We're classicists: we get it wrong, people die. (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} toft_froggy) wrote in ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} mcsmooch,@ 2008-03-24 22:08:00 |
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Not With A Bang
For20thcenturyvole (see here for an explanation, if any can really be given):
In a universe where Rodney's hobby was building model aeroplanes, this is how the rescue goes:
"Rodney!"
"Yes, yes, five more seconds, wait -"
"Rodney, I need to know now."
"Just - just five more seconds -"
"Atlantis, this is Daedalus. One crew member incoming."
"What?"
There's a shimmer of light. Next to him, Radek hisses in a breath and grabs Rodney's shoulder so hard Rodney thinks he's dislocated something. The shambolic figure before them glances at the rapidly flickering numbers on the screen, grabs the ancient input device and hauls it up against his chest, holding the lengthy protrusion with his left hand and the rounded body in the crook of his other elbow. Rodney opens and closes his mouth.
"Rodney, now!" says the radio, and the guy tosses back his mane of curly hair, grabs a couple of crystals from the table and slots them in at random, then closes his eyes.
"You should probably get out of the way, Colonel," he says, and the fact that he's British, older than Rodney and wearing clogs, Rodney thinks helplessly, couldn't possibly make this less surreal. He strokes his fingers down the length of the device, and presses his other palm against the rounded body. Above them, the hive ships go up in a blaze of light.
Over the radio, John says, "Woah."
"I can't tell you how grateful we are for taking time from your work to come here, Doctor," Carter says. She's practically simpering. "We really appreciate your help. Can I interest you in a tour of Atlantis while you're here?"
She ignores Rodney's abortive splutter, and Radek elbows him in the stomach. Rodney wheezes.
"Sorry, love," the guy says, showing his truly awful teeth. He's taken off his jacket to reveal a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. "General O'Neill's expecting me back on time."
Suddenly, out of the whispers of strongest gene manifestation ever discovered and revolutionary work on radial dust velocities and fingerpicked solo using a 1967 sixpence, someone whoops raucously from the back of the gateroom, "Let's hear it for the doctor!" and the whole room is full of applause. Rodney sits down in despair. Beside him, Radek takes a shaky step forward.
"Please allow me to add my personal gratitude," he says. "And - if it is not too unprofessional - I must say, I am a very large fan. Please may I get your autograph?"
"What?" Rodney wheezes, but nobody listens.
The man smiles his awful British smile again, and shambles forward to sign the first thing Radek grabs off the desk, which is Rodney's laptop. Rodney hiccups in mute, utterly overwhelming outrage, and blacks out temporarily; when the spots swim out of his vision, Radek's hugging the laptop to his chest and grinning foolishly to himself.
There's another beam of light, and then John's there.
"Oh, hey, Ro -" John begins, then he stands to attention quicker than Rodney's ever seen, quicker than at Carson's funeral.
"Sir, it's an honour to have you here," John says, in his most serious, I-just-shot-my-commanding-officer-but-I'm-r
"Before you go," Radek says urgently, "I must ask, if, just once - you see, there are several of us here, a small number of fans - you would consent to, to jam with us? Some of the Ancient equipment we have found, the amplifier systems and the instruments we have reconstructed from database instructions - I think you will be impressed."
"The acoustics in the gateroom are excellent," John says sincerely.
The guy looks straight at Rodney, who feels like he's about to have an aneurism, and winks.
"If it's all right with Dr. McKay," he says.
"It's fine with him," Sam says hurriedly, and Rodney almost staggers at the finality of the threefold betrayal.
The guy pokes at the radio hidden in his hair. "Colonel Caldwell, we're going to have a little impromptu concert down here, do you mind waiting?"
"Absolutely not, take all the time you need," the radio buzzes. "Caldwell out."
Chuck, Zelenka and Simpson are already racing out of the room.
"Lieutenant Cadman!" Sam says, "Get the amps."
The door of the balcony opens, and the strains of Ancient guitar riffs follow John out.
"Hey, Rodney, I can't believe you're missing out on this."
"I don't know what's happening," Rodney says to the sky, which is still glowing with debris crashing and burning in the atmosphere.
"Hey," John says, more gently, and sits down on the floor next to him awkwardly, his knees splaying every which way. "Rodney. You did a good job today."
He stretches out on the floor next to Rodney, and Rodney turns his head to look at him.
"You shouldn't miss it," Rodney says, "Whatever's going on. It sounds like fun. You should go."
"Nah, I'm good," John says, smiling into Rodney's eyes, then rolling back to look up at the sky, the flashes of gold and white. It's like the most beautiful meteor shower Rodney's ever seen, clearer than ever in the darkening sky. After a while, because it seems like the universe has gone crazy anyway, Rodney reaches out and grabs John's hand, then interlaces their fingers and holds on tight. John squeezes back a little, and doesn't let go.
"One vision, everybody - remember that, it's what we're all about," says the guy, and he closes his eyes beatifically as the Daedalus beams him out. The gateroom heaves a collective sigh, and there's a moment of contemplative silence.
"I cannot believe I have lived to see this moment," Radek breathes, after a while.
"Rolling Stone voted him the thirty-ninth best guitarist of all time," Chuck says hollowly.
"Have you all gone insane?" Rodney splutters, having finally recovered his voice and his equilibrium after several sneaked powerbars and a quiet half-hour holding John's hand on the balcony, "Firstly, if someone could explain to me what the hell is going on -"
"Back off, McKay," Ronon grunts, "Radek's had a very emotional experience."
"You - what - he - what do you even -"
"Rodney, show some sensitivity," Sam says. "Dr. May gave him the coin he used as a plectrum when he was defending his thesis. Show it to me again, Radek?"
Radek shyly, carefully, opens his palm to show a glint of dull metal. There's a sigh around the room.
"It is truly magnificent," Teyla says huskily. "I find it most inspiring that even the Wraith cannot stop the rock."
"Wake me up when this hell is all over," Rodney says, and strides out of the gateroom.
A few hours later, John appears at Rodney's door with a peace offering of dinner. Halfway through, Rodney puts his fork down, swallows and kisses John on the mouth.
"Back to the Light was a crappy album," John says, when Rodney pulls away to breathe and push John down onto the bed. John's mouth is shiny, and his cheeks are flushed. "And Another World was all covers, anyway."
"I don't even know what the hell you're talking about," Rodney says, and kisses the corner of his mouth, then sucks on his lower lip a little. John makes a breathy sound.
"I'm just saying," he manages later, as Rodney helps him - swiftly - out of his t-shirt and pants, "I'm a big fan."
Rodney stops, blinks. "Oh, well," he says, and finds himself beaming. "Thanks."
"Maybe your biggest?" John says, and waggles his eyebrows, pushing his hips up a little as Rodney tugs his pants down. Rodney eyes the bulge in his boxers.
"Maybe. I'd have to, hm. Investigate."
"You want to give me your autograph?"
"Why not?" Rodney says, and, since he doesn't have any writing implements to hand, licks the first few letters of his name onto John's chest, before he gets distracted. He sits up and looks at John, spread out before him, naked and sprawling and warm. And he thinks, it's a kind of magic.
End
I am so embarrassed right now.
For
20thcenturyvole (see here for an explanation, if any can really be given):In a universe where Rodney's hobby was building model aeroplanes, this is how the rescue goes:
"Rodney!"
"Yes, yes, five more seconds, wait -"
"Rodney, I need to know now."
"Just - just five more seconds -"
"Atlantis, this is Daedalus. One crew member incoming."
"What?"
There's a shimmer of light. Next to him, Radek hisses in a breath and grabs Rodney's shoulder so hard Rodney thinks he's dislocated something. The shambolic figure before them glances at the rapidly flickering numbers on the screen, grabs the ancient input device and hauls it up against his chest, holding the lengthy protrusion with his left hand and the rounded body in the crook of his other elbow. Rodney opens and closes his mouth.
"Rodney, now!" says the radio, and the guy tosses back his mane of curly hair, grabs a couple of crystals from the table and slots them in at random, then closes his eyes.
"You should probably get out of the way, Colonel," he says, and the fact that he's British, older than Rodney and wearing clogs, Rodney thinks helplessly, couldn't possibly make this less surreal. He strokes his fingers down the length of the device, and presses his other palm against the rounded body. Above them, the hive ships go up in a blaze of light.
Over the radio, John says, "Woah."
"I can't tell you how grateful we are for taking time from your work to come here, Doctor," Carter says. She's practically simpering. "We really appreciate your help. Can I interest you in a tour of Atlantis while you're here?"
She ignores Rodney's abortive splutter, and Radek elbows him in the stomach. Rodney wheezes.
"Sorry, love," the guy says, showing his truly awful teeth. He's taken off his jacket to reveal a Led Zeppelin t-shirt. "General O'Neill's expecting me back on time."
Suddenly, out of the whispers of strongest gene manifestation ever discovered and revolutionary work on radial dust velocities and fingerpicked solo using a 1967 sixpence, someone whoops raucously from the back of the gateroom, "Let's hear it for the doctor!" and the whole room is full of applause. Rodney sits down in despair. Beside him, Radek takes a shaky step forward.
"Please allow me to add my personal gratitude," he says. "And - if it is not too unprofessional - I must say, I am a very large fan. Please may I get your autograph?"
"What?" Rodney wheezes, but nobody listens.
The man smiles his awful British smile again, and shambles forward to sign the first thing Radek grabs off the desk, which is Rodney's laptop. Rodney hiccups in mute, utterly overwhelming outrage, and blacks out temporarily; when the spots swim out of his vision, Radek's hugging the laptop to his chest and grinning foolishly to himself.
There's another beam of light, and then John's there.
"Oh, hey, Ro -" John begins, then he stands to attention quicker than Rodney's ever seen, quicker than at Carson's funeral.
"Sir, it's an honour to have you here," John says, in his most serious, I-just-shot-my-commanding-officer-but-I'm-r
"Before you go," Radek says urgently, "I must ask, if, just once - you see, there are several of us here, a small number of fans - you would consent to, to jam with us? Some of the Ancient equipment we have found, the amplifier systems and the instruments we have reconstructed from database instructions - I think you will be impressed."
"The acoustics in the gateroom are excellent," John says sincerely.
The guy looks straight at Rodney, who feels like he's about to have an aneurism, and winks.
"If it's all right with Dr. McKay," he says.
"It's fine with him," Sam says hurriedly, and Rodney almost staggers at the finality of the threefold betrayal.
The guy pokes at the radio hidden in his hair. "Colonel Caldwell, we're going to have a little impromptu concert down here, do you mind waiting?"
"Absolutely not, take all the time you need," the radio buzzes. "Caldwell out."
Chuck, Zelenka and Simpson are already racing out of the room.
"Lieutenant Cadman!" Sam says, "Get the amps."
The door of the balcony opens, and the strains of Ancient guitar riffs follow John out.
"Hey, Rodney, I can't believe you're missing out on this."
"I don't know what's happening," Rodney says to the sky, which is still glowing with debris crashing and burning in the atmosphere.
"Hey," John says, more gently, and sits down on the floor next to him awkwardly, his knees splaying every which way. "Rodney. You did a good job today."
He stretches out on the floor next to Rodney, and Rodney turns his head to look at him.
"You shouldn't miss it," Rodney says, "Whatever's going on. It sounds like fun. You should go."
"Nah, I'm good," John says, smiling into Rodney's eyes, then rolling back to look up at the sky, the flashes of gold and white. It's like the most beautiful meteor shower Rodney's ever seen, clearer than ever in the darkening sky. After a while, because it seems like the universe has gone crazy anyway, Rodney reaches out and grabs John's hand, then interlaces their fingers and holds on tight. John squeezes back a little, and doesn't let go.
"One vision, everybody - remember that, it's what we're all about," says the guy, and he closes his eyes beatifically as the Daedalus beams him out. The gateroom heaves a collective sigh, and there's a moment of contemplative silence.
"I cannot believe I have lived to see this moment," Radek breathes, after a while.
"Rolling Stone voted him the thirty-ninth best guitarist of all time," Chuck says hollowly.
"Have you all gone insane?" Rodney splutters, having finally recovered his voice and his equilibrium after several sneaked powerbars and a quiet half-hour holding John's hand on the balcony, "Firstly, if someone could explain to me what the hell is going on -"
"Back off, McKay," Ronon grunts, "Radek's had a very emotional experience."
"You - what - he - what do you even -"
"Rodney, show some sensitivity," Sam says. "Dr. May gave him the coin he used as a plectrum when he was defending his thesis. Show it to me again, Radek?"
Radek shyly, carefully, opens his palm to show a glint of dull metal. There's a sigh around the room.
"It is truly magnificent," Teyla says huskily. "I find it most inspiring that even the Wraith cannot stop the rock."
"Wake me up when this hell is all over," Rodney says, and strides out of the gateroom.
A few hours later, John appears at Rodney's door with a peace offering of dinner. Halfway through, Rodney puts his fork down, swallows and kisses John on the mouth.
"Back to the Light was a crappy album," John says, when Rodney pulls away to breathe and push John down onto the bed. John's mouth is shiny, and his cheeks are flushed. "And Another World was all covers, anyway."
"I don't even know what the hell you're talking about," Rodney says, and kisses the corner of his mouth, then sucks on his lower lip a little. John makes a breathy sound.
"I'm just saying," he manages later, as Rodney helps him - swiftly - out of his t-shirt and pants, "I'm a big fan."
Rodney stops, blinks. "Oh, well," he says, and finds himself beaming. "Thanks."
"Maybe your biggest?" John says, and waggles his eyebrows, pushing his hips up a little as Rodney tugs his pants down. Rodney eyes the bulge in his boxers.
"Maybe. I'd have to, hm. Investigate."
"You want to give me your autograph?"
"Why not?" Rodney says, and, since he doesn't have any writing implements to hand, licks the first few letters of his name onto John's chest, before he gets distracted. He sits up and looks at John, spread out before him, naked and sprawling and warm. And he thinks, it's a kind of magic.
End
I am so embarrassed right now.
