Fic: Celestial Navigation (SGA John & Rodney, PG)
Title: Celestial Navigation
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard pre-slash
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The universe and characters in the fic do not belong to me. I'm not making any money off of this.
Summary: A moment on the Daedalus between John and Rodney, set near the end of Aurora.
Notes: This is a very, very belated entry for the Back to Basics fic exchange. I most sincerely apologize to let_fate_decide, and I hope this is at least a little of what you were wanting. Her prompt: Missing scene from Aurora, maybe? I love the ships, both Ancient and Earth-made.
1400 words. Spoilers for Aurora, Conversion, and Trinity. Betaed (and titled) by kageygirl.
Rodney's three quarters of the way from the engine room to the galley when Colonel Caldwell steps out in front of him. Rodney grimaces at him and steps to the side--or tries to, anyway.
"Dr. McKay," Caldwell says, in that 'I'm going to make this an order even though you're not military' voice. "A moment, please?"
Rodney sighs and follows him into the galley. He still has his sights set on the cup of coffee he's been longing for, but Caldwell stops before the coffeemaker is in range, spinning around so he blocks Rodney's path.
"Is there a problem, Colonel?" He tries to put as much annoyed impatience in his voice as possible, but he's starting to get a little nervous. Especially with the way Caldwell sets his hands on his hips and leans forward, just a little.
"Just something I'd like to resolve so it doesn't occur in the future," he says. "I appreciate your intelligence, Doctor, and the fact that you're highly invested in finding technology to stop the Wraith, but when I give an order, you need to follow it."
Rodney blinks. Once. "I'm sorry," he says, crossing his arms in front of him, "did I miss a memo? When exactly did you become my keeper?"
Caldwell's jaw jumps back and forth, like he's grinding his molars in a constrained desire to do the same to Rodney's head. "I find your loyalty to your team admirable, Doctor," he finally grinds out. "I'm not trying to undermine that at all, but at times it's necessary to look at the larger picture. If I say it's one of those times, you need to listen to me."
Rodney throws his hands up in the air. "Colonel Sheppard could have been brain-damaged! Is that what you want?"
"It wouldn't have mattered if those Wraith ships had gotten there two minutes sooner, now would it?"
Rodney drops his hands, going cold at the truth of that statement. He hates that, hates this whole life-or-death roller coaster that twists through snap decisions and no right answers with ever increasing momentum.
"Look, I know this is hard," Caldwell says in a softer voice. "Especially when a member of your team is involved. But Colonel Sheppard is a member of the US military, and he knows full well what sacrifices may be called for. Do you really think he'd want you to save him at the expense of humanity?"
Yes, he wants to say, even though he knows it's not true. He swallows the word-shaped lump in his throat, and says, "It's a habit," instead.
Caldwell gives him a pickle-sour look. "Then consider the fact you might need to make new ones in the future," he says, then turns and walks back the way he came without another glance.
Rodney sighs. Rubs his hand across his face. As if he doesn't already have enough stress in his life without Caldwell making him even more paranoid about every decision he makes. As if he doesn't have enough nightmares about the ones he's already made, almost enough to crowd out the whales.
He slugs down two cups of coffee, then resumes walking the halls of the Daedalus. His goal is vague, his target not. He tries John's room first, then Ronon's and Teyla's, then the 302 bay. He doubles back to the galley for another cup of coffee before peeking in on the bridge. He knows better than to try engineering.
He finally spots his quarry on the upper deck, standing in front of one of the long observation windows that are pretty much pointless in hyperspace. Rodney quickens his pace, the words leaping to get out even though he'd have to shout for John to hear them. Not that he's opposed to shouting when the occasion calls for it, but he does have some sense of decorum. Sometimes.
John's arms are behind his back, right hand cupping his left wrist as he stares out at the endless starstream. Rodney doesn't get how he can do that. He himself doesn't get dizzy from the sight, like some people do, but it does make him feel closed in. Like the walls are shrinking in on him, collapsing inward from the weight of the photons striking the skin of the ship.
But right now, he's not thinking about that. He's thinking about wide open fields, and John, and what happened on the Aurora, and Caldwell butting into team business.
"You wouldn't believe the conversation I just had," he says, but he's lost his angry momentum. John doesn't even turn away from the window. Rodney opens his mouth to go on anyway, but it suddenly occurs to him that maybe it's not the best idea to point out that he's made another string of mistakes and poor judgements, enough so that Caldwell confronted him about them. Especially after John made it clear that Rodney still hasn't climbed back out of the solar-system-sized hole he created for himself.
"Yeah, that's quite the conversation," John says, finally turning to look at him. He smiles at Rodney, obviously amused by his own wit.
Rodney rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes, very funny."
John lifts an eyebrow. "So you going to tell me, or am I supposed to guess?"
"No, ah, I forgot what I was saying. Just flew out of my head," he says, wooshing his hand past his temple to demonstrate. He rushes onward, hoping to cover the lie with misdirection. "So, ah, what are you doing?"
John stares at him for several seconds, eyebrow still in its demanding hover, before he shrugs and turns back to the window. "Thinking," he says. Like that should convey all the information anyone could possibly want to know.
"About the Aurora?"
John nods. "I can't get over them living like that. All those years, not knowing what was really happening to them. Creepy."
"Very." Rodney's whole body wants to shudder with the horror of it. Being trapped in those little capsules, his body withering away like slowly curing jerky while the world passed on by, as unaware of him as he was of it.
John turns toward him again. "I would have thought you'd like the idea. I mean, not like them. But if it didn't go wrong. Having your brain live on practically forever, all that time to come up with new and amazing theories?"
"You'd think, wouldn't you?" Rodney rubs his palms together, trying to wipe away the sweat that sprung up. "But I've learned that theory really has very little value without being able to evaluate it in practice."
"Plus, you'd miss out on the really good stuff. Beer, popcorn, the Super Bowl."
"Sex."
John grins at him, one of the first Rodney's seen directed his way in some time. Not that John's actually been able to smile much lately, considering he only finished changing back from a bug a few days ago. But still, it's been too long, and Rodney knows he should take it as it's given, smile back and keep joking. Instead, words are rising up that he can't control.
"I tried," he says. "I tried to consider every consequence before sending you into the capsule, and I really did think it was best to be extra careful about extracting you, and that's why I forgot about the Wraith. Which, I know was extraordinarily stupid, but... I'm trying, I swear."
Rodney's panting by the end, and he's not exactly sure if he made any sense, but he feels better for saying it. Even if John is staring at him, wide eyes gone narrow again, like he'd been surprised by a Wraith jumping out in front of him and now he's taking aim.
Okay, maybe he doesn't feel better for saying it, after all.
But then John sighs. Tugs at his right ear. Drops his hand and turns back to the window. "I know, McKay," he says, and it sounds tired. "I never thought you weren't."
"Right," Rodney says. He points towards the door, even though John won't see the gesture. "I'm just going to, ah, go get some coffee."
"Rodney." John's shoulders lift--another big sigh--and he turns to face Rodney once again. "Thank you. You know, for worrying about my brain."
"Oh. Oh, well yes, of course." He shakes off his dizzy relief. "Somebody has to, after all."
John smiles. It's not as big as his earlier grin, but it's just as natural. He slaps Rodney on the shoulder and starts towards the door. "You said something about coffee?"
"It's not very good, actually," Rodney says, quickly falling into step beside John. "I could barely drink it at all earlier."
John laughs, and Rodney thinks that yes, some habits are definitely worth keeping.
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard pre-slash
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The universe and characters in the fic do not belong to me. I'm not making any money off of this.
Summary: A moment on the Daedalus between John and Rodney, set near the end of Aurora.
Notes: This is a very, very belated entry for the Back to Basics fic exchange. I most sincerely apologize to let_fate_decide, and I hope this is at least a little of what you were wanting. Her prompt: Missing scene from Aurora, maybe? I love the ships, both Ancient and Earth-made.
1400 words. Spoilers for Aurora, Conversion, and Trinity. Betaed (and titled) by kageygirl.
Rodney's three quarters of the way from the engine room to the galley when Colonel Caldwell steps out in front of him. Rodney grimaces at him and steps to the side--or tries to, anyway.
"Dr. McKay," Caldwell says, in that 'I'm going to make this an order even though you're not military' voice. "A moment, please?"
Rodney sighs and follows him into the galley. He still has his sights set on the cup of coffee he's been longing for, but Caldwell stops before the coffeemaker is in range, spinning around so he blocks Rodney's path.
"Is there a problem, Colonel?" He tries to put as much annoyed impatience in his voice as possible, but he's starting to get a little nervous. Especially with the way Caldwell sets his hands on his hips and leans forward, just a little.
"Just something I'd like to resolve so it doesn't occur in the future," he says. "I appreciate your intelligence, Doctor, and the fact that you're highly invested in finding technology to stop the Wraith, but when I give an order, you need to follow it."
Rodney blinks. Once. "I'm sorry," he says, crossing his arms in front of him, "did I miss a memo? When exactly did you become my keeper?"
Caldwell's jaw jumps back and forth, like he's grinding his molars in a constrained desire to do the same to Rodney's head. "I find your loyalty to your team admirable, Doctor," he finally grinds out. "I'm not trying to undermine that at all, but at times it's necessary to look at the larger picture. If I say it's one of those times, you need to listen to me."
Rodney throws his hands up in the air. "Colonel Sheppard could have been brain-damaged! Is that what you want?"
"It wouldn't have mattered if those Wraith ships had gotten there two minutes sooner, now would it?"
Rodney drops his hands, going cold at the truth of that statement. He hates that, hates this whole life-or-death roller coaster that twists through snap decisions and no right answers with ever increasing momentum.
"Look, I know this is hard," Caldwell says in a softer voice. "Especially when a member of your team is involved. But Colonel Sheppard is a member of the US military, and he knows full well what sacrifices may be called for. Do you really think he'd want you to save him at the expense of humanity?"
Yes, he wants to say, even though he knows it's not true. He swallows the word-shaped lump in his throat, and says, "It's a habit," instead.
Caldwell gives him a pickle-sour look. "Then consider the fact you might need to make new ones in the future," he says, then turns and walks back the way he came without another glance.
Rodney sighs. Rubs his hand across his face. As if he doesn't already have enough stress in his life without Caldwell making him even more paranoid about every decision he makes. As if he doesn't have enough nightmares about the ones he's already made, almost enough to crowd out the whales.
He slugs down two cups of coffee, then resumes walking the halls of the Daedalus. His goal is vague, his target not. He tries John's room first, then Ronon's and Teyla's, then the 302 bay. He doubles back to the galley for another cup of coffee before peeking in on the bridge. He knows better than to try engineering.
He finally spots his quarry on the upper deck, standing in front of one of the long observation windows that are pretty much pointless in hyperspace. Rodney quickens his pace, the words leaping to get out even though he'd have to shout for John to hear them. Not that he's opposed to shouting when the occasion calls for it, but he does have some sense of decorum. Sometimes.
John's arms are behind his back, right hand cupping his left wrist as he stares out at the endless starstream. Rodney doesn't get how he can do that. He himself doesn't get dizzy from the sight, like some people do, but it does make him feel closed in. Like the walls are shrinking in on him, collapsing inward from the weight of the photons striking the skin of the ship.
But right now, he's not thinking about that. He's thinking about wide open fields, and John, and what happened on the Aurora, and Caldwell butting into team business.
"You wouldn't believe the conversation I just had," he says, but he's lost his angry momentum. John doesn't even turn away from the window. Rodney opens his mouth to go on anyway, but it suddenly occurs to him that maybe it's not the best idea to point out that he's made another string of mistakes and poor judgements, enough so that Caldwell confronted him about them. Especially after John made it clear that Rodney still hasn't climbed back out of the solar-system-sized hole he created for himself.
"Yeah, that's quite the conversation," John says, finally turning to look at him. He smiles at Rodney, obviously amused by his own wit.
Rodney rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes, very funny."
John lifts an eyebrow. "So you going to tell me, or am I supposed to guess?"
"No, ah, I forgot what I was saying. Just flew out of my head," he says, wooshing his hand past his temple to demonstrate. He rushes onward, hoping to cover the lie with misdirection. "So, ah, what are you doing?"
John stares at him for several seconds, eyebrow still in its demanding hover, before he shrugs and turns back to the window. "Thinking," he says. Like that should convey all the information anyone could possibly want to know.
"About the Aurora?"
John nods. "I can't get over them living like that. All those years, not knowing what was really happening to them. Creepy."
"Very." Rodney's whole body wants to shudder with the horror of it. Being trapped in those little capsules, his body withering away like slowly curing jerky while the world passed on by, as unaware of him as he was of it.
John turns toward him again. "I would have thought you'd like the idea. I mean, not like them. But if it didn't go wrong. Having your brain live on practically forever, all that time to come up with new and amazing theories?"
"You'd think, wouldn't you?" Rodney rubs his palms together, trying to wipe away the sweat that sprung up. "But I've learned that theory really has very little value without being able to evaluate it in practice."
"Plus, you'd miss out on the really good stuff. Beer, popcorn, the Super Bowl."
"Sex."
John grins at him, one of the first Rodney's seen directed his way in some time. Not that John's actually been able to smile much lately, considering he only finished changing back from a bug a few days ago. But still, it's been too long, and Rodney knows he should take it as it's given, smile back and keep joking. Instead, words are rising up that he can't control.
"I tried," he says. "I tried to consider every consequence before sending you into the capsule, and I really did think it was best to be extra careful about extracting you, and that's why I forgot about the Wraith. Which, I know was extraordinarily stupid, but... I'm trying, I swear."
Rodney's panting by the end, and he's not exactly sure if he made any sense, but he feels better for saying it. Even if John is staring at him, wide eyes gone narrow again, like he'd been surprised by a Wraith jumping out in front of him and now he's taking aim.
Okay, maybe he doesn't feel better for saying it, after all.
But then John sighs. Tugs at his right ear. Drops his hand and turns back to the window. "I know, McKay," he says, and it sounds tired. "I never thought you weren't."
"Right," Rodney says. He points towards the door, even though John won't see the gesture. "I'm just going to, ah, go get some coffee."
"Rodney." John's shoulders lift--another big sigh--and he turns to face Rodney once again. "Thank you. You know, for worrying about my brain."
"Oh. Oh, well yes, of course." He shakes off his dizzy relief. "Somebody has to, after all."
John smiles. It's not as big as his earlier grin, but it's just as natural. He slaps Rodney on the shoulder and starts towards the door. "You said something about coffee?"
"It's not very good, actually," Rodney says, quickly falling into step beside John. "I could barely drink it at all earlier."
John laughs, and Rodney thinks that yes, some habits are definitely worth keeping.