There is just something about the idea of Rodney in an igloo, wearing mittens, which seems to entrance my brain.
(Or just. Rodney and Fraser raiding the mess hall after hours (well, Rodney and Dief really. Fraser stands to one side and says "Oh, dear" an awful lot) for MREs and some of those pudding cups that Rodney really likes, before they go out and sit on one of the balconies that looks out on the east pier. Fraser looks ridiculously out of place sitting there, red uniform and hat in a city of curving metal and softly glowing glass, but Rodney's never really noticed stuff like that, and Fraser's gotten used to feeling out of place. Rodney offers Fraser part of his jello, but barely even waits for him to refuse before he digs in himself.
He starts to bring Fraser up to speed on the last ten years or so of his life, speaking so quickly and bouncing so fast from topic to topic that Fraser thinks that if he were to squint a little, mentally factor in more hair and a different accent, Rodney would remind him a great deal of someone else.
In the time it takes him to relax and look around at the sea and the sky, at the horizon line where they meet, Rodney's already given him a potted summary of the war against the Goa'uld, one Dr Rodney McKay's role therein; the perils of being intergalactic space travellers, one Dr Rodney McKay's role in saving the collective asses thereof; and the progress his work has made in the Pegasus Galaxy (with brief digressions, inexplicable to Fraser, into the work he's made on equations such as x + y/a + b = z, where X is a property which defies gravity, Y is physically inexplicable angles, A is smugness, B is irritating, and Z is a Mass of Hair, Capitalised)
Eventually, though, Rodney's mouth slows, then stops, and he looks sideways at Fraser for a moment with that focused look which Fraser remembers all too well, though he last saw it more than twenty years ago. "So what are you doing here?" he says. "You're not going to tell me that our great and glorious leaders have finally decided on a proper Canadian space programme? Unless they've really decided that Mounties in Space is the next frontier that needs exploring."
Fraser smooths one thumb along his eyebrow and starts into a long, rambling explanation which references the need for a permanent Canadian liaison per the American-Canadian Gate Treaty 2005, Section 47, Subsection 3 (c), Canada's intergalactic reputation, several Inuit myths, and the mandatory genetic testing for members of the RCMP which had had some surprising results.
(Dief hadn't been surprised at all, though)
"Huh," Rodney says when he finally stops speaking. He scrapes around the bottom of the cup for the last stray pieces of jello, then sucks thoughtfully on his spoon for a moment. "Well, I think I can safely say you'll fit in here."
no subject
(Or just. Rodney and Fraser raiding the mess hall after hours (well, Rodney and Dief really. Fraser stands to one side and says "Oh, dear" an awful lot) for MREs and some of those pudding cups that Rodney really likes, before they go out and sit on one of the balconies that looks out on the east pier. Fraser looks ridiculously out of place sitting there, red uniform and hat in a city of curving metal and softly glowing glass, but Rodney's never really noticed stuff like that, and Fraser's gotten used to feeling out of place. Rodney offers Fraser part of his jello, but barely even waits for him to refuse before he digs in himself.
He starts to bring Fraser up to speed on the last ten years or so of his life, speaking so quickly and bouncing so fast from topic to topic that Fraser thinks that if he were to squint a little, mentally factor in more hair and a different accent, Rodney would remind him a great deal of someone else.
In the time it takes him to relax and look around at the sea and the sky, at the horizon line where they meet, Rodney's already given him a potted summary of the war against the Goa'uld, one Dr Rodney McKay's role therein; the perils of being intergalactic space travellers, one Dr Rodney McKay's role in saving the collective asses thereof; and the progress his work has made in the Pegasus Galaxy (with brief digressions, inexplicable to Fraser, into the work he's made on equations such as x + y/a + b = z, where X is a property which defies gravity, Y is physically inexplicable angles, A is smugness, B is irritating, and Z is a Mass of Hair, Capitalised)
Eventually, though, Rodney's mouth slows, then stops, and he looks sideways at Fraser for a moment with that focused look which Fraser remembers all too well, though he last saw it more than twenty years ago. "So what are you doing here?" he says. "You're not going to tell me that our great and glorious leaders have finally decided on a proper Canadian space programme? Unless they've really decided that Mounties in Space is the next frontier that needs exploring."
Fraser smooths one thumb along his eyebrow and starts into a long, rambling explanation which references the need for a permanent Canadian liaison per the American-Canadian Gate Treaty 2005, Section 47, Subsection 3 (c), Canada's intergalactic reputation, several Inuit myths, and the mandatory genetic testing for members of the RCMP which had had some surprising results.
(Dief hadn't been surprised at all, though)
"Huh," Rodney says when he finally stops speaking. He scrapes around the bottom of the cup for the last stray pieces of jello, then sucks thoughtfully on his spoon for a moment. "Well, I think I can safely say you'll fit in here."
"Thank you kindly," Fraser says.)