SGA Fiction
So...as stated previously, I've been writing. It's not profound. It's not perfect (yet). It's not even a fandom I've ever posted about. But yes...
I wrote a silly story about Doctor Jennifer Keller, and Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, and miscommunication. And I am now posting it.
Any advice and criticism encouraged.
Title: Oral Transmission
Rating: G; Humour
Length: 1,972
Spoilers: Slight season four. Reference to Doppleganger.
Summary: A conversation between Dr. Keller and Colonel Sheppard goes slightly awry, for both parties.
Dr. Jennifer Keller was used to people hanging around outside her infirmary. It was, unfortunately, something of a crossroad for the inhabitants of Atlantis, as off-world team members recovered from the inevitable assortment of contusions/abrasions/fractures/infections/allergic reactions, and worse, that accompanied the exploration of an entire galaxy, while their counterparts in the city recuperated from their own unique set of hazards (electrocution was far more common, although not unknown to gate teams).
Keller had resigned herself to the fact that patients on Atlantis brought friends, friends who often had no concept of visiting hours, and while the infirmary was still very much a place of quiet and rest, she found that turning a blind eye to frequent off-shift visitors very rarely had anything other than a positive effect on her patients.
Today though, she’d found that eye slightly harder to keep turned, especially when the visitor in question seemed to be deliberately putting himself in her way, and then abruptly retreating.
It was hardly unusual to see members of the Atlantis flagship gate-team hovering in the infirmary door, occasionally bearing unauthorized snack-food which she was obliged to pointedly ignore, but she knew for a fact that the team was officially grounded for three more days, and she would have heard the shouting if any of McKay’s tests had gone wrong. The likelihood of Ronon being injured during a sparring session was slight, that of Teyla even smaller, and her staff would have notified her of anything serious.
So why, she was left wondering, was Colonel John Sheppard leaning against the door-frame of the infirmary for the fourth time that morning?
She made a note to have Biro increase the unit numbers for topical cortisone, antihistamine, antifungal, and antibiotic creams on the latest requisition form (she was constantly running out of basics, which the latest outbreak of impetigo amongst the marines wasn’t helping), and watched the Colonel straighten out of his slouch.
Two hesitant steps into the infirmary, an awkward swipe of his hand through his hair and...yes, there was the casual glance, the I just stepped in here to look around but I don’t see what I was looking for so I’ll just leave then nod, and the abrupt and hasty retreat. Keller frowned, and went back to her paperwork.
Seven case files later, Sheppard was back, and Keller’s curiosity was with him. Straightening her papers, she tried to figure out the best way to approach a wary Colonel, and decided on direct, bordering on abrupt. During her residence, she’d had a supervisor who swore certain patients were only treatable if kept completely off-balance, and the strange mix of hard-headed, single-minded geeks and servicemen on Atlantis seemed determined to prove him right.
It was difficult, she found, to heal someone whose default setting was to make “flesh wound” jokes up until they passed out, a response which was distressingly common on the Atlantis mission, rivalled only in number by those whose minds were so focussed that they missed the presence of an injury entirely, until someone else pointed it out.
This was not to mention the marines, who’d decided imatatio dei was the way to go with Ronon Dex as their own personal lord and stoic saviour, until at times she felt hard-pressed to find anyone on Atlantis who would give her a straight answer on where it hurt, let alone how badly. (Rodney McKay notwithstanding, and even his lovingly detailed symptoms lists seemed to actually decrease in accuracy and volume the more critical the situation, which was dangerously unhelpful and annoying).
As it was, Sheppard was already wearing a shifty, uncomfortable look that made it clear he was about one ‘how are you feeling’ away from bolting, again, and suddenly Jennifer just did not have the patience to deal with any of it. Her “Colonel” came out less bordering on abrupt, than crossing actively into rude.
“Is there a reason you’ve started haunting my infirmary?” said Keller. It was an unfortunate choice of words to begin with, considering that only two days before both the Colonel and Dr. McKay had been invisible and inaudible to anyone else on Atlantis, and presumed dead. Only the quick-thinking of the kitchen staff had alerted Drs. Kusanagi and Kavanaugh to McKay’s clever manipulation of vibrating jello crystals, and enabled them to stage a rescue a mere 73 hours later. She suppressed her wince at the look on Sheppard’s face and willed herself into patience. If she’d had a hard week, she couldn’t imagine how the Colonel was feeling.
“Dr. McKay isn’t here, if that’s what...” she said gently, but Sheppard shook his head, almost twitching. Keller mentally reassessed her ranking of Atlantis’ most difficult patients, and concentrated on making her voice low and soothing. It worked on horses, and although she wasn’t sure the Colonel would appreciate the comparison, she wasn’t sure it was that far off. Skittish certainly seemed to fit Sheppard’s present mood.
“What is it you needed, Colonel? Because you’ve been in here a few times already today, and you’re starting to make me feel twitchy.” Hearing her voice pitch upward, she winced. Soothing had perhaps been too much to hope for. Still, maybe she wouldn’t discount the strategy entirely, as Sheppard looked around the infirmary wildly, and leaned forward, lowering his voice.
“It’s a little embarrassing,” he grimaced, and scratched the back of his head. It was more than disconcerting to see the military commander of Atlantis practically scuffing his toe on the tile, and then, alarmingly, his voice dipped even lower. “Could we talk? Somewhere more private?”
As she lead the way through the infirmary to her private office, Keller considered all the things she could have been doing, if only she hadn’t chosen to confront a shifty-looking Sheppard. As Chief Medical Officer, Carson had been counsel to the Senior Staff, privy to many of their more traumatic and uncomfortable medical secrets, and she’d known coming into the position that she would be inheriting that trust.
She herself had plenty of experience dealing with some of the stranger and more socially awkward ailments of the Pegasus Galaxy, but it was one thing to prescribe a topical cream to a marine who blushed and crab-walked out of there double-time, and quite another to contemplate doing the same for Colonel Sheppard. It was a good thing she was a professional, or things might become very uncomfortable.
For her. Things seemed to be fairly uncomfortable for Sheppard already, judging from the way he was edgily making his way after her.
Keller took a moment to settle herself at her desk, stalling for time and trying to decide how to approach a patient who was reticent on a good day. Yes, he’d come to her, but judging from the number of attempts it had taken to even physically enter her infirmary, this was going to take a while.
Sheppard didn’t seem inclined to begin, arms crossed and leaning so hard back against the wall it looked like he might merge with it (She took a moment to regret that particular image, wishing her desk were wood and not the strange synthetic alloy that made up most of Atlantis’ furniture. Too many strange things had happened on Atlantis, some of them only last week, for her to shake superstition, and she resolved to knock on the next pencil she saw, just in case).
“So. Colonel. How can I help?” said Keller. If it was possible to squirm while staying rooted to the spot, Sheppard managed it. Finally, he spoke, staring at a spot just above and to the right of her head intently.
“Like I said, it’s a little embarrassing,” said Sheppard. The slow whine of his voice was evasive, and she marvelled yet again at the Colonel’s ability to resist interrogations he himself had begun. It was as if the man was pathologically incapable of answering a question directly.
“If you’re not comfortable talking to me, I’m sure we can find you a male medic on-duty,” she said. “These technically aren’t even my clinic hours...” The slight hope he’d take the out she offered faded, as Sheppard shook his head almost the moment she began speaking.
“No, no, I...I wanted to talk to you.” said Sheppard, gazing meaningfully at her, and then away. “Just you.”
Suddenly, horribly, Keller was flashing back to Ian Sisko standing awkwardly in the hall, muttering into her locker about the latest mindless action movie, and would she maybe want to go see it this weekend? Even thinking about her reaction, more than twenty years later, made her stomach twist in shame.
She had laughed, sudden, uncontrollable hilarity at something that wasn’t funny at all taking over, and no amount of backpeddling could fix the look on Ian’s face. She’d liked Ian even, been good friends with him, but somehow the prospect of a movie had sent her into a panic.
She was always like that, outside of an infirmary, reacting in the worst possible way when caught by surprise. Babbling, laughter, freezing up completely...she had an uncomfortable track record, to say the least.
And now Colonel Sheppard was standing awkwardly in her office, and the infirmary had betrayed her, because the familiar panic was welling up already, and any moment now something seriously stupid was going to happen.
“I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while, actually. But, with the whole trying to kill you in your dreams thing, I wasn’t sure...well. ” Sheppard was still avoiding her eyes, and it was just so awfully familiar. She felt a nervous laugh surface behind her teeth, and clenched them into a polite smile. “ It’s been bothering me... I don’t really know how to say this.”
“Then don’t, Colonel, please.” Keller started, aiming for professional and calm and coming out closer to ragged. The surprise on his face was painful, but she had to keep going, had to stop this.
“I respect you, very much,” said Keller, “and I value our working relationship, and while some people have called you scary I myself have found you to be a sane and reasonable colleague , dream-stalker notwithstanding, and I would hate to have anything endanger, not danger, I’m not scared of you.” She stopped, and tried to remember she was a doctor, and an adult, and last week she’d successfully detached a pygmy Pegasus rhododendron from where it was growing out of a biologist’s thigh. It was easier than she’d anticipated. She took a breath.
“Colonel, it would be inappropriate, and honestly, I’m not interested. I’m sorry,” said Keller.
Sheppard stared at her in blank incomprehension, and then with the look people get when they realise the other person in the room, while appearing normal, secretly wears their underpants on their head in private, or crochets kitten cushion-covers, or watches Hour of Power unironically.
“I think I have head lice,” said Sheppard.
Keller blinked, and took a moment. For a while, her small office was filled with the intense silence of two people mentally reviewing everything they’d just said, and a moment later with the slightly different silence of two embarrassed people willing the other to speak first. And then Keller smiled. This was not Ian Sisko, this was not even everyday Atlantis brand of crazy. This was easy.
“Well, I’m relieved,” said Keller.
“I’m not,” said Sheppard, scratching his head and frowning. “I said the part about the bugs on my head, right?”
“Are they space lice?” said Keller.
“No, I think just the regular kind,” said Sheppard, back to his usual drawling irony.
“Well,” said Keller, “I can deal with that. And I shouldn’t even have to shave your head,” she added and smiled, cheerfully, at Sheppard’s reaction.
*
I wrote a silly story about Doctor Jennifer Keller, and Lt. Colonel John Sheppard, and miscommunication. And I am now posting it.
Any advice and criticism encouraged.
Title: Oral Transmission
Rating: G; Humour
Length: 1,972
Spoilers: Slight season four. Reference to Doppleganger.
Summary: A conversation between Dr. Keller and Colonel Sheppard goes slightly awry, for both parties.
Dr. Jennifer Keller was used to people hanging around outside her infirmary. It was, unfortunately, something of a crossroad for the inhabitants of Atlantis, as off-world team members recovered from the inevitable assortment of contusions/abrasions/fractures/infections/allergic reactions, and worse, that accompanied the exploration of an entire galaxy, while their counterparts in the city recuperated from their own unique set of hazards (electrocution was far more common, although not unknown to gate teams).
Keller had resigned herself to the fact that patients on Atlantis brought friends, friends who often had no concept of visiting hours, and while the infirmary was still very much a place of quiet and rest, she found that turning a blind eye to frequent off-shift visitors very rarely had anything other than a positive effect on her patients.
Today though, she’d found that eye slightly harder to keep turned, especially when the visitor in question seemed to be deliberately putting himself in her way, and then abruptly retreating.
It was hardly unusual to see members of the Atlantis flagship gate-team hovering in the infirmary door, occasionally bearing unauthorized snack-food which she was obliged to pointedly ignore, but she knew for a fact that the team was officially grounded for three more days, and she would have heard the shouting if any of McKay’s tests had gone wrong. The likelihood of Ronon being injured during a sparring session was slight, that of Teyla even smaller, and her staff would have notified her of anything serious.
So why, she was left wondering, was Colonel John Sheppard leaning against the door-frame of the infirmary for the fourth time that morning?
She made a note to have Biro increase the unit numbers for topical cortisone, antihistamine, antifungal, and antibiotic creams on the latest requisition form (she was constantly running out of basics, which the latest outbreak of impetigo amongst the marines wasn’t helping), and watched the Colonel straighten out of his slouch.
Two hesitant steps into the infirmary, an awkward swipe of his hand through his hair and...yes, there was the casual glance, the I just stepped in here to look around but I don’t see what I was looking for so I’ll just leave then nod, and the abrupt and hasty retreat. Keller frowned, and went back to her paperwork.
Seven case files later, Sheppard was back, and Keller’s curiosity was with him. Straightening her papers, she tried to figure out the best way to approach a wary Colonel, and decided on direct, bordering on abrupt. During her residence, she’d had a supervisor who swore certain patients were only treatable if kept completely off-balance, and the strange mix of hard-headed, single-minded geeks and servicemen on Atlantis seemed determined to prove him right.
It was difficult, she found, to heal someone whose default setting was to make “flesh wound” jokes up until they passed out, a response which was distressingly common on the Atlantis mission, rivalled only in number by those whose minds were so focussed that they missed the presence of an injury entirely, until someone else pointed it out.
This was not to mention the marines, who’d decided imatatio dei was the way to go with Ronon Dex as their own personal lord and stoic saviour, until at times she felt hard-pressed to find anyone on Atlantis who would give her a straight answer on where it hurt, let alone how badly. (Rodney McKay notwithstanding, and even his lovingly detailed symptoms lists seemed to actually decrease in accuracy and volume the more critical the situation, which was dangerously unhelpful and annoying).
As it was, Sheppard was already wearing a shifty, uncomfortable look that made it clear he was about one ‘how are you feeling’ away from bolting, again, and suddenly Jennifer just did not have the patience to deal with any of it. Her “Colonel” came out less bordering on abrupt, than crossing actively into rude.
“Is there a reason you’ve started haunting my infirmary?” said Keller. It was an unfortunate choice of words to begin with, considering that only two days before both the Colonel and Dr. McKay had been invisible and inaudible to anyone else on Atlantis, and presumed dead. Only the quick-thinking of the kitchen staff had alerted Drs. Kusanagi and Kavanaugh to McKay’s clever manipulation of vibrating jello crystals, and enabled them to stage a rescue a mere 73 hours later. She suppressed her wince at the look on Sheppard’s face and willed herself into patience. If she’d had a hard week, she couldn’t imagine how the Colonel was feeling.
“Dr. McKay isn’t here, if that’s what...” she said gently, but Sheppard shook his head, almost twitching. Keller mentally reassessed her ranking of Atlantis’ most difficult patients, and concentrated on making her voice low and soothing. It worked on horses, and although she wasn’t sure the Colonel would appreciate the comparison, she wasn’t sure it was that far off. Skittish certainly seemed to fit Sheppard’s present mood.
“What is it you needed, Colonel? Because you’ve been in here a few times already today, and you’re starting to make me feel twitchy.” Hearing her voice pitch upward, she winced. Soothing had perhaps been too much to hope for. Still, maybe she wouldn’t discount the strategy entirely, as Sheppard looked around the infirmary wildly, and leaned forward, lowering his voice.
“It’s a little embarrassing,” he grimaced, and scratched the back of his head. It was more than disconcerting to see the military commander of Atlantis practically scuffing his toe on the tile, and then, alarmingly, his voice dipped even lower. “Could we talk? Somewhere more private?”
As she lead the way through the infirmary to her private office, Keller considered all the things she could have been doing, if only she hadn’t chosen to confront a shifty-looking Sheppard. As Chief Medical Officer, Carson had been counsel to the Senior Staff, privy to many of their more traumatic and uncomfortable medical secrets, and she’d known coming into the position that she would be inheriting that trust.
She herself had plenty of experience dealing with some of the stranger and more socially awkward ailments of the Pegasus Galaxy, but it was one thing to prescribe a topical cream to a marine who blushed and crab-walked out of there double-time, and quite another to contemplate doing the same for Colonel Sheppard. It was a good thing she was a professional, or things might become very uncomfortable.
For her. Things seemed to be fairly uncomfortable for Sheppard already, judging from the way he was edgily making his way after her.
Keller took a moment to settle herself at her desk, stalling for time and trying to decide how to approach a patient who was reticent on a good day. Yes, he’d come to her, but judging from the number of attempts it had taken to even physically enter her infirmary, this was going to take a while.
Sheppard didn’t seem inclined to begin, arms crossed and leaning so hard back against the wall it looked like he might merge with it (She took a moment to regret that particular image, wishing her desk were wood and not the strange synthetic alloy that made up most of Atlantis’ furniture. Too many strange things had happened on Atlantis, some of them only last week, for her to shake superstition, and she resolved to knock on the next pencil she saw, just in case).
“So. Colonel. How can I help?” said Keller. If it was possible to squirm while staying rooted to the spot, Sheppard managed it. Finally, he spoke, staring at a spot just above and to the right of her head intently.
“Like I said, it’s a little embarrassing,” said Sheppard. The slow whine of his voice was evasive, and she marvelled yet again at the Colonel’s ability to resist interrogations he himself had begun. It was as if the man was pathologically incapable of answering a question directly.
“If you’re not comfortable talking to me, I’m sure we can find you a male medic on-duty,” she said. “These technically aren’t even my clinic hours...” The slight hope he’d take the out she offered faded, as Sheppard shook his head almost the moment she began speaking.
“No, no, I...I wanted to talk to you.” said Sheppard, gazing meaningfully at her, and then away. “Just you.”
Suddenly, horribly, Keller was flashing back to Ian Sisko standing awkwardly in the hall, muttering into her locker about the latest mindless action movie, and would she maybe want to go see it this weekend? Even thinking about her reaction, more than twenty years later, made her stomach twist in shame.
She had laughed, sudden, uncontrollable hilarity at something that wasn’t funny at all taking over, and no amount of backpeddling could fix the look on Ian’s face. She’d liked Ian even, been good friends with him, but somehow the prospect of a movie had sent her into a panic.
She was always like that, outside of an infirmary, reacting in the worst possible way when caught by surprise. Babbling, laughter, freezing up completely...she had an uncomfortable track record, to say the least.
And now Colonel Sheppard was standing awkwardly in her office, and the infirmary had betrayed her, because the familiar panic was welling up already, and any moment now something seriously stupid was going to happen.
“I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while, actually. But, with the whole trying to kill you in your dreams thing, I wasn’t sure...well. ” Sheppard was still avoiding her eyes, and it was just so awfully familiar. She felt a nervous laugh surface behind her teeth, and clenched them into a polite smile. “ It’s been bothering me... I don’t really know how to say this.”
“Then don’t, Colonel, please.” Keller started, aiming for professional and calm and coming out closer to ragged. The surprise on his face was painful, but she had to keep going, had to stop this.
“I respect you, very much,” said Keller, “and I value our working relationship, and while some people have called you scary I myself have found you to be a sane and reasonable colleague , dream-stalker notwithstanding, and I would hate to have anything endanger, not danger, I’m not scared of you.” She stopped, and tried to remember she was a doctor, and an adult, and last week she’d successfully detached a pygmy Pegasus rhododendron from where it was growing out of a biologist’s thigh. It was easier than she’d anticipated. She took a breath.
“Colonel, it would be inappropriate, and honestly, I’m not interested. I’m sorry,” said Keller.
Sheppard stared at her in blank incomprehension, and then with the look people get when they realise the other person in the room, while appearing normal, secretly wears their underpants on their head in private, or crochets kitten cushion-covers, or watches Hour of Power unironically.
“I think I have head lice,” said Sheppard.
Keller blinked, and took a moment. For a while, her small office was filled with the intense silence of two people mentally reviewing everything they’d just said, and a moment later with the slightly different silence of two embarrassed people willing the other to speak first. And then Keller smiled. This was not Ian Sisko, this was not even everyday Atlantis brand of crazy. This was easy.
“Well, I’m relieved,” said Keller.
“I’m not,” said Sheppard, scratching his head and frowning. “I said the part about the bugs on my head, right?”
“Are they space lice?” said Keller.
“No, I think just the regular kind,” said Sheppard, back to his usual drawling irony.
“Well,” said Keller, “I can deal with that. And I shouldn’t even have to shave your head,” she added and smiled, cheerfully, at Sheppard’s reaction.
*