Two conversations, two fics
Feb. 17th, 2006 05:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trinityofoneApparently, I have been Marvining people like crazy with my angsty fic. I have two solutions to that. First, I wrote a bit o’crackfic for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sga_flashfic’s Post Secret Challenge: The Universe Is Not Enough, based on ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ficklememeer’s postcard. I blame due South for this. A lot.
ETA:newkidfan made amazing and hilarious cover art!
*dies* *very, very happily*
Second, you have the results of two conversations withsiriaeve, whom I seem to be shrouding in infamy (in a good way, I hope!). After I posted An Exceedingly Insular Man, we had this little talk:
trinityofone: I keep writing depressing fic, and now half my friends list thinks I don’t like John anymore!
siriaeve: You should write a story where Rodney gives John a puppy.
trinityofone: What about one where John rolls around naked with a bunch of puppies?
siriaeve: Ahh! Ahh! Bad David Hasselhoff flashbacks! Ahh!
Then I flashed back to when the two of us were watching Scanners II:
David Hewlett: I keep getting these really bad headaches; I wonder if this has anything to do with my burgeoning telekinetic abilities?
Girl Who Has a Mad Crush on David Hewlett: You may have problems, but at least you don’t have a tragic deadly puppy disease, like this ridiculously cute puppy over here!
David Hewlett: You mean you like puppies, cursory love interest? Well, I like your breasts, so here, let me fix this one for you!
David Hewlett: *magically makes the puppy all better*
Siria & Trinity: Oh my God, David Hewlett can heal puppies with his brain!
Add the two together (minus the naked John, I must with all honesty and regret report) and you get:
Rodney McKay Can Heal Puppies With His Brain
John stood with his back straight and his P-90 loose in his hand. The air still smelled of smoke and ash; it made his eyes water. Eyes watering, he looked down at the crumpled form by his feet, the tiny body struggling for breath. His grip tightened convulsively. It was too much. Too much.
“Colonel,” Rodney said, coming up behind him. John hesitated a moment before turning toward him: McKay’s cheeks were likewise wet, streaked with salt and ash. His mouth twisted, his expression more difficult to read than usual: anger and fear; regret, relief; anger, anger, anger. The Wraith had come to this world and they’d been too late to do anything to stop it; most likely, they wouldn’t have been able to help anyway.
“We’re—” Rodney started, then paused, spotting what had caught and held John’s attention. “Is that...?”
John nodded. “It’s dying,” he said, grabbing Rodney’s arm and turning him away. “Head back to the jumper. I’ll be right behind you.” He would help it, help it the only way he knew how.
“No, wait,” Rodney said. He pushed past John and knelt over the fallen form. “Maybe I can...”
“Rodney.” John sighed. Of all the things for him to be ridiculous and irrational about. “It’s too late, there’s nothing—”
But Rodney was gathering the tiny body into his arms. “Hey, now,” he said, voice low, a tone John had never heard him use before. He stroked the weary head. “Hey. Come on.”
“Rodney—” John started again, but suddenly the huddled figure shuddered, unfolded. Wide brown eyes blinked, lips spread into a dopey smile. “There,” Rodney said, satisfied, standing, pushing the ball of fuzz into John’s startled hands.
The puppy raised its head and licked John’s cheek.
“You—” John sputtered, though his fingers were already working their way behind the puppy’s ears, scratching. “How—?”
Rodney shrugged, like it was every day that he travelled to alien planets ravaged by the Wraith and brought small, golden-furred puppies back from the dead. “It’s just this...thing I’ve always been able to do.” He shrugged again. “If it weren’t an utterly criminal waste of my invaluable intellect and skill, I might have become a vet.”
“But how did you...?” John asked, though as the puppy nestled itself more comfortably against his neck, he found he was caring less and less.
Rodney, however, looked somewhat perplexed. “Well, it’s like I keep saying. Medicine is practically voodoo.” He paused. “Right?”
“Sure,” said John. Puppy! he thought.
They started back toward the ‘gate. “What are you going to name him?” Rodney asked.
John scratched at the underside of the puppy’s chin. “What about...Al?”
“Al? Oh, please tell me you’re joking.”
“Okay,” John conceded. “Ernie.”
Rodney scowled. “Zeno,” he countered.
“Ted.”
“Dirac.”
“Murray.”
“Now that’s just mean. Um. Al-Khwarizmi.”
“Right, and then we can call him ‘Al’ for short,” John said, triumphant.
He turned and smiled at Rodney, genuine and open. The protest Rodney was about to make died in his throat. Quickly, he turned his gaze downward, toward the dishevelled ball of yellow fur in the Colonel’s arms. It yawned, extending a long, pink tongue, then tucked its head against John’s shoulder and fell asleep. “Do you really think Elizabeth will let you keep him?” Rodney asked, suddenly concerned.
“Sure,” John said easily. “She let me keep Ronon.”
“True,” Rodney said. He had a headache—a side-effect, probably, or maybe just further evidence of a long, tiring day. “You know,” he said, “I really prefer cats.”
John stroked a hand over soft ears and warm, welcoming fur. “Yeah,” he said, and for once when his lips curved upward, he didn’t seem to be aware of it. “But dogs have their charms. You’ll see.”
The pressure in his head was lessening, fading. “I’d like that,” Rodney said.
*************
Rejected titles for this fic included: Must Love Dogs, Puppy Love, and Hounds of Love ('cause I totally already wrote that, OMG). Your insulin shots should be available at the next booth over. *g*
sga_flashfic’s Post Secret Challenge: The Universe Is Not Enough, based on ficklememeer’s postcard. I blame due South for this. A lot.ETA:
newkidfan made amazing and hilarious cover art! *dies* *very, very happily*
Second, you have the results of two conversations with
siriaeve, whom I seem to be shrouding in infamy (in a good way, I hope!). After I posted An Exceedingly Insular Man, we had this little talk:trinityofone: I keep writing depressing fic, and now half my friends list thinks I don’t like John anymore!siriaeve: You should write a story where Rodney gives John a puppy.trinityofone: What about one where John rolls around naked with a bunch of puppies?siriaeve: Ahh! Ahh! Bad David Hasselhoff flashbacks! Ahh!Then I flashed back to when the two of us were watching Scanners II:
David Hewlett: I keep getting these really bad headaches; I wonder if this has anything to do with my burgeoning telekinetic abilities?
Girl Who Has a Mad Crush on David Hewlett: You may have problems, but at least you don’t have a tragic deadly puppy disease, like this ridiculously cute puppy over here!
David Hewlett: You mean you like puppies, cursory love interest? Well, I like your breasts, so here, let me fix this one for you!
David Hewlett: *magically makes the puppy all better*
Siria & Trinity: Oh my God, David Hewlett can heal puppies with his brain!
Add the two together (minus the naked John, I must with all honesty and regret report) and you get:
Rodney McKay Can Heal Puppies With His Brain
John stood with his back straight and his P-90 loose in his hand. The air still smelled of smoke and ash; it made his eyes water. Eyes watering, he looked down at the crumpled form by his feet, the tiny body struggling for breath. His grip tightened convulsively. It was too much. Too much.
“Colonel,” Rodney said, coming up behind him. John hesitated a moment before turning toward him: McKay’s cheeks were likewise wet, streaked with salt and ash. His mouth twisted, his expression more difficult to read than usual: anger and fear; regret, relief; anger, anger, anger. The Wraith had come to this world and they’d been too late to do anything to stop it; most likely, they wouldn’t have been able to help anyway.
“We’re—” Rodney started, then paused, spotting what had caught and held John’s attention. “Is that...?”
John nodded. “It’s dying,” he said, grabbing Rodney’s arm and turning him away. “Head back to the jumper. I’ll be right behind you.” He would help it, help it the only way he knew how.
“No, wait,” Rodney said. He pushed past John and knelt over the fallen form. “Maybe I can...”
“Rodney.” John sighed. Of all the things for him to be ridiculous and irrational about. “It’s too late, there’s nothing—”
But Rodney was gathering the tiny body into his arms. “Hey, now,” he said, voice low, a tone John had never heard him use before. He stroked the weary head. “Hey. Come on.”
“Rodney—” John started again, but suddenly the huddled figure shuddered, unfolded. Wide brown eyes blinked, lips spread into a dopey smile. “There,” Rodney said, satisfied, standing, pushing the ball of fuzz into John’s startled hands.
The puppy raised its head and licked John’s cheek.
“You—” John sputtered, though his fingers were already working their way behind the puppy’s ears, scratching. “How—?”
Rodney shrugged, like it was every day that he travelled to alien planets ravaged by the Wraith and brought small, golden-furred puppies back from the dead. “It’s just this...thing I’ve always been able to do.” He shrugged again. “If it weren’t an utterly criminal waste of my invaluable intellect and skill, I might have become a vet.”
“But how did you...?” John asked, though as the puppy nestled itself more comfortably against his neck, he found he was caring less and less.
Rodney, however, looked somewhat perplexed. “Well, it’s like I keep saying. Medicine is practically voodoo.” He paused. “Right?”
“Sure,” said John. Puppy! he thought.
They started back toward the ‘gate. “What are you going to name him?” Rodney asked.
John scratched at the underside of the puppy’s chin. “What about...Al?”
“Al? Oh, please tell me you’re joking.”
“Okay,” John conceded. “Ernie.”
Rodney scowled. “Zeno,” he countered.
“Ted.”
“Dirac.”
“Murray.”
“Now that’s just mean. Um. Al-Khwarizmi.”
“Right, and then we can call him ‘Al’ for short,” John said, triumphant.
He turned and smiled at Rodney, genuine and open. The protest Rodney was about to make died in his throat. Quickly, he turned his gaze downward, toward the dishevelled ball of yellow fur in the Colonel’s arms. It yawned, extending a long, pink tongue, then tucked its head against John’s shoulder and fell asleep. “Do you really think Elizabeth will let you keep him?” Rodney asked, suddenly concerned.
“Sure,” John said easily. “She let me keep Ronon.”
“True,” Rodney said. He had a headache—a side-effect, probably, or maybe just further evidence of a long, tiring day. “You know,” he said, “I really prefer cats.”
John stroked a hand over soft ears and warm, welcoming fur. “Yeah,” he said, and for once when his lips curved upward, he didn’t seem to be aware of it. “But dogs have their charms. You’ll see.”
The pressure in his head was lessening, fading. “I’d like that,” Rodney said.
*************
Rejected titles for this fic included: Must Love Dogs, Puppy Love, and Hounds of Love ('cause I totally already wrote that, OMG). Your insulin shots should be available at the next booth over. *g*
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-17 09:20 pm (UTC)*grins* Great fic though, made my day. *waves*