Closer by Nemesis
Title: Closer
Author: Nemesis, rogue_planet
Character: John
Rating: PGish?
Length: 106 words
Spoilers: Vague ones for Hive
Summary: John fails
When John was at RPI, he’d lived with a girl named Natasha for almost two years. She was an English major at the college at the bottom of the hill and she spun words like John wove numbers. She’d read aloud to herself and the words nestled in John’s brain beside Stokes' theorem. There just never seemed to be enough paper in the apartment so they’d both taken to writing on the walls during finals, equations and quotations creeping across the living room, Aeschylus and Fermat twining together on the walls. Quagmires of illogic happened when they didn’t start far enough apart. Sometimes, if 1 / (k + 1)< x < 1 / k, then G (x) = Gilgamesh, and “Their ancient happiness of early days was happiness indeed; but now |Fn(x)-F(x)|."
He’d been two weeks from his defense when she’d left him. There’d been no note, no hint that anything was wrong. It would have been kinder if she’d cut his heart out with a spoon. He’d gotten drunk for three days, then he’d thrown four coats of paint on the walls, covering the notes for her honors project and the calculus problems he’d worked out for the undergrad class he’d been teaching. The day after the last coat dried, still covered in the green paint that was now everywhere in the apartment, he’d walked into an Air Force recruitment office and enlisted. He’d do like his father had and fly away from all his problems. John promised he’d never let anyone get that close again.
It wasn’t until Ford’s men took Rodney away he realized he’d failed. Miserably.
Notes: Vaugely Mcshepish, but also contains references to het. Also, very short and meant to be that way. SGA is my drabble fandom
Author: Nemesis, rogue_planet
Character: John
Rating: PGish?
Length: 106 words
Spoilers: Vague ones for Hive
Summary: John fails
When John was at RPI, he’d lived with a girl named Natasha for almost two years. She was an English major at the college at the bottom of the hill and she spun words like John wove numbers. She’d read aloud to herself and the words nestled in John’s brain beside Stokes' theorem. There just never seemed to be enough paper in the apartment so they’d both taken to writing on the walls during finals, equations and quotations creeping across the living room, Aeschylus and Fermat twining together on the walls. Quagmires of illogic happened when they didn’t start far enough apart. Sometimes, if 1 / (k + 1)< x < 1 / k, then G (x) = Gilgamesh, and “Their ancient happiness of early days was happiness indeed; but now |Fn(x)-F(x)|."
He’d been two weeks from his defense when she’d left him. There’d been no note, no hint that anything was wrong. It would have been kinder if she’d cut his heart out with a spoon. He’d gotten drunk for three days, then he’d thrown four coats of paint on the walls, covering the notes for her honors project and the calculus problems he’d worked out for the undergrad class he’d been teaching. The day after the last coat dried, still covered in the green paint that was now everywhere in the apartment, he’d walked into an Air Force recruitment office and enlisted. He’d do like his father had and fly away from all his problems. John promised he’d never let anyone get that close again.
It wasn’t until Ford’s men took Rodney away he realized he’d failed. Miserably.
Notes: Vaugely Mcshepish, but also contains references to het. Also, very short and meant to be that way. SGA is my drabble fandom