tricks up our sleeve that you were talking about?"
His answering grin his thin, but genuine enough. "Well, McKay, here, who is not averse to the sound of his own voice, as you may have heard earlier, he seems to believe that you're a natural." It's impossible to read the weight in Woolsey's words, but next to him, McKay's nerves are shifting again, swerving from irritation to excitement
"Literally," he smirks. "You've got the strongest gene I've ever seen."
"That's great," John blinks. No, that doesn't make any sense, not in light of the conversation they're having. "But what are you talking about?"
"Well," Woolsey raises an eyebrow, checking his watch as a sudden knot of dread starts to well up in the pit of John's stomach. "To put it succinctly..."
McKay, however, is practically bouncing in his chair, which is honestly only making it worse. He looks manic.
"You wanted to know what you can do? How does taking out wraith hive ships just by thinking about it sound?"
TBC...
Fandom/Pairing: SGA, John Sheppard/Ronon Dex
Rating: PG-13 (will go up in future chapters)
Spoilers: Runner, Vegas
Summary: AU: Ronon's immune to the wraith. Detective John Sheppard doesn't die in the Las Vegas desert. It would probably be easier if the opposites of both were true.
A.N: The formatting's fixed now!
Read previous chapters on AO3, DW or LJ. All chapters are linked through.
Chapter 3
It's been a month since his release from the hospital, and he really should have his head wrapped around it all by now. He's been face to face with an alien, but honestly, that's the least of his concerns.
He's still alive. He's not a cop any more.
At least he's square with his creditors- Mikey's crew included. It doesn't matter that he'd only done so because he's too tired to think of a better plan. It has nothing to do- at all- with Doctor McKay's weird offer.
The invitation was probably nothing more than a consolation prize, a pitying, polite gesture. Maybe McKay had just looked at him and decided he'd needed something to hope for.
He's got enough cash left over that he doesn't have to worry about the rent for a few years if he's careful with it, doesn't mess up again. But with nothing but time stretching out ahead of him, the odds of a backslide are looking pretty good. He needs something to do. And Captain Hendricks' reluctant references aside, dishonorably discharged ex-airmen don't tend to have a lot of options.
McKay's card is still staring up at him from the coffee table, but he doesn't need to look at it to dial, he just needs to finish his drink. Jameson's a policeman's drink, but on the rocks is a little too appropriate, and John really ought to switch to beer instead, one of these days.
It rings three times before someone- not McKay- picks up.
"I apologize, Doctor McKay is at this time unavailable," It's that Czech guy, John recognizes the awkward breaks in his speech, more than the voice, and he can't remember his name at all.
"That's all right. Any idea when he'll be around?"
"Is too early to tell with accuracy. I will pass it to him, Detective, that you called."
"Thanks," John signs off, tosses the phone back down on the couch. There's no need to panic, no reason to feel so stupidly disappointed. This was never going to go anywhere.
---
Monday night, he can barely hear the television over the rattling of the air conditioner in the window, but his team's losing anyway. Another five minutes and he'll force himself up, back to the kitchen for more ice water. It's too hot for anything stronger, and he's already exhausted from sweating through his clothes.
He's startled back to full wakefulness by the ringing of his phone.
"Sorry I missed your call," McKay says, sounding like he's far too energetic for this time on a Monday evening. "I was, ah-"
John catches himself grinning for no apparent reason. "On Mars?"
"Close enough. Anyway. You ready to come in from the cold?"
John stands, stretches, suddenly more awake than he's been all weekend. "It's a hundred degrees outside."
"Don't be obtuse," McKay mutters. "Just be ready at eight tomorrow morning. We'll send a car around."
---
He's in the back of a black SUV for over an hour, and it takes another twenty minutes just to get through security. McKay's office, once he's led back, looks more like a laboratory. There are whiteboards and computers everywhere, and McKay's attention barely strays from them as he fills John in. General orientation. Paperwork. Meeting with Woolsey.
It's ten minutes before he takes a breath long enough for John to interrupt. "Okay, so why me? I mean, I'm not exactly a scientist-"
"The three people on staff who file my supply requisitions have five doctorates between them, and they're still idiots," McKay shakes his head, continuing in a tone that's trying not to be bitter. "But that's kind of the point. With our budget, knowledge and manpower, you were the one to track the wraith down. Never mind the risk to life and limb-"
"Thanks for footing the hospital bills, by the way. You didn't have to-"
"Insurance coverage for unexpected circumstances? That, we do better than anyone in five galaxies, but don't interrupt." Shoving John out of the way to get around to check something on the board, he continues distractedly. "It was actually your handling of the reporter that caught Woolsey's attention. He liked what you did, there, directing it back here without blowing it. Gave us a shot at containing the story before it got out. She hadn't even been on our radar, and she should have been. We don't even know why she was talking to you."
"I've gone off the record for her in the past," John admits. It's been a while since he's had anything resembling a job interview, but he's pretty sure this isn't how it's done. "And she's capable of putting two and two together."
"Hmm." McKay nods, distracted again by something on one of his computers. John waits impatiently until he's tapped a few keys before trying again. "So what am I supposed to be doing, anyway?"
McKay looks up in confusion. Either he's just realizing he hasn't actually gone over that, or his attention's still on the screen. "Talk and walk," he says, confirming the latter as he strides towards the door. John has no choice but to follow, but at least McKay isn't so scatterbrained that he's forgotten the question. "It's come to our attention that we could use a new perspective. Some fresh blood, if you will." Turning a corner and stopping short at a door, he swipes his keycard and holds his face up to the retinal scanner to gain entrance. Once it's opened, though, he waves John in first. "See. In light of recent events, we're preparing for the inevitability that the wraith will start coming in larger numbers. Now. Planetary is not an overstatement when regarding the size of our operation. And while we are very good at keeping the major threats far off the radar it's stupid to assume that nothing will fall through the cracks."
"Like a wraith running around Las Vegas?" John recognizes the chair room; there's a console glowing in the far corner that seems to have most of McKay's attention; he's muttering to himself while bringing up some sort of schematic that doesn't make any sense and shaking his head. Suddenly, he turns back.
"Exactly. If things go the way we're thinking they might, we're going to need people who are more attuned to what's happening on the ground."
"You mean you don't have that already?"
"Don't get started. At the root, though, the issue is that our forces all train and fight off-world, on different planets. The best defense is a good offense, as the saying goes. But they've kept the threats so far away that few have ever dealt with any sort of foothold situation on Earth. They'd have no idea how to deal with a wraith running around a Vegas casino."
John thinks he might get a word in edgewise, but McKay's hand is shooting to his ear. "Zelenka. The ZPM distribution for the southern array is fluctuating again. Gonna need you in on the resistance field, I've got a thing." John has the distinct impression that this is what much of McKay's life probably looks like. Turning back, he finds his place again without missing a beat. "Anyway. These past few months have only proven that the current contingency plans we've developed are a little monolithic. Or is it megalithic? I can never remember." McKay frowns, apparently pondering it. "Anyway, yes. That's you," he says, and apparently he's on the line again.
"Zelenka. Yes. Subroutine 18XB's going to have to wait until the cycle resets if you don't want to blow- right. Just tell me when." He's waiting for the response, tapping his foot impatiently, and John's getting tired of watching him.
"Listen. That's great and all, but I still don't know what it is that you think I can actually do."
John's leaning- not even sitting on the chair- when it and half the dormant computers in the room suddenly start to glow. Jumping back, he notices a crackling hum in the air, so faint that he's not sure whether he's hearing it or feeling it, and McKay's spinning to stare at him, face breaking into a psychotic grin as he glances at the readouts pouring in from everywhere, even after John's jumped away from the chair, brushing his hands on his slacks.
McKay's laughing, and this is some kind of joke, some massive screw-up, the guy's insane anyhow, and-
"Believe me, Detective. You can do a hell of a lot more than even I thought was." Stepping forward, he's gotten himself back under control, but it's a close thing. "Seriously. You're going to love this."
---
Between straining to hear the conversation McKay and Woolsey are having on the other side of the wall, and the massive stack of papers that comprise the confidentiality agreement he's initialing, signing, and barely even reading, the thrumming sensation he's had under his skin since touching the chair is finally starting to abate.
It's completely gone by the time he's passing McKay on the way into the office. Sitting across from Woolsey, waiting as he scans over what has to be every page of the hand-crampingly thick agreement, though, he can barely remember the sensation. Eventually, though, Woolsey nods, closing the folder, setting it down carefully. Smiling at John, he taps a button on his phone. McKay's barreling back in a moment later, balancing coffee, a laptop, and a stack of folders that look like they'll topple at any minute.
For now, though, McKay's casting a questioning look at Woolsey that's answered when Woolsey extends his hand to John.
"Welcome to the Stargate program, Detective Sheppard," he says.
"Mister," John corrects as they shake hands. "Better yet, just John."
"Right. Well. Nevertheless. On to business, I should think." Woolsey fiddles with the folder again, centering it perfectly in the middle of his desk, glancing warily at the mess that McKay's brought in with him. "That is, if we're all ready?"
McKay doesn't roll his eyes, but it's clearly a close thing as he sets his files down on the floor and nods.
"I have to brief the General in fifteen minutes, so we'll have to go with the broad strokes, here. I understand that McKay has filled you in on much of what's going on, but your real orientation will begin tomorrow morning. In the meantime, the situation is this." Woolsey's frowning to himself, clearly not the sort to speak or act without thinking first. Whether it's full blown OCD is anyone's guess. "I'm sure you remember the your altercation with the wraith quite clearly..."
John smirks. "I don't know if it's the kind of thing people tend to forget."
"Yes. Well. He managed to make a transmission via subspace before his device was, shall we say, disrupted. At first, we believed that the force of that disruption caused the signal to be bounced through subspace and into a different dimension. That being the case, we believed that while the threat was technically still out there, it was far beyond our capabilities to control that there was nothing to be done for it."
"And as far as we were concerned, the threat to us was minimal," McKay interjects, sipping at his coffee. "Thing is, subspace is complex, which is why you don't see American Airlines offering faster-than-light travel. Although-" McKay's impending tangent is cut off by a gesture from Woolsey, and it momentarily derails him. When he does recover, he doesn't sound half as enthusiastic as he had. "Right. Anyway. It turns out that some of the signal, it managed to bleed through back into our own dimension. And it looks like someone's heard."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm assuming you know about our base in the Pegasus galaxy," Woolsey glances at McKay to confirm. "We received a data burst from them several days ago. Their long range sensors have indicated that a portion of the wraith presence in their area is breaking off. It seems that they are headed on a trajectory that will bring them to our doorstep."
The latter part of that statement, John finds, is just too big to deal with. "Only a portion?"
Woolsey nods grimly. "Yes. The wraith are as fractured as any other sentient species, a fact we've been able to use against them on more than one occasion, turning them against each other. However, while they're prone to infighting, there is one unifying factor at work. All of them, across the board, view us as food." He lets it sink in. "The few ships currently coming, they're not likely to share our location widely."
John sees where this is going. "But they're as capable of changing allegiances and sharing information as we are."
"Precisely."
"Okay," John nods to himself. "So what's the plan?"
"The plan," McKay snorts, "is to come up with a plan."
"This will be primarily a military operation." Woolsey glares. "We've got a few tricks up our sleeves, including tools and reinforcements from Pegasus. Some of them are arriving in through the stargate as we speak, and we'll have air support entering Earth's orbit within twenty four hours. The Daedalus, thankfully, was already fifteen days into its return trip when we got word that the wraith were moving out."
"How much lead time do we have?"
"A month and a half, if the wraith are able to sustain their current speed."
"That's not so bad." John's shrug sends McKay into a surprising amount of sputtering.
"Not so bad? Sheppard, you dealt with one wraith. This isn't just a few cruisers we're talking about here- and that would be bad enough, believe me. We're talking about full hive ships, plural, and hundreds, if not thousands of wraith. The only reason they haven't wiped us out already is that they didn't know where we were."
"Right. Sorry." John nods hurriedly, raising his hands. If the odds weren't clear enough, the manic tone in McKay's voice would've gotten it through. "So we've got weapons and manpower and a ship," he studies Woolsey. "What about those other tricks up our sleeve that you were talking about?"
His answering grin his thin, but genuine enough. "Well, McKay, here, who is not averse to the sound of his own voice, as you may have heard earlier, he seems to believe that you're a natural." It's impossible to read the weight in Woolsey's words, but next to him, McKay's nerves are shifting again, swerving from irritation to excitement
"Literally," he smirks. "You've got the strongest gene I've ever seen."
"That's great," John blinks. No, that doesn't make any sense, not in light of the conversation they're having. "But what are you talking about?"
"Well," Woolsey raises an eyebrow, checking his watch as a sudden knot of dread starts to well up in the pit of John's stomach. "To put it succinctly..."
McKay, however, is practically bouncing in his chair, which is honestly only making it worse. He looks manic.
"You wanted to know what you can do? How does taking out wraith hive ships just by thinking about it sound?"
TBC...