Being grumpy with a toothache always puts me in the mood to write. For those who are unaware, I was stoned on painkillers--I mean, seriously, I was taking three Vicadin every four hours because it escalated into a jaw infection--while writing Happy Little Sounds, which in this day and age would be called "crackfic".
God, those were good times.
Anyway, so this is the active WIP report, or anything worked on in the last two weeks.
Crimes Against Humanity
This one is weird. Okay, so I was trying to do a John pov--and surprisingly, it did not work. And then I stopped writing it, but the point is, the pov was the problem, so I removed it and restarted with Rodney pov, and suddenly it was writable again. Yay! Or I'm really out of it, which I could be. Did I mentino I'm taking painkillers for a toothache?
"Just a sec. I need two of your people over here." There's something in John's voice that makes Rodney straighten.
"Is everyone--" Rodney gives his watch a doubtful look "I mean, did you--"
"Everyone's dead." John's voice is strangely flat. "So not a lot of activity over here but counting bodies. Teyla took a team to go find her people."
Rodney sits down. "Everyone?"
"Pretty much." Somehow, John's voice manages to convey more shock than he'd ever thought John was capable of. "I want your people here to salvage what we can of their tech and those last databursts."
Rodney frowns. "John--"
"There is no way in hell I'm letting you touch foot on this planet." And that, it seems, is that. "Choose who you want and get them prepped. I'm leaving two teams here; they'll be under orders to get whatever the scientists want." John pauses, and Rodney thinks he can hear voices in the background, low and muffled.
Teacher's Pet --um. Nine or ten? The one after Madelyn's next one. Maybe eleven.
God, eleven. Seriously, those who have been reading along all this time? Did you think it would *get this far*?
Actually, this got a kick-start from just_eunice, though I honestly don't remember now what she actually said - but hey, results = happiness.
Not being completely stupid, they go down the hall, just in case John convinces Atlantis that this is a conversation he has to hear. Again. "He grows very fast," she says, which is so obvious that Rodney wonders why on earth she bothered saying it. "He is becoming frustrated with the changes in his body." She glances back down the hall, frowning. "The Marines wish to extend their mornings--"
"No." Rodney leans back into the wall.
"I understand the importance of his continued attendance in the labs," Teyla says, but she's lying, and Rodney *knows* it. "However, on Atlantis he--"
"He's not a grunt," Rodney says testily, crossing his arms. "He's a *military commander*. His primary function isn't supposed to be the guy that shoots everything in sight; we just let him get away with it." Watching Teyla's face, Rodney sighs. "They get him two hours in the mornings and Lorne has him for an hour every other night. I'll throw in every other Saturday morning, but--"
"Rodney." Teyla pauses, towel twisting between her fingers. "He grows too fast."
Rodney waits, wondering where this is going. With a frown, Teyla tosses the towel aside. "He grows *too fast*. What I teach him today, he must relearn tomorrow, when his body has changed. There are few days that he does not find the changes--unsettling. I believe that Dr. Beckett was clear on the problems inherent in such rapid muscle growth--he must spend more time learning his body and what it can do."
What she isn't saying--Carson's worry about John's first serious growth spurt. In what passes for Sheppard's chronological development, they're closing fast on puberty, where boys can gain up to a foot in a year. At John's rapid speed of development, six to twelve inches in a matter of *weeks*.
Rodney doesn't even pretend he knows shit about biology beyond the basics, but Carson's worry's been contagious.
"I understand your concerns. But he is--" she looks at him curiously. "What worries you? That in being his instructors, his--military will not respect him once he has returned to his correct age? I do not think you need to worry."
Daedalus, which I'm renaming as soon as I can think of a decent title. This one--hmm. The thing is, I'm not sure it has an ending. Does that make sense? I'm not sure how it *could* end. So it slows me down. Anyway, the AU one where Sheppard and Mckay did not go to Atlantis.
"I want to--" Rodney stops, appalled at himself. Sheppard's head turns curiously. "That thing," he says, gesturing at the air above the chair.
Sheppard pauses, and for a second, it's all hot shame and anger--anger at himself for wanting to see, Sheppard for being here to witness that weakness, and the entirety of the expedition for existing, for reminding him of what he isn't, what he can never be.
Then Sheppard rests a hand on the palmrest and swings himself into the seat like he does it ever day. Rodney watches the chair light up, the new ZPM coming fully online, Sheppard's look of startled attention that turns inward, like the world's slipping from his senses. Both hands clench down on the palmrests, fingers white, before he breathes out again, blinking blearily into the ceiling, and Rodney watches the solar system form above him, beautiful and bright.
"Show me Pegasus," Rodney whispers, refusing to believe his voice can sound like that, wondering and hopeful all at once, and the view changes, swirls into something smaller and condensed and almost like something he could have touched once upon a time.
Rodney swallows. "It was stupid to go," he hears himself say, but he can't take his eyes away. "Where's the--" And like Sheppard can read his mind--hell, in that chair, maybe he *can*--the galaxy expands abruptly, rushing across the ceiling in a glow of rainbow light, pale pinks and soft golds and lavenders washing over him, and he thinks he can almost feel it when systems rush by, planets and stars like Christmas lights, asteroid belts, until a single planet hover above them, brighter than anything in the room. "Atlantis."
When he makes himself look away, he sees Sheppard staring at it, too, and Rodney wonders if Sheppard knows what he looks like now, if he's aware of the expression on his face, aware he's clenching the palmrests so tightly his knuckles have gone white, then wonders if it's on his face, too.
Then it's gone, all of it, washing dark so quickly Rodney's blinded. From behind him, he can hear Sheppard pushing out of the chair, a quick step that could be a stumble, then the heavy sound of Sheppard sitting on the platform. Rodney finds himself doing the same, feeling stupid and weirdly vulnerable, being this close to the person who saw him like that, saw his--something. Not regret. Not ever regret.
Um, strangerverse. This is from a prompt in my lj, I think miss_porcupine for John being military or them in the field. Since I hadn't done that yet, it seemed like a good idea.
I'm still pondering whether The New Order gave away too much to make the series interesting. The thing is? It was frustrating *me* not to have some basic information after this many stories, and well--I needed happy. Granted, that John dies, but still! At the time? Happy.
Rodney remembers Beckett's instructions like a voice in stereo in his head, running over and over; elevate the limb, cut away the material, and don't look up and watch Sheppard with his gun still aimed neatly over Rodney's head, despite a field-dose of morphine and a cracked femur.
Yes, the field really is everything Sam said it was. Teeth locked together, Rodney winds the pressure bandages around Sheppard's thigh while Sheppard talks into his radio in a hoarse voice.
Wiping his blood slick hands clean (-er) on his BDUs, Rodney reaches for his gun and waits for Sheppard's almost-shaking hand to come down, hazel eyes glassy. "I'm watching," Rodney says unnecessarily as Sheppard lowers himself back to the ground on his back. He doesn't put his gun down, but at least he starts acting like someone wounded and not someone with a particularly annoying papercut.
"Anyone?" Sheppard says sharply, starting to pull his leg off Rodney's lap. Rodney locks a hand over the bandage and takes a vicious satisfaction in the way Sheppard winces, the way he hadn't while Rodney was rooting around in the wound for a large and not terribly intact bullet. Son of a bitch.
"I think they lost us," Rodney answers grimly. The trees sway over their heads, blocking any possible aerial view, and stone on one side and heavy bushes on the other screen them fairly well from the rest of the area. "Stop moving or I'll give you another dose."
"Too dangerous," Sheppard slurs, touching his radio. "Report."
There's a garbled sound from the radio and Sheppard frowns, pulling it from his ear. "Rodney. Check yours."
Not any better. Well, shit. Of course. "They're scrambling us." Rodney reaches for his scanner, then remembers dropping it to go for his gun, about a beat after Sheppard went down in a tangle of vines and blood. "Teyla and Ronon--"
"Orders are to go back to the 'gate if anything goes wrong," Sheppard says, and pushes himself up, in a move that's got to be proof of insanity. Swinging his legs down, he shakes a little, then sets the safety on the P-90. "We need to--"
"Stay *here*. Restless natives. Instant death. Or is the morphine screwing what little mind you possess?" It's surprisingly easy to start channeling McKay at times like this.
ETA: 9/18/2006 Completed! What You Can't Leave Behind
Common Ground tag
I have never loved an ep so much that it feels wrong ot tag it. Yes, I know, signs of my coming insanity. But seriously. So this one keeps stalling on me. I may finish or cannibalize--it's a toss-up.
He won't see a lot of things the next day; not the tests Carson runs, tracking down what the Wraith did, what the Wraith took away, and what it gave back. Not Ronon, running with Sheppard, who complains and drapes himself over gym benches moaning from running cramps a mile after he should. Not even the way John eats, right hand splayed on the table in a way that Rodney finds hypnotizing, fingers slightly arched and palm flat, talking slightly too much and slightly too fast.
He's Sheppard, though, and they watched him almost die, and even in the Stargate program, it's unsettling to watch a dead man walk and whistle and slouch without so much as a scar to remind them.
("Even the feeding scar," Carson says, mystified, and Sheppard had shrugged, watching Carson poke at the old iratus scar on his arm, sampled and blood-tested unto infinity but no closer to an answer. The Wraith take, but they give, too, and Rodney doesn't see Carson flinch when Sheppard moves a little too fast, smiles a little too bright, comes a little too close.)
They're imagining it, Rodney knows, all part and parcel of near death and sudden life, too much and too fast to understand. He's imagining it, he knows that, when Sheppard brushes his arm at a meeting, shoulder warm and solid; Rodney pulls away to reach for his laptop, already asking Elizabeth a question to cover for the shiver he can't control.
("Excellent health, Colonel," Carson says, smiling from behind glassy eyes. "Excellent. Maybe better than before." A lot better than before, with iratus scars faded and lines sanded from his face, more like the security photo of Sheppard on file at the SGC, pre-Afghanistan, less the man who leads an undeclared war. Carson's not saying it, but he's thinking it. He's thinking it. Rodney knows.)
They're imagining it, he *knows* that, flashbacks to iratus bug transformations and bodysnatching aliens, imagining that Sheppard is changed when nothing's changed at all.
("How much was he--given?" Elizabeth asks, and Carson shakes his head, but it's not because he doesn't know.)
He's imagining it, that when he looks at Sheppard, he sees a different person looking out from behind his eyes.
Pets and Things
I always keep thinking I will use my lj to keep track of rabbit feeding changes and always forget. But the current line up is as follows.
Salad: romanine, green leaf, red leaf, kale, parsley, spinach, cabbage mix, celery and carrot as main vegetables.
Okay, so next up is to check on watercress and boston head and some other greens I've seen that look tasty.
Also--this mix makes an excellent salad for people. Child swears by it. Except when I put in the cilantro.
Speaking of, there are brownies somewhere in this house. Hmm. If chewing did not hurt? I would be all over that.
Seriously loving my icon for this.