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.fic: A Thousand Dancing Hamsters - PG (McShep) 1.1
Title: A Thousand Dancing Hamsters
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @gmail.com
Pairing: McShep!
Rating/Warnings: happy (unusual), but with a touch of angst (necessary)
Disclaimer: If only.
Advertisements: Takes place at some indeterminate point after "Grace Under Pressure," which is sort of one of those episodes I tend to think a lot about. Coincidentally for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wordclaim50 challenge #16, "Epiphany."
Notes: A gift for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
newkidfan/blimey_icons, who makes beautiful things. Happy birthday!
The title comes from "Home," allll the way back in S1. You have to love Rodney's turn of phrase.
A THOUSAND DANCING HAMSTERS
He’s thought about his sister more than usual lately, which is odd. He never really thinks of her, except in the depressing context of “the only real family I have.” Once he gets over the slight case of PTSD he’s nursing, the whole unnecessary-thinking-of-sister thing will probably go away.
On the other hand, nearly dying – drowning, alone, with your body lost somewhere under fathoms and fathoms of water, or even worse being scooped up by a ravenous sea monster – does a lot to make you re-evaluate how you look at things.
But there’s a certain kind of drama to dying at sea. They haven’t named the ocean yet, even though they’ve been on Atlantis for a year and a half. Maybe they would’ve named it the McKay Ocean or Mare rodneanum in honor of their brave, lost comrade who gave his life for… for testing a stupid puddle-jumper.
Hm. Nice thought. Morbid, yes, but nice.
Anyway. Back to re-evaluating how you look at things.
Hardly earth-shattering – everything’s relative, after all. Rodney B.N.D (Before Near Drowning) hasn’t become a new person or turned over a new leaf. (And why should he? He’s fine the way he is.) No, Rodney A.N.D. (After Near Drowning) hasn’t changed in any fundamental sense, like at the cellular or even elemental level, but has simply shifted his position relative to some of the things – some of the people, one of the people, really – in his life.
Confused? Okay. Relativity for Morons: Imagine you’re in a park, and a bunch of teenagers are hanging out nearby, the annoying, poser Goth kind of teenager that you want to kick, and they’ve got a radio playing something juvenile and obnoxious. So, you get up and move somewhere quieter. The volume of the radio hasn’t decreased (why would it? They’re teenagers for God’s sake); the only thing that’s changed is your position relative to the source of annoyance.
His relationship with Colonel Sheppard – Sheppard – Shep – John – is pretty much the same, a source of annoyance and unexpected pleasure in Rodney’s life. And Colonel Sheppard – Sheppard – Shep – John is pretty much the same, because he’s one of those people who never changes, unpredictable and sarcastic and unafraid of Rodney’s godlike intellect, so he’s like the annoying kids and their radio (he’s also annoying and loud on occasion, so the simile actually works really well): the constant, one Rodney hadn’t ever really expected to find.
This leaves Rodney as you, the person trying to escape from the teenagers and their radio. Only here the analogy gets wonky (actual scientific term), because he’s not particularly interested in getting away, at least, not at the moment. Not with John pressed firmly against his back – Rodney takes a moment to wonder if a request for a larger bed and a new prescription mattress (the one he has now is shot) would arouse suspicion – and one arm wrapped around him.
The situation, both immediate and general, violates pretty much everything Rodney’s come to expect about relationships, about his relationship with Sheppard, about dying, about everything, more startling than being told a thousand dancing hamsters (he likes that phrase) live in the nucleus of a hydrogen atom. Maybe there’s a Law of Sex After A Near-Death Experience, which almost sounds necrophiliac (gross), but requires that for a near-death situation, the two parties involved realize how important they are to each other and, well, have sex.
It happens in the movies, so it must be true.
Only Rodney and Sheppard had, B.N.D., saved each other’s hides a bunch of times, and never once had sex or even said “I really really like you,” though Rodney’s turned the thought over on a few occasions. So what was it about this time that eventually led Rodney, sleepless and twitchy, to Sheppard’s quarters, and led them both to coffee in the mess hall, later to Rodney looking at Sheppard and trying to say I really really like you, and now to three times sleeping together?
Maybe it was almost dying alone, alone, and Sheppard would never have been able to find him. The second part of that scares him more.
He shivers.
“You okay?”
They’re practically glued together by sweat and necessity, and the SGC-issued sheets don’t do much to mask body heat or the movement of flesh.
“Fine,” Rodney says in the sarcastic tone that repels most people.
John breezes through it effortlessly and says, “Spill.”
“Just thinking about that time when we got stuck on that ice planet, M-92579 and the jumper’s engine froze.”
“Okay,” John says slowly, and Rodney can tell John’s preparing to humor him for a while. “Um, any particular reason?”
“You could have offered to share body heat. I chill easily.”
“We didn’t know each other all that well back then. And besides, you’re from Canada, Rodney.”
“So? Plenty of Canadians don’t like cold weather.”
“You worked at SGC in Antarctica.”
“So? We lived in an insulated bunker. It’s not like I was out skiing or… or communing with penguins.”
“What’s really wrong?”
Stupid to think he could sidetrack Sheppard, who has a mind like a steel trap and that trap had latched onto Rodney’s shiver. And Rodney knows Sheppard, who's not only an honorary member of the Atlantis Mensa chapter but apparently also a mind reader, knows enough about him to know when he's trying to evade something.
And Rodney shouldn’t even have tried, and he felt bad about that – and surprised that he felt bad in the first place.
Perspective shift: turn over (carefully, because there’s a micron of space between you and the humiliation of falling out of bed) and look, really look at John and watch how his eyes go grey and green in the light and how his hair’s messed up from fingers running through it.
Change, not only moving closer to someone else, but to himself, maybe.
He tells John about the hours in the jumper and the cold, even Sam, and the horrible crushing chilling fear and the loneliness, which was worse.
And John listens.
-end-
In other news: There is a large dog on my lap, which is making it difficult to type.
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @gmail.com
Pairing: McShep!
Rating/Warnings: happy (unusual), but with a touch of angst (necessary)
Disclaimer: If only.
Advertisements: Takes place at some indeterminate point after "Grace Under Pressure," which is sort of one of those episodes I tend to think a lot about. Coincidentally for
wordclaim50 challenge #16, "Epiphany."Notes: A gift for
newkidfan/blimey_icons, who makes beautiful things. Happy birthday!The title comes from "Home," allll the way back in S1. You have to love Rodney's turn of phrase.
A THOUSAND DANCING HAMSTERS
He’s thought about his sister more than usual lately, which is odd. He never really thinks of her, except in the depressing context of “the only real family I have.” Once he gets over the slight case of PTSD he’s nursing, the whole unnecessary-thinking-of-sister thing will probably go away.
On the other hand, nearly dying – drowning, alone, with your body lost somewhere under fathoms and fathoms of water, or even worse being scooped up by a ravenous sea monster – does a lot to make you re-evaluate how you look at things.
But there’s a certain kind of drama to dying at sea. They haven’t named the ocean yet, even though they’ve been on Atlantis for a year and a half. Maybe they would’ve named it the McKay Ocean or Mare rodneanum in honor of their brave, lost comrade who gave his life for… for testing a stupid puddle-jumper.
Hm. Nice thought. Morbid, yes, but nice.
Anyway. Back to re-evaluating how you look at things.
Hardly earth-shattering – everything’s relative, after all. Rodney B.N.D (Before Near Drowning) hasn’t become a new person or turned over a new leaf. (And why should he? He’s fine the way he is.) No, Rodney A.N.D. (After Near Drowning) hasn’t changed in any fundamental sense, like at the cellular or even elemental level, but has simply shifted his position relative to some of the things – some of the people, one of the people, really – in his life.
Confused? Okay. Relativity for Morons: Imagine you’re in a park, and a bunch of teenagers are hanging out nearby, the annoying, poser Goth kind of teenager that you want to kick, and they’ve got a radio playing something juvenile and obnoxious. So, you get up and move somewhere quieter. The volume of the radio hasn’t decreased (why would it? They’re teenagers for God’s sake); the only thing that’s changed is your position relative to the source of annoyance.
His relationship with Colonel Sheppard – Sheppard – Shep – John – is pretty much the same, a source of annoyance and unexpected pleasure in Rodney’s life. And Colonel Sheppard – Sheppard – Shep – John is pretty much the same, because he’s one of those people who never changes, unpredictable and sarcastic and unafraid of Rodney’s godlike intellect, so he’s like the annoying kids and their radio (he’s also annoying and loud on occasion, so the simile actually works really well): the constant, one Rodney hadn’t ever really expected to find.
This leaves Rodney as you, the person trying to escape from the teenagers and their radio. Only here the analogy gets wonky (actual scientific term), because he’s not particularly interested in getting away, at least, not at the moment. Not with John pressed firmly against his back – Rodney takes a moment to wonder if a request for a larger bed and a new prescription mattress (the one he has now is shot) would arouse suspicion – and one arm wrapped around him.
The situation, both immediate and general, violates pretty much everything Rodney’s come to expect about relationships, about his relationship with Sheppard, about dying, about everything, more startling than being told a thousand dancing hamsters (he likes that phrase) live in the nucleus of a hydrogen atom. Maybe there’s a Law of Sex After A Near-Death Experience, which almost sounds necrophiliac (gross), but requires that for a near-death situation, the two parties involved realize how important they are to each other and, well, have sex.
It happens in the movies, so it must be true.
Only Rodney and Sheppard had, B.N.D., saved each other’s hides a bunch of times, and never once had sex or even said “I really really like you,” though Rodney’s turned the thought over on a few occasions. So what was it about this time that eventually led Rodney, sleepless and twitchy, to Sheppard’s quarters, and led them both to coffee in the mess hall, later to Rodney looking at Sheppard and trying to say I really really like you, and now to three times sleeping together?
Maybe it was almost dying alone, alone, and Sheppard would never have been able to find him. The second part of that scares him more.
He shivers.
“You okay?”
They’re practically glued together by sweat and necessity, and the SGC-issued sheets don’t do much to mask body heat or the movement of flesh.
“Fine,” Rodney says in the sarcastic tone that repels most people.
John breezes through it effortlessly and says, “Spill.”
“Just thinking about that time when we got stuck on that ice planet, M-92579 and the jumper’s engine froze.”
“Okay,” John says slowly, and Rodney can tell John’s preparing to humor him for a while. “Um, any particular reason?”
“You could have offered to share body heat. I chill easily.”
“We didn’t know each other all that well back then. And besides, you’re from Canada, Rodney.”
“So? Plenty of Canadians don’t like cold weather.”
“You worked at SGC in Antarctica.”
“So? We lived in an insulated bunker. It’s not like I was out skiing or… or communing with penguins.”
“What’s really wrong?”
Stupid to think he could sidetrack Sheppard, who has a mind like a steel trap and that trap had latched onto Rodney’s shiver. And Rodney knows Sheppard, who's not only an honorary member of the Atlantis Mensa chapter but apparently also a mind reader, knows enough about him to know when he's trying to evade something.
And Rodney shouldn’t even have tried, and he felt bad about that – and surprised that he felt bad in the first place.
Perspective shift: turn over (carefully, because there’s a micron of space between you and the humiliation of falling out of bed) and look, really look at John and watch how his eyes go grey and green in the light and how his hair’s messed up from fingers running through it.
Change, not only moving closer to someone else, but to himself, maybe.
He tells John about the hours in the jumper and the cold, even Sam, and the horrible crushing chilling fear and the loneliness, which was worse.
And John listens.
-end-
In other news: There is a large dog on my lap, which is making it difficult to type.
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