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Nov. 13th, 2007 04:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nnyIt's about time I got back to it, right? Again, italics are a reminder of where we were.
"I - thanks," he said, bemused. "Dr John Sheppard."
"Dr Jack O'Neill," he answered, and Rodney snorted from beside John.
"Oh please. Archaeology and Linguistics do not a doctor make."
"Hey," said O'Neill, apparently not taking offence, “I can be unhelpfully laconic in twenty eight languages. I'm just more the Indiana Jones type." He grinned, winked, disappeared into the office as McKay whimpered faintly.
"That man is singlehandedly destroying my fantasy life.”
“I’m pretty sure that was more than I needed to know, McKay,” and he hadn’t quite decided if walking away was supposed to be some kind of discouragement but the doctor was following him anyway, so it wasn’t like it was working either way. “Aren’t you supposed to be more careful about what you talk about around me, anyway?”
“Oh, please.” They’d come to a stop by the platform with the chair, because John was curious and McKay was voted most likely to let something slip. The man himself was standing with his arms folded across his chest, feet planted firmly, and the defensive body language was kind of at odds with the way he seemed completely settled here, solid. John was thinking possibly the mixed signals could be blamed on the fleece - that was really a pretty offensive shade of orange there, made McKay look like some kind of road safety barrier, and somehow managed to make his shoulders look impossibly wide. He kept talking as John mounted the steps onto the platform and poked his finger into the weird substance that covered the armrests of the chair.
“I don’t have anything to worry about from you, Sheppard. You’re here for the minions; I am entirely too valuable to this expedition for them to get rid of me for anything less than homicide. And if I’ve resisted this long - with Kavanaugh, no less - I don’t imagine I’ll have any problems.”
John cast an absent look his way as he pushed on the armrest, spinning the chair. There was an odd resistance there, like it wasn’t supposed to swing freely, but a bit of oil - hey, it’d look great in his office. Diagnoses would be like proclamations from a god, in this thing, and he was halfway tempted to try it out; something about it looked weirdly comfortable, throne like as it was, like it had been made just for him.
“So what does a theoretical geneticist do, anyway?” He rocked the chair back and forth a little as he spoke, not really looking at McKay.
“Work with test tubes, mostly. If there are any dying children Zolinksy can hold their -” His voice sharpened abruptly. “Dr Sheppard! What are you -?”
“Relax.” John spun the chair and settled his foot on the rest. “What harm can it -?”
As soon as his weight hit the chair it leaned back like a recliner, his peripheral vision lighting up bright blue.
“Er… McKay?”
The platform lit up right after, attracting the attention of nearby scientists who scuttled in his direction, but John was just looking at McKay, at the way his mouth had gone crooked, the way his eyes looked even bluer in the light.
“Don’t move,” he said, holding one hand up with fingers spread as though he could keep John in the chair from that distance. “I hate you, and don’t move, and just - just sit there and think about what you’ve done.” He ran off, faster than John had ever seen him move before, and was back almost before John could miss him. Certainly before he’d answered any of the scientists’ questions, half of which they didn’t seem to notice weren’t in English. It was like a damned circus.
“Dr Sheppard.”
It was the head scientist speaking, her serene expression reassuring him that he wasn’t going to blow up, take off, get transported to another galaxy any time soon. (He was starting to regret reading the damned files.)
“Dr Sheppard, think of Atlantis.”
He squinted at her. “Think of what?”
“He’s a psychiatrist.” Rodney’s pissy tones again, and it was really weird the way they were so reassuring. “Don’t confuse him.” He stepped forward, orange fleece a bright contrast to the pale wash of blue, and described an incomprehensible shape in the air with his hands. “Think about - think about where we are in the solar system.”
And as the stars and planets whirled up around him, settled into place, John looked around at the awestruck faces and shook his head.
“You know what?” he said. “You people are fucking insane. Professional opinion.”
"I - thanks," he said, bemused. "Dr John Sheppard."
"Dr Jack O'Neill," he answered, and Rodney snorted from beside John.
"Oh please. Archaeology and Linguistics do not a doctor make."
"Hey," said O'Neill, apparently not taking offence, “I can be unhelpfully laconic in twenty eight languages. I'm just more the Indiana Jones type." He grinned, winked, disappeared into the office as McKay whimpered faintly.
"That man is singlehandedly destroying my fantasy life.”
“I’m pretty sure that was more than I needed to know, McKay,” and he hadn’t quite decided if walking away was supposed to be some kind of discouragement but the doctor was following him anyway, so it wasn’t like it was working either way. “Aren’t you supposed to be more careful about what you talk about around me, anyway?”
“Oh, please.” They’d come to a stop by the platform with the chair, because John was curious and McKay was voted most likely to let something slip. The man himself was standing with his arms folded across his chest, feet planted firmly, and the defensive body language was kind of at odds with the way he seemed completely settled here, solid. John was thinking possibly the mixed signals could be blamed on the fleece - that was really a pretty offensive shade of orange there, made McKay look like some kind of road safety barrier, and somehow managed to make his shoulders look impossibly wide. He kept talking as John mounted the steps onto the platform and poked his finger into the weird substance that covered the armrests of the chair.
“I don’t have anything to worry about from you, Sheppard. You’re here for the minions; I am entirely too valuable to this expedition for them to get rid of me for anything less than homicide. And if I’ve resisted this long - with Kavanaugh, no less - I don’t imagine I’ll have any problems.”
John cast an absent look his way as he pushed on the armrest, spinning the chair. There was an odd resistance there, like it wasn’t supposed to swing freely, but a bit of oil - hey, it’d look great in his office. Diagnoses would be like proclamations from a god, in this thing, and he was halfway tempted to try it out; something about it looked weirdly comfortable, throne like as it was, like it had been made just for him.
“So what does a theoretical geneticist do, anyway?” He rocked the chair back and forth a little as he spoke, not really looking at McKay.
“Work with test tubes, mostly. If there are any dying children Zolinksy can hold their -” His voice sharpened abruptly. “Dr Sheppard! What are you -?”
“Relax.” John spun the chair and settled his foot on the rest. “What harm can it -?”
As soon as his weight hit the chair it leaned back like a recliner, his peripheral vision lighting up bright blue.
“Er… McKay?”
The platform lit up right after, attracting the attention of nearby scientists who scuttled in his direction, but John was just looking at McKay, at the way his mouth had gone crooked, the way his eyes looked even bluer in the light.
“Don’t move,” he said, holding one hand up with fingers spread as though he could keep John in the chair from that distance. “I hate you, and don’t move, and just - just sit there and think about what you’ve done.” He ran off, faster than John had ever seen him move before, and was back almost before John could miss him. Certainly before he’d answered any of the scientists’ questions, half of which they didn’t seem to notice weren’t in English. It was like a damned circus.
“Dr Sheppard.”
It was the head scientist speaking, her serene expression reassuring him that he wasn’t going to blow up, take off, get transported to another galaxy any time soon. (He was starting to regret reading the damned files.)
“Dr Sheppard, think of Atlantis.”
He squinted at her. “Think of what?”
“He’s a psychiatrist.” Rodney’s pissy tones again, and it was really weird the way they were so reassuring. “Don’t confuse him.” He stepped forward, orange fleece a bright contrast to the pale wash of blue, and described an incomprehensible shape in the air with his hands. “Think about - think about where we are in the solar system.”
And as the stars and planets whirled up around him, settled into place, John looked around at the awestruck faces and shook his head.
“You know what?” he said. “You people are fucking insane. Professional opinion.”
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Date: 2007-11-13 05:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-11-14 07:46 am (UTC)♥
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Date: 2008-02-15 05:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-15 05:25 pm (UTC)Should really write more on this, at some point.
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Date: 2008-03-02 03:31 pm (UTC)