Fic: Stop. (McKay/Keller)
Aug. 23rd, 2008 04:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trinityofoneI feel like there about 10,000 fics I want to write based on last night’s episode. This one pushed itself rudely to the front of the queue, and thus is first. ;-)
Title: Stop.
Pairing: McKay/Keller
Rating: G
Spoilers: The Shrine
Length: ~1,000 words
Summary: He’d always thought the hard part would be saying it. But it’s not. It’s figuring out what to say next.
Author’s Note: Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
siriaeve for inspiration, beta, and a shiny line I snagged like the greedy magpie I am.
Stop.
He’d always thought the hard part would be saying it. But it’s not. It’s figuring out what to say next.
It doesn’t help that so much has happened since then. He feels like an entirely different person now—which he is, thank god: he is himself again. Himself, so far removed from the naked vulnerability of that moment, the person who was willing to look into a camera—a camera, for god’s sake—and…and just say it. He doesn’t want to be that person again, be in that place again. Part of him wants to forget it ever happened, that that sad, lost, open man ever even existed.
But then he’ll catch Jennifer’s eye across the infirmary. He’ll catch her eye and see himself there, just for a moment. His words. I love…
The tightening in his throat feels kind of like anaphylaxis. And he has to spend a moment, then, just rolling that word around on his tongue. He has all his words back—a multisyllabic symphony that he can conduct at will. All his words but one.
Jennifer, too, is buzzing with words, overflowing with them. Her hands are as busy as her mouth as she brings him food and books, laptops, things to keep him occupied, things to reassure them both that his intellect is back where it belongs—racing, rocketing along, climbing and spinning and soaring like a puddlejumper with Sheppard at the helm. She chatters about the tests she’s run and is running, positive result after positive result—“Even your blood pressure is down, Rodney”—and about how relieved everyone in the city is, how happy they are all, how happy (stuttering a little there, the scanner slipping slightly in her hands) how happy she is.
Rodney knows what it feels like, to know you shouldn’t say something: a sharp constriction in your breast—usually, in his case, several seconds after he’s already spoken. Now instead there is this ever-expanding pressure, sitting like an animal on his chest, of everything he wants to say, wants to tell her. He needs to explain. Not that he didn’t mean it—oh god, so much the opposite—but that the timing may not have been the best, he knows, and he didn’t mean to pressure her, or make her uncomfortable or anything, and really she should take it as a compliment as he has not only one of—no, the finest mind in two galaxies, he also has incredibly discerning tastes, so she should know, it’s not the kind of thing he would say lightly, or just because—because he thought he was dying and was never going to get to say it again, or have it said to him; yes, that may have been the thing that made him brave, but nevertheless he meant it and he wants her to know that, even if, maybe especially if, she doesn’t feel the same way in return.
Instead he says, “Ham! Finally!” and “You may want to get your vision checked, because despite what your poorly refracting corneas seem to be telling you, I am not actually a giant pincushion,” and “3.14159265358979323846—oh, you’re laughing and walking away, but I could go on! You finish whatever supposedly important thing you’re doing, and then when you come back I’ll continue. 2643383279…”
And eventually she says, “Okay, Rodney, I think I’m satisfied.”
He looks up but not quite at her, and when he speaks it’s as if the words are suddenly skittish, living things in his mouth, all nerves and no control. “You—you are?”
“I’m ready to discharge you,” she says, turning to glance at one of the monitors, the stern stand of her shoulders telling him nothing. “You should go home, relax, because,” he watches as she brushes a strand of hair away from the eyes he cannot see, “tomorrow, I’m sure you’ll discover a thousand things that got messed up while you were…away.” There’s just the slightest crack in her voice. “So you’re gonna have to get in there up to your elbows and put everything back to the way it should be.” She turns around and she’s smiling again, calm and professional, their Dr. Keller. “And for that, I’m sure you’ll agree, you’re going to need rest in an entirely needle-free environment.” Her fingers tap against the clipboard she’s clutching. “Do you have any questions?”
He’s pushed himself up so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed; he can’t take this lying down. He stares at her face as if looking for a clue, a cue: a flashing APPLAUSE sign, only it should say TELL HER NOW in blinking neon lights.
Anaphylaxis, he thinks.
Worry creeps onto Jennifer’s face. “Rodney, what’s wrong? Do you need me to—”
“Shut up.”
She blinks. He winces and just barely restrains himself from thwacking himself on the forehead.
“Sorry, no, I mean.” He gets shakily to his feet. He knows his mouth can form the words—they already have.
“You—you talk an awful lot,” he says finally. “I mean, we both do. Do you think, maybe, we can, we can just—”
“Stop,” Jennifer says.
He freezes. They freeze, and then they are in motion. The clipboard clatters to the floor at their feet.
It is silent in the infirmary. Silent, though Rodney’s mouth cannot stop moving, tasting, confirming with each touch everything he has wanted and struggled to say.
“I love you,” he manages finally, her hand stroking down his cheek. “I meant it and I still mean it and I just wanted you to know—”
“Rodney,” she says, kissing him again and again, pulling and holding him close. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.”
Title: Stop.
Pairing: McKay/Keller
Rating: G
Spoilers: The Shrine
Length: ~1,000 words
Summary: He’d always thought the hard part would be saying it. But it’s not. It’s figuring out what to say next.
Author’s Note: Thank you to
siriaeve for inspiration, beta, and a shiny line I snagged like the greedy magpie I am.Stop.
He’d always thought the hard part would be saying it. But it’s not. It’s figuring out what to say next.
It doesn’t help that so much has happened since then. He feels like an entirely different person now—which he is, thank god: he is himself again. Himself, so far removed from the naked vulnerability of that moment, the person who was willing to look into a camera—a camera, for god’s sake—and…and just say it. He doesn’t want to be that person again, be in that place again. Part of him wants to forget it ever happened, that that sad, lost, open man ever even existed.
But then he’ll catch Jennifer’s eye across the infirmary. He’ll catch her eye and see himself there, just for a moment. His words. I love…
The tightening in his throat feels kind of like anaphylaxis. And he has to spend a moment, then, just rolling that word around on his tongue. He has all his words back—a multisyllabic symphony that he can conduct at will. All his words but one.
Jennifer, too, is buzzing with words, overflowing with them. Her hands are as busy as her mouth as she brings him food and books, laptops, things to keep him occupied, things to reassure them both that his intellect is back where it belongs—racing, rocketing along, climbing and spinning and soaring like a puddlejumper with Sheppard at the helm. She chatters about the tests she’s run and is running, positive result after positive result—“Even your blood pressure is down, Rodney”—and about how relieved everyone in the city is, how happy they are all, how happy (stuttering a little there, the scanner slipping slightly in her hands) how happy she is.
Rodney knows what it feels like, to know you shouldn’t say something: a sharp constriction in your breast—usually, in his case, several seconds after he’s already spoken. Now instead there is this ever-expanding pressure, sitting like an animal on his chest, of everything he wants to say, wants to tell her. He needs to explain. Not that he didn’t mean it—oh god, so much the opposite—but that the timing may not have been the best, he knows, and he didn’t mean to pressure her, or make her uncomfortable or anything, and really she should take it as a compliment as he has not only one of—no, the finest mind in two galaxies, he also has incredibly discerning tastes, so she should know, it’s not the kind of thing he would say lightly, or just because—because he thought he was dying and was never going to get to say it again, or have it said to him; yes, that may have been the thing that made him brave, but nevertheless he meant it and he wants her to know that, even if, maybe especially if, she doesn’t feel the same way in return.
Instead he says, “Ham! Finally!” and “You may want to get your vision checked, because despite what your poorly refracting corneas seem to be telling you, I am not actually a giant pincushion,” and “3.14159265358979323846—oh, you’re laughing and walking away, but I could go on! You finish whatever supposedly important thing you’re doing, and then when you come back I’ll continue. 2643383279…”
And eventually she says, “Okay, Rodney, I think I’m satisfied.”
He looks up but not quite at her, and when he speaks it’s as if the words are suddenly skittish, living things in his mouth, all nerves and no control. “You—you are?”
“I’m ready to discharge you,” she says, turning to glance at one of the monitors, the stern stand of her shoulders telling him nothing. “You should go home, relax, because,” he watches as she brushes a strand of hair away from the eyes he cannot see, “tomorrow, I’m sure you’ll discover a thousand things that got messed up while you were…away.” There’s just the slightest crack in her voice. “So you’re gonna have to get in there up to your elbows and put everything back to the way it should be.” She turns around and she’s smiling again, calm and professional, their Dr. Keller. “And for that, I’m sure you’ll agree, you’re going to need rest in an entirely needle-free environment.” Her fingers tap against the clipboard she’s clutching. “Do you have any questions?”
He’s pushed himself up so he’s sitting on the edge of the bed; he can’t take this lying down. He stares at her face as if looking for a clue, a cue: a flashing APPLAUSE sign, only it should say TELL HER NOW in blinking neon lights.
Anaphylaxis, he thinks.
Worry creeps onto Jennifer’s face. “Rodney, what’s wrong? Do you need me to—”
“Shut up.”
She blinks. He winces and just barely restrains himself from thwacking himself on the forehead.
“Sorry, no, I mean.” He gets shakily to his feet. He knows his mouth can form the words—they already have.
“You—you talk an awful lot,” he says finally. “I mean, we both do. Do you think, maybe, we can, we can just—”
“Stop,” Jennifer says.
He freezes. They freeze, and then they are in motion. The clipboard clatters to the floor at their feet.
It is silent in the infirmary. Silent, though Rodney’s mouth cannot stop moving, tasting, confirming with each touch everything he has wanted and struggled to say.
“I love you,” he manages finally, her hand stroking down his cheek. “I meant it and I still mean it and I just wanted you to know—”
“Rodney,” she says, kissing him again and again, pulling and holding him close. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.”
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-23 11:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-23 11:16 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for all your encouragement with this. *smishes*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-23 11:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-23 11:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-24 12:47 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-24 01:03 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-24 01:19 am (UTC)I certainly trust it more Rodney and Katie. Though I miss the Ronon/Keller they set up in Quarantine.
In conclusion: oh, Rodney. *pets*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-24 02:11 am (UTC)That said...oh, Rodney, indeed. *hearts him forever*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-24 01:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-24 02:12 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-24 01:32 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-24 02:13 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-24 02:16 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-24 02:28 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-24 02:30 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-24 02:44 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-24 08:49 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-24 03:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-25 07:34 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-25 12:56 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-26 05:23 pm (UTC)“Shut up.”
She blinks.
Oh, Rodney, you sweet talker. *g*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-28 06:46 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2010-07-27 01:00 pm (UTC)Am now puddle of goo, hold on!
Better! Oh that was just so brilliant and lovely and (without being at all sickly) sweet!
With all the words that flow out of Rodney all the time he finds it nearly impossible to say the ones that really matter here.
Plus how uncomfortable he is watching himself with all his walls stripped away, so open and free with his feelings. Actually it would make most of us cringe being that exposed. *shudder*
And then they kiss and, just, yes!