trinityofone | Love, lift me out of these blues.

Current Mood: depressed
Current Music: Gustavo Santaolalla, "Iguazu"

Love, lift me out of these blues.

•I owe several people e-mails, but I'm feeling really icky and anti-social and depressed, so please forgive me for not having gotten back to you yet. However, if you haven't heard from me by tomorrow, please feel free to kick me.

•It's my birthday in 13 days. Ugh.

•I need distraction. Comment with a prompt, and there's a fairly good chance I'll write you a drabble.

•Now to the microwave, away!

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*heheh* Alas, today is the busy day, so even if I were tempted, nothing more till I get home.

But something drabblerific will certainly help grease the wheels for future wrongwrong!writing.

I'm going to hell, you know that right? Hell.

And now I must resist David/Sheppard bonding, *slips into voice* because he's as hip as any actor but seriously the crush he has on Sheppard is disconcerting.

Heh, my brain obviously went the opposite place with it. (Because, damn, would it drive Rodney crazy!)

***

Considering that nothing had tried to kill him yet (he figured that was probably coming—he’d read enough scripts, after all), this whole hangover/nightmare/psychotic episode/whatever was pretty cool. Suddenly everything worked; the things he picked up weren’t plywood and Styrofoam; the ocean was out there, beautiful and glistening and real.

But Joe—no. Sheppard was starting to freak him out.

“You realize I’m David, right?” he said, anxiously, when he caught Sheppard bounding after him again. “If you’re looking for—he’s back there.”

Sheppard just grinned. “I’m in the right place,” he said.

David gulped. I’m not.

***

More later, hopefully, if I can get my head to stop feeling so fuzzy.

Going to hell and taking you with me! LALALALA!

*proud*

Oh shiny! Yes, you do that. Because DH is totally a semi sort of calm more socially apt version of Rodney. Sort of.

More for you as soon as my sinuses stop trying to crawl out through my eyebrows.

I feel like making a general LJ announcement: "Coherency will return to this journal as soon as my uterus stops trying to escape through my spleen."

But in the meantime...

***

“He took a bullet for me,” Lorne said, disbelieving.

John almost didn’t want to. He looked at Rodney, sweaty and pale on the gurney. “‘S okay,” Rodney slurred. “Had to. He. Recurring. Not like me.”

John turned to Lorne for an explanation. “He keeps saying that, sir. I don’t understand.”

Beckett was wheeling Rodney away. “You’re going to be all right,” he said, quiet reassuring whisper.

“Not worried,” Rodney said. They must be giving him the good drugs. “‘M a regular.”

“Sir?” said Lorne, as John’s mouth dropped open.

Looked like someone needed to have a serious chat with David.

***

I just keep getting stupid flashes. I'm depending on you to handle things like "plot" and "narrative" and the aforementioned "coherency."

*dies*

Oh god. TV show logic. I love it.

So plot's on me huh? Oh dear. Also David's gonna wake up and be all "Shit this doesn't hurt nearly as much when it's blanks and blood pouches."

*blinks* Right. Misread. Oh Rodney. You geek you.

Actually, either way would be awesome. THERE ARE SO MANY EXCITING POSSIBILITIES, IT IS SCARY.

I KNOW! MY BRAIN, IT IS EXPLODING!

Sheppard sat down across from him, grinning grinning grinning. David wondered if Joe knew his character was mentally unhinged.

“You...have questions?” David tried. It was kind of fun answering people’s questions. They all seemed to think he had inside knowledge. Actually, Atlantis appeared to be several months ahead of Atlantis, which had interesting scientific, not to mention philosophical, implications...

Okay, he really needed to get out of here before he started thinking like Rodney. There was such a thing as taking method acting a step too far.

“Just keeping you company,” Sheppard replied, and then, holy crap, he winked.

*bwauh* Okay there's crack and then there's crack. I need to know why John is all *fascinated* not that I mind. *grins*

Other than totally appreciating the amount of fun David is having.

More?

"I've gotta ask," David leaned in all conspiratory like, "what's the big secret?"

John wobbled an eyebrow and slouched. "What secret?"

"Your past." David pressed. "Why no messages home? What happened in Afganistan? What is with the hair, even Joe doesn't know that one, and most importantly why *do* you never see it coming?"

The mischievous glint went out of Sheppard’s eyes like that. But the answering dark look was only there a second. “Why don’t you ask,” eyebrow quirk, “the writers?”

David waved his hand, dismissive. “Why ask them when I can go straight to the source? C’mon, give me something good. I’ll be able to lord it over Joe for months.”

Sheppard seemed to think about it, then leaned forward. “If I tell you, will you do me a favor?”

David knew better, but he was really curious—even more than he’d thought—and caution lost the battle to enthusiasm. “Sure. Anything.”

You are a horrible horrible person.

I've got nothing. Nada.

*guilt?*

Okay, give me a minute.

David was quiet when John finished telling his story. They’d moved from the mess to one of the balconies: John spoke without emotion, staring into space, out over the ocean.

It was really beautiful. Better than the best special effect.

“So,” John said: the silence stretching, David staring at his hands. “About that favor...”

David looked up, his stomach dropping.

“I love this city,” John said suddenly, and David blinked, following without following.

“I love this city,” John repeated, his knuckles white on the rail, “and I’d really appreciate it if you people stopped fucking with it for entertainment value.”

“It’s not like that,” David said.

John’s eyes were dark and hooded. David remembered watching the dailies for the episode where Sheppard executed the Wraith in its cell; remembered feeling a bit of chill and congratulating Joe afterward, buying him a beer.

“It’s not like that,” he repeated. “We don’t—I don’t understand how this works. You’re ahead of us, your timeline...”

That dark gaze flickered over him, judging. “This is my life,” John said. “It’s not—”

David nodded. “I understand.”

Then he said, “Christ! You’re supposed to be having the existential crisis, not me!”

Maybe, John cracked a grin.

***

And now I really gotta go to bed.

*NICE*

*****

"I am, maybe a little," David admitted. "I mean, I enjoy when a script stretches me a little."

John eyed him warrily, expression guarded. "I guess I can understand that, like a wave with a little volitility makes a better surf."

"I mean, other than opportunity, there's a reason I end up playing the characters," and he had the good conscious to wince at that, "a little, or even a lot, to the left of normal. You start to get a complex after the second mainstream cop show makes you a pedofile, even after you've spent your career being not quite sane and getting paid for it."

"Do you think those places exist too?" John leaned back in his chair, relaxing slowly.

"God I hope not," David shivered. "Forget the psychopaths, Grant Jansky deserves better."

John shrugged off the reference, making a note to look it up later. Just in case. "Are you any good?"

"At acting?" David asked, eyebrow raised. "I keep getting jobs, which I suppose means something."

"Be McKay," John said. "I want to see."

David frowned and then slowly his posture changed, shoulders reaching out and back, hands loosening up, eyes narrowing. "Shouldn't you be off somewhere attempting trying to plan or strategize or something, I mean I can understand the urge to rely on my amazing intellect but even I am not above a completely uneeded backup plan."

"Be McKay," John said. "I want to see."

Okay, I know I'm supposed to be going to bed, but damn, that was HOT.

I liked "Do you think those places exist too?" a lot, as well. Mmm. I wonder about this, often.

Okay, sleep. I hope I dream this.

I was disturbed by it's hotness as well. I await your response in the morning.

John’s eyes bugged out more than just a little. “Okay, okay, stop,” he said, and David slid back against his chair, his body relaxing, his lips quirking inevitably upward into a smirk.

Oddly, he thought John’s reaction was one of the best compliments he had ever received.

“No, really, you can stop,” John said.

David blinked. “Oh, right, the smugness. No, right now, that’s all me.”

John looked like he couldn’t decide between being disturbed and amused, which seemed about right.

“You’re not what I would have expected,” he said, after a minute. “I mean, not that I would have expected any of this.”

“Right.” David chuckled. “Aliens, intergalactic space travel, yes, check. This Is Your Life airing Fridays at nine on the Sci-Fi Channel, not so much.”

John frowned. “Wait, we’re on the Sci-Fi Channel?” A nod. John’s lip jutted out. “I think I’m vaguely insulted.”

David rolled his eyes, used to this.

John was scratching at his head, absently. “What about us?” he said casually, like he was a little curious, not needing an answer. “Are we what you would have expected?”

“Yes,” David said, decisively. Then just as decisively, “No.”

That seemed about right, too.

***

More when I get back from my exciting day's adventures in excitement! That is, unless you want a go... *hopeful eyebrow*

It's all you hon. I'll let it all fester and grow in my brain for a bit.

*bows and waits*

*pines for more fic*

I'm sorry! I ended up being out and away from the internet all day yesterday, and today I have to have to have to write this essay before I do anything else. Er, aside from respond to this comment, apparently.

I figured something like that happened. S'cool, yesterday was a day for me too.

We'll see who lets inspiration strike first.

*is secretly holding out for you*

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Love, lift me out of these blues.

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