nny | (no subject)

General consensus seemed to be that I should post it, so.

This is an AU of SG:A canon; any characters, ideas etc. (and probably dialogue) belongs to people who are Not Me. People who are in fact considerably richer than me, and slightly less likely to bang McKay and Sheppard action figures together. (Slightly. I have been watching season 4.) Speaking of McKay and Sheppard, of course, this will end up slash but probably not until... oh, mid-season 3. This will contain strangely mutated spoilers, but season 1 has been around for a long time so if you're still spoilable I'm thinking you won't be reading this anyway.

*grins*

1.1

John was leaning against the wall with his legs crossed at the ankle, cold bleeding through the shoulder of his fleece. It was starting to get uncomfortable but right now he was pretty sure it was the only way he could co-ordinate the unwrapping of a powerbar without falling over; it’d been a long few weeks and he could never get warm enough for a decent night’s sleep.

Heightmeyer and the chief scientist were murmuring quietly to each other nearby, so when a voice spoke, pretty much directly into his ear, it took him a second to work out that the faintly snide words were directed at him.

“Decided what to make of us, yet?”

The guy’s voice was weirdly familiar. People hadn’t really been talking to him so much, that kind of came with the job, but it was difficult to get by without hearing the strident echoes that tended to emanate from wherever this guy was working - most recently from over by the funky chair thing that sat like a throne on its own little platform. John hadn’t worked out what it did yet - he had clearance to spare but again with the not talking - but mostly it just seemed to be functioning as a sort of musical chair, people being ushered into it, shouted at and ushered back out again.

He continued unwrapping the powerbar as he turned to give the guy a quick once over, almost wincing away from the brightness of his fleece.

“Professional opinion?”

“That is what you’re here for, I’m told.” His chin kind of jerked up a little as he spoke, arrogance and impatience virtually radiating off him in waves.

“You’re told. That explains a lot.” He hadn’t been sure if his line of work had been publicised, assuming that the fact that all the people on the base avoided him was perfectly natural paranoia, occasioned by the fact that all the personnel were bugfuck insane.

Professional opinion.

“Not entirely thrilled with your reception, I take it.” Blue eyes flicked quickly over him, coming to rest on the powerbar in his hand. “Sadly few share my natural charisma and have to settle for less than the frankly awed response I’ve come to expect.” He smiled hopefully, crooked mouth turning even more lopsided; it was kind of a hard expression not to like. “Got any more of those?”

“Awe,” said John thoughtfully, handing over the powerbar and watching it disappear in two bites, “abject terror…”

“There’s a difference?”