trinityofone (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trinityofone) wrote2006-03-02 11:29 am
trinityofone) wrote2006-03-02 11:29 am
bow chika bow
John and Rodney keep having sex in my brain to 'Reptile' by The Church. It's weird.
Who's having sex in your brain? What are they getting down 'n' dirty to?
Who's having sex in your brain? What are they getting down 'n' dirty to?
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Instead, Rodney is having an indepth conversation with one Constable Benton Fraser.
It's rather unnerving.
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Transcribe!
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(Because you see on his more charitable days, Rodney will refer to his parents as 'eccentric.' (On days when he's feeling less charitable, he refers to them using language that makes Elizabeth wince, but that's neither here nor there.) It wasn't really that he minded the fact that they thought trekking from one small town to the next was an appropriate lifestyle to lead while trying to raise two young children, or the fact that, for most of his childhood, indoor plumbing was not a recurring feature. (Though neither of those things were really what he'd call enjoyable) What he did mind was that they were more interested in the mating lives of caribou than they were in the lives of their offspring, that by the age of five, he'd seen more of the Territories than any sane person would ever want to, and that it was really, really fucking cold up there. (Rodney's respiratory system has always been delicate.)
By the age of seven, Rodney had seen more tundra than most seasoned Arctic explorers, and had spent more birthdays than he cared to remember inside an igloo. (Though whenever he mentions that, the Colonel always seems to think he's joking, for some unfathomable reason. Rodney never jokes when he's talking about the cruel and unusual lack of birthday cake which haunted his childhood) By the age of nine, he was so brainwashed that he actually rejoiced that they got to overwinter in a tiny little frontier town that gloried in the name of Tuktoyatuk, and go to school in a one room building with the five other kids who lived there.
The McKays didn't stay in town for long (not once Rodney succeeded in making a fully-functioning atomic bomb for the school's tiny science fair; a feat which gained the attention of more than a few security agencies given that, well, he was a ten-year-old living in a town of three hundred odd people somewhere in the Arctic Circle), but it was still long enough for Rodney to make one of the few lasting friendships of his childhood.
Not lasting in the sense that they knew one another for a very long time (because once his parents found out that Rodney was a bona fide genius, Mensa approved, and that Jeannie wasn't far behind, they moved south to Edmonton and one hell of a lot less snow), but in the sense that Rodney sometimes thought of him with a lot more fondness than he usually thought of others, and he sometimes thought of Rodney with a lot less vindictiveness than people usually thought of Rodney. And there were letters and postcards and the occasional phonecall exchanged (well, when one of them could write from whichever classified location he'd been posted to, and when the other was within a hundred miles or so of a post-office) whenever they got a chance.
Friends, but not close, and not always in touch. Which was why, when the Daedalus docked with its latest load of equipment (Put it down gently, I said. Is English too difficult for you? Would you prefer French? Russian? Pig Latin?), supplies (Oh thank god, peanut M&Ms), and personnel (My god, you actually got your PhD from clown school, didn't you), Rodney wasn't expecting a tall, straight figure in red serge to emerge from the ship, carrying a duffel bag and accompanied by what he could have sworn was a... wolf?
And then the other man looks up, and sees him, and says "Rodney? Rodney McKay?" and Rodney lets out a little laugh that's half a surprised hiccup and says "Ben?" (next to him John says "Is that a wolf?"), right before Ben comes over to hug Rodney, and Rodney can smell him, like clean pine and fresh snow and the place he never really thought of as home)
Something something. Why can't I just edit my essay like a good child?
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That is some kickass commmentfic. Kinda blowing my mind, actually. And it totally fits in with my theory that all Canadians know each other.
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*headdesk*
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I...I just... *bounces hysterically around the room*
Um. You remember that my birthday's in two weeks, right? And I'd like to spend it in an igloo if it were an igloo with McKay and Fraser in it. Oh yes.
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(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.)
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So the real question becomes: If Rodney and Fraser had a talk-off, who would win? (And who would win in the Sheppard/RayK hair-off?)
I love this so, so much. Do you mind if I link to it, so a bunch of people come pester you to write more, or would you be more likely to do that if it's kept (relatively) sekrit for now?
MOUNTIES in SPACE. I am glee!
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Well, it depends if you're going for volume or quality, I suppose.
(And who would win in the Sheppard/RayK hair-off?)
John, no contest. Sorry, Ray.
Er. You can link if you want, but this is really just things I'm scribbling to amuse myself in between bouts of editing and wrestling with the library's scanners. It's only silliness.
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Great like John's hair. GREAT LIKE DAVID HEWLETT'S ASS.
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Hmm. And as for the talk-off, it depends what strategy you're using. Fraser's all about the passive aggressive - using his skill to bore people stiff so they fall asleep (though I so bet he's got both Rays to agree that they prefer mauve, wearing tutus, and that turtles are a superior lifeform just by getting them to the point where they just make agreeing noises), whereas Rodney uses his powers for steamrollering and bludgeoning people into submission.
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random passerby!
of course not. ♥ i do hope you continue.
Re: random passerby!
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Uh-oh.
Re: Uh-oh.
Re: Uh-oh.
Re: Uh-oh.
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writedream more RIGHT NOW! *g*How cool. And I love the image of Rodney bomb-building in the middle of nowhere like that.
(and where I am it is a lot of fun, out in the desert to dismantle an atomic bomb...)
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Weird brain.
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