Stargate Atlantis Fanfic - Tumblr Posts

[fic] [sga | weir/dex; mckay/sheppard] let me be pacific

let me be pacific sga weir/dex; mckay/sheppard 4.5k words thank you so much to 429_CarCrash for the beta! :)

Summary:

“Have you heard anything…unusual recently?” Elizabeth leans forward, resting her arms on her desk so she can pin Sheppard with her squint. Sheppard points at his ear. “Pilot. Tinnitus.” Elizabeth narrows her squint, wishing she could just interrogate the information out of him. Maybe Sergeant Bates would help. “No, I mean concerning the staff.” Sheppard must have an idea of what she’s thinking, or he must be guilty, because he seems shifty, or shiftier than usual. “No. Have you?”

ao3 link

Elizabeth is on the gangway outside her office when she first begins to notice.

Several huddles of extraneous personnel cluster around the gate room. Civilian and marine alike, they clutter the crosswalk, obstruct the stairs, and block access to the gate controls, talking closely and seemingly heedless of the work taking place there. Sergeant Chuck wears an annoyed expression but says nothing as he weaves around one such group to reach his control console.

“As a reminder,” Elizabeth announces, sweeping her gaze over the interlopers. “For everyone’s safety, all personnel non-essential to gate room operations should congregate in other, cleared areas of Atlantis. Thank you.”

The groups drag their feet but comply, and Elizabeth makes it with time to spare for her group Bantos fighting class.

—-

“This belongs to the Botany lab!” Dr. Parrish is easily a foot taller than Dr. Simpson, and holds the palm-sized bottle out of her reach with little effort.

Simpson glowers at the towering man’s hand as she stands on tiptoe and strains futilely for her objective. “The soft sciences are for—“

“—Toddlers and liberal arts majors, I know. You and McKay are cut from the same supercilious cloth. That doesn’t help your case.” Then, just because he can, Parrish lifts the bottle even higher.

Elizabeth really doesn’t want to get involved in this conversation, but it seems unavoidable; Parrish and Simpson are blocking the entrance to the mess hall. And today they’re serving that delicious meaty gourd from the cannibal planet. If she wants some before it’s gone, she has to get past them soon. With a pained little sigh, she fully rounds the corner, squares her shoulders, and makes her presence known.

“Doctors! What seems to be the trouble?” She makes sure to give them her least-friendly smile, hoping they keep it brief.

Parrish tips his head downward toward Simpson. “Dr. Weir. I was just explaining to my colleague that she may not just commandeer Botany equipment willy-nilly.”

Elizabeth turns to Simpson. “That’s true. Might you have a compelling reason to warrant diverting supplies from another department, or for not going through your department head?”

“No.” Simpson deflates. “It’s…a personal project.”

“That’s wonderful!” Elizabeth exclaims, smiling hopefully not-too-tightly as the lunch line grows behind the instigators. The meaty smell of the gourd makes her mouth water and her stomach growl. “While I’m afraid that I can’t support a formal request, it’s important that all of us here cultivate enriching personal lives that balance the stressors of our unique working environment.” She turns to Parrish. “With that in mind, Doctor, do you think Botany would be willing to share or trade?”

“I can’t.” Parrish looks truly pained as he grips the bottle with both hands. “This bottle was given to me personally by Dr. Abrams before he died of old age.”

The smile drops from Elizabeth’s face, realizing this is a massive waste of time. “Please excuse me,” she mutters, winding her way to the end of the very long lunch line. Behind her, Simpson exclaims, “Didn’t he get drained on that wraith supply ship?!”

Elizabeth holds on to the hope that she will at least receive half a gourd.

—-

She’s on her way to her quarters for the evening when she passes Dr. Biro and Lieutenant Reed speaking in hushed tones in the corridor. She tells herself she would normally mind her own business, but her ears pick up the words ‘orgy’ and ‘scissors' in distressing proximity to one another.

This makes her pause briefly in her stride and consider asking if she heard what she thought she heard, but then she’d have to admit to eavesdropping and she honestly doesn’t want to be involved with any more than she has to.

Still, those words bounce curiously off the walls of her mind until she falls asleep.

—

The library is one of the few places Elizabeth can count on enjoying the quietude that the ocean view promises. The tall windows, the smell of aging paper, and the unusual hours she’s usually there give Elizabeth the impression of the softest mohair shawl embracing her while she’s there.

She trails her finger along the spines of the fiction books, taking her time making a selection, when she almost bumps into–

“Ronon! We meet again.” Again, indeed. Sometimes before or after work, or on nights when she can’t bear to stay in bed, she’s found herself in the library, either alone or with Ronon as her sole companion. They’ve spent many nights in hushed fellowship, discussing Atlantis’ modest but growing collection of physical and digital books.

Elizabeth isn’t embarrassed to admit that attraction to Ronon has been coiling inside her like a spring, ever-tighter with each new encounter. He’s a handsome and clever man.

Ronon looks down his broad chest to meet her eyes. Elizabeth backs up a step and blindly slides a novel off the shelf to keep her hands occupied.

“Weir.”

“What are you looking for this time?” She peeks at what she’s selected. Fifty Shades of Grey. Oh, excellent.

“Something I haven’t read too many times.” Ronon glances at the title in her hands before smirking at the hot flush blossoming on her face. Of course he’s read this one, too. Hopeful arousal and mortification compete for emotional primacy at the moment, and she’s afraid to find out which will win out.

“Best of luck.” Elizabeth attempts to play it cool, reminding herself that they’re both adults. “Are you coming next Friday?”

Ronon grunts. “Sounds like you are, too.”

She doesn’t know if either of them says anything else–only that she flees the library without a book.

—

“Elizabeth, did’ye receive ma supply request?”  Beckett’s distinctive brogue comes from behind Elizabeth. She picks up her pace in the corridor, racing for the transporter.

“Elizabeth! Didnae ye hear me?” Beckett’s footsteps hasten behind her and she knows the jig is up.

She was almost there. Chagrined, Elizabeth wheels around with a grimace. “Carson. I don’t want to be insensitive, but I’ve explained that I only understand English.”

“Ah wis speaking English, woman! Ah wis talking aboot ma supply request! Medical’s stores o’ gauze an’ silicone adhesives hev diminished at in—“

“I’m so sorry, Carson,” Elizabeth said, holding her hands out in a helpless gesture. “But you’re going to have to email me.”

She continues backwards towards the transporter as she calls out, “We’ll figure this out!”

—-

This is supposed to be a mission debrief meeting for AR-1, but Teyla is on the mainland to discuss crop rotation with Halling, and Ronon (thankfully) only attends meetings he thinks will be interesting. With debriefing business concluded, she has further matters to discuss with the other members of the expedition’s triad.

“Have you heard anything…unusual recently?” Elizabeth leans forward, resting her arms on her desk so she can pin Sheppard with her squint.

Sheppard points at his ear. “Pilot. Tinnitus.”

Elizabeth narrows her squint, wishing she could just interrogate the information out of him. Maybe Sergeant Bates would help. “No, I mean concerning the staff.”

Sheppard must have an idea of what she’s thinking, or he must be guilty, because he seems shifty, or shiftier than usual. “No. Have you?”

Next to him, McKay doesn’t look up from what he’s typing on his laptop to say, “By the way, Elizabeth, Donaldson wants you to know that Botany is out of that paper made from whettle reed from that bog planet. They use it to press the local flora samples. I told them to fill out the form and I’d sign off and pass it on so we can arrange the supply run.”

Elizabeth nods, adding that to her mental checklist. “I also spoke with Dr. Parrish. He had mentioned something you said about botany being—“

“—for toddlers and liberal arts majors,” McKay finishes. John mouths the words along with McKay, bobbing his head in amusement. “Yes, and?”

“Not that I disagree, but that’s not something your subordinate should hear from you. He looks up to you, Rodney. All of your staff do.”

Sheppard scoffs. “Isn’t Parrish like, six feet tall?”

Glaring at Sheppard, McKay sighs. “Point taken, Elizabeth. Although, I do seem to recall you calling me a ‘condescending poindexter’ under your breath before you signed off comms two months ago, so I wouldn’t be so quick on the draw with that rebuke.”

—-

On Friday afternoons, Elizabeth hosts a book club in the large rec room. The group is larger than normal tonight; Elizabeth attributes it to this month’s book, a perennial favorite.

“On Sateda,” Ronon rumbles, “Courtship rituals were more direct. Darcy would have died a virgin.” This elicits some giggles and murmurs of agreement.

“Courtship as portrayed in the novel is difficult to understand, even to many from Earth,” Elizabeth says, not meeting his eyes. She nods to Dr. Harris, who has been eagerly awaiting his turn to speak.

Suddenly, Dr. Kavanaugh’s braying laugh from the other side of the large room startles several of them.

Once that passes, Elizabeth nods encouragingly. “Please, Dr. Harris, go on.”

“I think we all know the feeling of being attracted to someone who’s out of our league in some way. That’s something I found relatable.”

Elizabeth reaches out and pats his hand. “There’s no such thing as a person being out of anyone’s league. I’m certain there are things about you that make you unique and a treasure to which no one in any galaxy can compare.” The other club members burst into a soft chorus of ‘aww’s, and Harris blushes. Elizabeth glances around, making brief eye contact with everyone. “That’s true about all of you. Don’t let anyone or anything let you believe differently.”

Laughter from the other group swells again, drowning out Harris’ response. Elizabeth excuses herself to cross the room. Several heads from Kavanaugh’s group turn as she approaches, and she recognizes Bates, Dr. Kusanagi, and Dr. Corrigan among those with him. Some are cutting out shapes: suns and moons, and some are sewing.

“Pardon me,” she says, bending to speak into their midst. “We’re having a quiet conversation on the other side of the room and are having a hard time understanding one another. Would you keep it down a little?”

Kavanaugh blanches as though caught, but quickly blurts, “There’s no need to get hysterical. Just mind your business–” Bates jabs him hard in the ribs with an elbow, giving him a look Elizabeth can’t decipher. “Fine. Yes. My apologies. We’ll keep it down,” he grits out.

Elizabeth bares her teeth, barely curling her lips enough to call it a smile. “Thank you so much.”

As she returns to her group, she wonders if she can still make good on her promise to send Kavanaugh to a desolate planet.

—-

During her individual Bantos fighting session, Elizabeth asks Teyla if she’s noticed anything unusual about expedition staff behavior.

Teyla advances with rapid, spinning strikes, forcing Elizabeth to struggle to maintain her defensive stance and on her feet at all.

“Elizabeth,” Teyla admonishes archly, “You know I do not participate in gossip.”

“Then what do you and Sheppard laugh so much about? He’s a notorious gossip.”

Elizabeth is nowhere near skilled enough to be a decent sparring partner, so Teyla provides generous openings for Elizabeth to launch her own offensive. Elizabeth spins and attacks those openings, which Teyla proceeds to block easily.

“He teaches me about Earth culture. I find your people fascinating. He has recently taught me about re-gifting and telemarketing.” Teyla delivers a swift blow to Elizabeth’s calf, knocking her to the ground. She rests the blunt end of her stick in the dip of Elizabeth’s throat in victory.

—

Simpson comes pounding on the doors to Elizabeth’s office with Beckett in hot pursuit.

Elizabeth stands slowly from her desk, watching Simpson fume and Beckett wring his hands outside her office. Eventually, she decides she can’t nap until she deals with this. Too many windows, not enough opaque walls.

When the doors open, Simpson demands, “Tell him what you told me!” pointing at Beckett. Elizabeth says a lot of things, so she can only shake her head in confusion. “About supporting my interests!”

Elizabeth curses her love for that gourd. It’s far too late at this point to pawn Simpson off on McKay. “What happened?”

Beckett responds as though Elizabeth was talking to him. “Ah caught her taking medical supplies, an’ we’re already short!”

“Carson,” Elizabeth warns, but her eyes slide over to Simpson, and she notices bandages over her earlobes cut into the shape of a moon and a sun. “Dr. Simpson, are your ears okay?”

One of Simpson’s hands flies to her ear, fingers self-consciously running over the bandage. “Er, yes. It’s for…fashion.”

“Elizabeth, ur ye gunna dae summat aboot ‘is?”

“Carson, please.” Elizabeth can’t focus when people speak to her in two languages at once. “Dr. Simpson, are the bandages from Medical’s supplies?”

“Where else would they come from?”

Elizabeth sighs; this is really a problem for Rodney. “Only authorized personnel may take those supplies, and for authorized purposes.”

Simpson crosses her arms and glares around the room, but finally spits out, “Fine.”

The issue has been resolved, so they can leave, right? “Carson–”

“‘At’s all ah wanted, Elizabeth.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re really going to have to email me.” Elizabeth gently ushers Beckett and Simpson out of her office, and as soon as her doors close, she reactivates the lock.

—

At dinner, one of the sergeants on mess duty tries to hand her a bundle of cloth along with her plate of spicy braised invertebrate. She holds up her hand and says, “No, thank you.”

Dr. Heightmeyer reaches across her to take it as she says, “That’s mine,” and waves ahead in line to Biro, who waves back.

“What’s that about?” Elizabeth asks, intrigued. Heightmeyer rolls the fabric tightly and tucks it under her arm.

“I’m making a dress,” she murmurs, clearly trying to avoid conversation with Elizabeth. This strikes Elizabeth as odd; until now, she had considered Heightmeyer a close colleague and perhaps even a friend—certainly not someone she’d avoid in the corridors like Beckett (due to the language barrier) or Kavanaugh (for being a cretin).

“I’d love to see it when you’re done,” Elizabeth tries, feeling foolish for her wheedling tone.

“I bet you would,” Heightmeyer sneers.

—

Elizabeth has finally had enough. After dinner, she forgoes her usual cursing session off the northern pier and marches up to Sheppard’s room.

She enters without knocking.

Sheppard is on the floor next to the bed, holding War and Peace on his lap, ostensibly reading. McKay is seated at the head of the bed, a tablet on his lap propped up with a pillow. They look up in unison upon Elizabeth’s entrance and Sheppard slides the book—which he has been holding upside down— to the floor.

“Elizabeth,” Sheppard drawls. “I could have been naked.”

She arches an eyebrow. “With Rodney in your room?”

Sheppard screws up his face, seesawing his head from side to side in consideration. “Well, no? But a knock would have been a nice courtesy. Anyway, what’s up?”

“What’s going on with the personnel?

“Nothing more than usual. Why?”

“It just seems like something strange is happening around here and I can’t put my finger on it.”

Eyes back on the tablet, McKay makes a sound of derision, and Sheppard quickly elbows him with an apologetic grimace.

“If there’s something I should know…”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s a non-issue, really, and it’ll work itself out.” Sheppard smiles in a way that probably made all his previous commanding officers want to punch his lights out.

“Rodney?”

“Hmm? This is me minding my business.” McKay is becoming quite a skilled deflector, even if he still can’t lie outright. Elizabeth hates it. “Passing on the supply memo like you wanted. Doing genius things. Goodnight, Elizabeth.”

—-

Elizabeth is supposed to hole up in her room today for twenty-four hours of uninterrupted rest, and no fewer than five people have intercepted her on her way to her room to bother her for last-minute action items before she can sequester herself. If one more person pesters her, she’s going back to Earth and never returning.

When Moore approaches from the opposite end of the hall, Elizabeth eyes her warily. But as she comes closer, Elizabeth sees that she doesn’t need anything; she’s holding small, flat items in her outstretched hand like an offering.

“Moon or sun?” The way she asks is breathy with excited secrecy. She wears a crescent moon on her forehead. Elizabeth is faintly curious, but doesn’t care enough to ask for clarification. She needs to get back to her room, drink a thimble of Genii rotgut, rub one out, and sleep for twelve hours.

“Sun?” That seems like an appropriate choice. She works mostly during the day and enjoys being out in the sun. Moore plucks a blazing sun-shaped piece of fabric and sticks it to the corner of Elizabeth’s eye with a ‘boop!’ There’s some kind of adhesive on it to make it stick to her skin.  Moore smiles widely, sweetly, and continues down the hall. Elizabeth blinks and makes her way to the transporter.

Clearly, her memo has gone ignored, and the odd behavior continues. Many of these recent strange occurrences seem to be related. The mystery is unspooling. If this turns out to be some kind of cult trying to blow up the city, Elizabeth hopes it happens while she’s off-duty.

When the doors open, Ronon steps out, startling her. His eyes narrow mirthfully when he sees the sticker, and he looks her up and down, a slow grin forming on his face. When his eyes come back up to hers, he maintains contact for a few beats, allowing tension to build in the silence, before continuing on his way. “Weir.”

Elizabeth watches Ronon walk down the hallway before the transporter doors close, wondering how tight the spring inside her can get.

When Elizabeth gets to her room, she takes the sticker off so she can wash up, and continues with her plans for the evening.

—

Carson’s email comes through during AR-1’s pre-flight meeting. She notes which planets they need to visit for the requested supply ingredients and ignores the rest of his bleating message.

“Rodney, have you discovered an ancient device that would help me understand Carson?”

“Hmm, no. We have the translators, but those,” he says, circling his index finger around his ear, “only work if the other person is actually speaking another language.

Sheppard crosses his arms and slouches further into his seat with a look of confusion. “I love to razz Doc as much as the next guy, but I don’t get it. I can understand him fine.”

A loud peal of group laughter from downstairs cuts off Elizabeth’s reply, and she stands up to look out the window overlooking the gate room. It’s full of people milling around, leaning into each other’s faces, talking and laughing.

Elizabeth glares back over her shoulder. “One of you needs to tell me what’s happening. Now.”

Even though no message has come over comms, Teyla taps her earpiece and murmurs, “Yes, Halling, I would love to discuss my internet service provider options,” and racewalks out the door.

McKay rolls his eyes. “Sheppard told everyone that Ronon is single and looking.”

Elizabeth purses her lips, giving Sheppard and McKay what they refer to as her ‘mom look.’ “I should have known you two had something to do with it.”

“Us two?!” McKay protests, pointing at his own face. “I’m an innocent party, here.”

Sheppard throws his hands up in exasperation. “Just back that bus right over me yourself, Rodney.”

Glancing back at the commotion in the downstairs, Elizabeth objects, “There’s got to be more to it than that. This has been going on for weeks, and this is the second time I’ve had unauthorized personnel cluttering my gate room in that period.” When no answer is forthcoming, she continues. “May I remind you, John, that your mission will be grounded until all of this is dealt with, so now is the time to come clean.”

Sheppard takes a deep, slow breath, and blows it out all at once. Elizabeth feels the same way. “We were shooting some hoops, and Ronon asked if people on earth really ‘hook up’ in a sedoretu—you know, like in those Ursula K. Le Guin stories, with the morning and evening people?”

Elizabeth nods, squeezing the bridge of her nose against the pressure of the headache building there. She already knows where this is going. Sheppard has such a big mouth it’s amazing he ever got or maintained a security clearance.

The mystery is almost completely unspooled now, and instead of being satisfying, the answer is utterly stupid.

“The Colonel thought it was so funny he was practically giddy to share it with all the other little campers at the bonfire, and it spread like wildfire from there,” McKay adds.

Elizabeth’s head swivels back to Sheppard, staring disbelievingly. “So you were happy to let this rumor spread unmitigated and wreak havoc, not just among the marines, but throughout the entire expedition?”

“The Colonel was too busy enjoying Ronon’s hot space bimbo act and watching the rest of the expedition pant after him. Ronon was a soldier and knows that military installations are basically twenty-four seven hook-up parties. I can vouch for the scientists being a pack of filthy sexual deviants, myself, so once Sheppard opened his mouth, disaster was inevitable.”

Sheppard waves his arms in front of him emphatically, as though attempting to physically clear the air. “What Rodney’s trying to say is, I didn’t take it seriously, thought it’d work itself out, and no one else seemed to have their thinking hats on.”

McKay’s protest is vigorous as he stands and raises his voice: “Because you have them fantasizing about foursomes with Ronon the Barbarian!”

Sheppard leans into McKay, who shoulders him away quickly. Sheppard only leans into him again. “Aww, he’s so cute when he’s jealous.”

“I am not—“

“He is. Remember Chaya? She was in a real rush to leave. Said it was the wraith attack but Rodney here threatened to hoover her up,” Sheppard mimics vacuuming, ‘vrrrrm,’ “with a proton pack, Ghostbusters-style, and use her to recharge our ZPM.”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows jump all the way to her forehead. “I didn’t realize you were together.”

“What? You literally walked in on us the other night.”

Elizabeth squints as she recalls what she saw. “You could have been having a LAN party or a sleepover.”

Sheppard cracks a little grin at that, but McKay exclaims, “Sheppard said he could have been naked!”

“Okay. Well, I’m happy for you both and trust you to maintain the same standard of professionalism you were known for before your relationship.” That’s as tactful as she can be about it. Frankly, these two deserve each other. “You can count on my discretion, but I do want to point out the obvious: what about the US military’s policy against homosexual relationships?”

“I’ve given some thought to that. As you know, the US military back on Earth has a reputation for causing a lot of problems with the locals, especially overseas. Less supervision and all.”

“Where are you going with this? Are you saying you want to turn a new leaf, forge a new reputation?”

“Oh no, our reputation is trash out here, too.” Sheppard cringes deeply to indicate his feelings about the expedition’s activities in Pegasus, including his own. “We woke the Wraith, take ZPMs from civilizations that are already using them, and commit war crimes. I’m just saying Uncle Sam can’t see us, so I’d like to disregard certain rules and regulations that hurt our people instead of helping them.”

Elizabeth can’t disagree with that. “I’m sure there are LGBT service members who will be glad to hear that. You can count on my support,” She nods, smiling to see John embracing his role as the military commander of Atlantis in this way. “Now, are you going downstairs to clean up your mess?”

—-

The gate room is in chaos, leaving no room for authorized personnel to move around. Expedition members are scattered like stars, wearing cloth stickers of a sun or moon, or sometimes both. Some individuals wear bracelets, knitted hats, scarves with the symbols, or have added the adornments to their work uniform. Kate Heightmeyer, who spares Elizabeth a withering glare, wears a floor-length gown made entirely of what Elizabeth assumes to be gauze pilfered from Medical, and dotted with suns and moons made from whettle grass paper, whose supply is now completely depleted.

Scientists and military alike gather in groups, comparing decorations, comparing projects, laughing.

Ronon and Teyla lean against one of the pillars, observing the tumult and leaning in to speak to one another. Teyla catches Elizabeth’s eye, grinning in a way that confirms that she has kept up with expedition gossip, after all. Ronon follows Teyla's line of sight and sees Elizabeth, slowly stands to his full height, and crosses the room to meet her. The crowd, totally aware of his location, parts around him.

Service members and civilians alike, surprisingly, maintain their distance from Ronon, despite their interest. Their scheming, crafting, and adornment were where their daring ended; now they loiter, awaiting Ronon’s attention with an air of ‘pick me, choose me, have sex with me.’

Ronon crowds Elizabeth in where she stands beside the stairs, his eye flickering to something above Elizabeth’s right ear. His hand reaches up and slowly pulls something from her curls, maintaining eye contact and a self-satisfied smile the entire time. The attraction coils even tighter, making her whole body feel tense and hyper-aware.

Ronon’s thick fingers bring a crescent moon made of medical tape up to her face. Strange; she swore she had left that in her bathroom. She holds out her hand so he can place it in her palm, and he does, fingers pressing in and lingering for interminable, intentional seconds. Elizabeth swallows and stares at where their hands touch, even as Ronon dips his head down to meet her eyes.

“Weir.”

“Ronon.”

“Heard you might be the one to help me with an Earth book I don’t understand.” His eyes shine with mischief.

Elizabeth arches a brow. “Oh? Well, I’m happy to help you if I can.”

“Great.” Ronon’s smile is broad, and as he grasps her hand, it only now occurs to her that this powerful attraction hasn’t been entirely one-sided all this time. Her breath catches and her heart pounds harder than ever. “Left it in my room.”

Elizabeth looks around the room at Sheppard inexpertly de-escalating the arguing between marines and civilian scientists, at McKay getting shouted down by Heightmeyer, at scientists and marines accusing one another of jealousy.

Gate room operations will be suspended for a while while Sheppard deals with the consequences of his actions, hopefully without resorting to excessive threats of violence.

“I have time now,” she offers.

Still pressing the sticker into her palm as he takes her hand, Ronon leads the way.

Naturally, there is no book. Elizabeth is happy to relieve some tension regardless.

[fic] [stargate atlantis | gen] postmortem

ao3

“I don’t have time for this.” Kavanaugh sat in the front row, laptop still closed.

“As you know,” McKay bit out, face reddening, turning away to drag a hand down his face wearily. “We just lost Grodin. He was brilliant, and he still—“

Clearing his throat and moving to the table, he continued. “Pegasus is a circus, and I can’t lose any more of you. Not even you, Kavanaugh.

“So all science personnel will attend regular workshops to benefit from my knowledge. You won’t become experts, but you’ll have a fighting chance.”

With a small nod, Kavanaugh opened his laptop.

[fic] [sga | mckay/sheppard] we're still here

Summary: "We're here. That's our status." ----- “‘So long, Rodney,’” comes McKay’s slurred mimicry of what Sheppard’s last words to him could have been. His attempt at a baleful glare is dimmed by obvious sleep deprivation. “Asshole.”

ao3

He doesn’t bother knocking. He does lock the door behind him, though.

Rodney is face-down on his bed, hand still half on his tablet screen. His eyes are hazy, and he had clearly been in the middle of something when his brain gave up on him. Sheppard tosses the turkey sandwich onto his back, causing him to jolt into something resembling wakefulness.

“‘So long, Rodney,’” comes McKay’s slurred mimicry of what Sheppard’s last words to him could have been. His attempt at a baleful glare is dimmed by obvious sleep deprivation. “Asshole.”

Sheppard leans against the wall next to the bed while McKay sits up to wipe the drool from his mouth and nibble with uncharacteristic daintiness at his food. It’s the most standard-sized sandwich they have.

“I didn’t exactly have time to recite a sonnet before flying off to my death.”

He stands there, watching McKay slowly chew the corner of his sandwich until he decides enough is enough. He pushes the tablet towards McKay’s feet and sits at the head of the bed beside him.

McKay’s eyes are trying to focus somewhere in the direction of the doorway. “I’m sorry about Lieutenant Ford.”

That’s why Sheppard is here. He’d laid in the dark, eyes pointed at the ceiling but still seeing Ford’s wrathful expression as the transporter doors closed between them. He was–is–responsible. For Ford. Markham. Smith. Sumner. He’d figured Rodney would be up, detoxing from the amphetamines or doing a postmortem on one thing or another, and he’d been right.

“Yeah,” is all he can really say. He looks at the tablet by their feet, gestures with his chin. “What were you working on?”

McKay tosses the rest of the sandwich on his nightstand and blinks tears from his bloodshot eyes. “Grodin, he–” Tears well up again and he sets his jaw, shakes his head, and instead picks up his tablet and shows Sheppard his weekly agenda. “Very few remaining have the interdisciplinary skills to be as useful in the field, and I’m not putting Zelenka at risk by sending him out there with any regularity. I’ve been looking at where it would make sense to squeeze in worksho-o-o–” McKay interrupts his high-speed explanation with a protracted yawn, opening his mouth wide and stretching. “Workshops.”

“That’s–a really good idea, Rodney.”

“I’m so…” McKay’s chin trembles, and he stares at where his hands sit, face-up in his lap.

“Hey,” Sheppard says, waiting until McKay’s eyes slowly come up to meet his. “Hey. Think you can sleep?” McKay nods, glassy-eyed.

Sheppard switches the lights off with a thought, ignoring McKay’s bitter ‘show-off,’ placing the tablet on the nightstand beside him. He gets his boots and gear off, helps McKay with his, and pulls the sheet up over them both.

McKay is pretty rank from a week of amphetamine usage, stress sweat, and not showering. But this quiet space, with McKay’s overheated body and heavy breathing, is the reassurance he needed. Atlantis is still standing, most of them remain to fight another day, and McKay is here to keep his eyes on the horizon while Sheppard watches his six.

It’s unlike anything Sheppard has had anywhere else. Better than the wind in his hair on a flat stretch of highway, the view of the sky from a ferris wheel, or the freedom of flight.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” McKay murmurs, barely awake.

Sheppard grins at him. “Ditto.”

Prettier than the Sunset

Carson Beckett x gn!reader

Summary: you and Carson like each other a lot, and the both of you (ironically) pick the same time to say anything.

Trigger Warnings: fluff, that's about it.

A/N: I'm not very good at writing accents, so Carson's dialogue is gonna look pretty normal.

Also, it's kind of short. Hope you all enjoy it.

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Sheppard and McKay were just sitting down for a light dinner when Carson walked in to the cafeteria towards them, looking like a nervous wreck.

"Have either of you two seen Y/N? I want to ask them something," he sounded anxious beyond belief.

"No, not since early this morning. Are you ok?" McKay looked at the doc before catching Sheppard smirking out of the corner of his eye. "Why are you smirking like that?"

"Our dear friend Beckett here has a crush on Y/N. Try asking Ronan where they are. I think I saw them talking to him around lunchtime," Sheppard gave Carson a smile before digging into his food.

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Ronan was in the gym, training with a practice dummy. The sound of the doors opening along with a soft knock on the wall turned his attention away from training towards Beckett. "Can this wait a minute?"

"I just wanted to ask if you know where Y/N might be. I had asked Sheppard a little while ago and he said to come to you," Carson gulped, trying to collect his nerves.

"Yeah, they were wondering if I had any idea where a nice quiet spot around here would be. Told them that Teyla likes to go out to one of the balconies from time to time, so they could try that. You finally asking them out?" he asked bluntly.

"I might be," Carson managed to stutter.

"Good luck finding them," Ronan said before turning his attention back to the dummy.

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Just like Ronan thought, you were taking in the peace and quiet of one of the balconies. The view made for a wonderful scene to capture in a drawing. Early that morning, you decided today of all days would be the day you finally told Carson how you felt. Little did you realize he was planning the exact same thing.

You had just finished packing up your colored pencils when you heard the door open. You quickly held your sketchbook behind your back and faced a slightly confused looking Carson. "Hi, Carson," a small bit of blush rose in your cheeks.

"I can see why you came to this balcony. The view is amazing," Carson walked over to you. His cheeks had to started to get a little red as he faced the sunset.

It was silent for a few moments before either of you said anything. "Do you want to -," both you started saying in unison.

"You go first," you chuckled.

"No, it's alright. You can go first," Carson grinned.

"By the sounds of it, we were going to say the same thing."

"Do you want to have dinner with me?" He gave her a shy smile.

"Certainly," you smiled widely as you handed him the picture that had been held behind your back this entire time. It was of the sunset.

"This is fantastic. It's just as pretty as the real thing. Certainly not as pretty as the artist who drew it, though," his compliment made your cheeks turn bright red. He took your hand in his with a grin as you both went to the cafeteria for some food.

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The End

Something's Up At Dinner

Shawn the Wraith

Trigger Warnings: none really

A/N: I had an interesting time writing this. Went with they/them pronouns. Apologies to the requester for taking so long; life has decided to make me a bit busy and give me a good dose of writer's block.

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Dinner seemed to blur together. Shawn wasn't sure what to make of it or them. His mind was drawn towards Y/N, only partly paying attention to what was being discussed. They seemed to be rather calm around the wraith. No worry in the world it appeared. Just casually listening to the conversation.

It was what happened after dinner that caused Shawn to become more and more baffled. Y/N was straight up playing in the grass! Of all the brief civil interactions with humanity he's had, never has he gotten to witness a human take in their environment like this. Something pulled him to them to figure this out.

"What exactly are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Acting like a carefree child in the grass?"

"This is my first time off-world in which I don't feel in danger."

"I doubt very much that your team agrees with your sentiment."

"It's not exactly like I can really explain why, I just do. Have you ever had that sort of feeling?"

"No," Shawn said flatly.

All of a sudden, Y/N stood up, "I can't believe I'm admitting this, but your chin whiskers are cute. Kind of remind me of this adorable breed of fish we have back on Earth called a koi fish. I absolutely adore them!"

Shawn stood there stunned. Out of nowhere, his heart felt as if it was beating a little faster and he was having butterflies in his stomach. "What a weird reaction considering I have no idea whether this human was being serious?" He thought to himself. As Y/N walked away, he didn't realize he was holding in his breath.

The End

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I hope this is alright. I've literally been trying to figure out how to write this fic for weeks.