Fic: Master Of His Domain, Angel/SGA Crossover, Fred, Rodney, PG, 1/1
Winifred Burkle gets assigned to Atlantis as one of Rodney’s minions. She mentions taking out the Wraith with the stake through the heart just once, and mockingness ensues.
Master Of His Domain
Really, was it any wonder he kept complaining about how stupid his lab minions were? Most of them were, after incurring his wrath just one time, smart enough to stay out of his way and work quietly in the background. But with every single new shipment of scientists on the Daedelus, there were always one person…
“Dr. McKay, I really do think my idea could be an effective course of action,” the current Bane of His Existence continued whining in that nasally Texan drawl of hers.
He was starting to develop a facial tic. First he started losing his hair - along with his spare tire, which, admittedly, was nice - and now working in Atlantis was going to deprive him of his good looks.
For this, the woman must die. Whirling on her, Rodney let fly with a stream of invective that would put any Marine in the city to shame, “I don’t care if you supposedly fought actual vampires back in the City of Angels for the Hopeless!” he cried, unable to bear holding back his opinion on that stupidity. Real vampires? Demons, gremlins, and other assorted ooky things that went bump in the night? Please. Just like with aliens and the Wraith, Rodney would believe it when he saw it (and video would be acceptable, saving him from putting his life on the line again). “The Wraith are far more than ‘energy vampires’, and staking them through their nonexistent hearts is just an inconceivably stupid idea!” Though somehow she had conceived of it, which maybe had to do with her mysterious background. Not that he actually believed she was sharing her body with a descended Asuran - as if an Asuran would ever share.
Winifred ‘Fred’ Burkle, BA, MA, and not even one PhD (which was actually a shame, considering her knowledge of physics was great enough that Rodney might envy it if his wasn’t even better), didn’t back one even one millimeter from his glare, the dim-witted twit. “But have you even tried?” she demanded persistently.
And questions like that were why her smarts were often outweighed by her sheer stupidity. Rodney would swear that she reached new heights of illogical absurdity ever nanosecond. “Why would I waste my valuable time by proposing such an abominably idiotic tactic to Colonel Sheppard?” Rodney shot back. “Trying to fight off the Wraith with a flimsy piece of wood is so doomed to failure I shouldn’t even have to tell you it is, Miss Why-no-no Bungle.” If only the girl weren’t Carter’s new protégé (“She has an innate understanding of wormhole physics and dimensional vortices, unlike anything I’ve ever seen!” Sam had enthused), then she wouldn’t be here plaguing him.
And like a plague, Fresh-Outta-Smarts was almost impossible to get rid of. He’d almost rather face a Wraith than deal with her superstitious nonsense.
Frannie stared at him, seemingly aghast at his latest mangling of her name, which made Rodney give a snort; she should have learned by now that he didn’t learn the names of anyone he respected - or at least he pretended he didn’t. For he actually could remember her name; it was just that it and her hokey downhome quirkiness kept reminding him of Steve Urkle - and juxtaposed to that, her nickname and supposed former occupation reminded him of Freddie Kruger. The cognitive dissonance was so disarming and creepy, Rodney had actually resorted to thinking up a list of names for the girl beforehand, instead of relying on thinking them up on the fly.
At his derisive sniff, Frances let out an almost kittenish growl of frustration, (which Rodney would never admit he found cute, and, just maybe, sort of hot, which made him glad she caused him to yell at her often), then slowly released her breath in an obvious show of ‘I’m letting this go’. “Fine,” she bit out, frigidly polite as always - but her eyes were glinting blue and blood red, which Rodney found both alarming and nauseating. “How about setting them on fire?”
Prepared to blast her with a plethora of reasons why Frieda’s latest offering was just as obnoxiously foolish as her last, Rodney held himself back. “Huh…” He pondered for a moment, thinking about temperature and immolation and the improbability of anything living recovering from being burned to ashes. “That…is not entirely an utterly imebelic idea.” Seeing her lips start to curve up in a smile, Rodney added scathingly, “Considering it came from you.”
Fred glared.
Rodney smirked and began to mentally review what he knew about the operation of flamethrowers.
His domain was once again under his control and all was right with his world.
Master Of His Domain
Really, was it any wonder he kept complaining about how stupid his lab minions were? Most of them were, after incurring his wrath just one time, smart enough to stay out of his way and work quietly in the background. But with every single new shipment of scientists on the Daedelus, there were always one person…
“Dr. McKay, I really do think my idea could be an effective course of action,” the current Bane of His Existence continued whining in that nasally Texan drawl of hers.
He was starting to develop a facial tic. First he started losing his hair - along with his spare tire, which, admittedly, was nice - and now working in Atlantis was going to deprive him of his good looks.
For this, the woman must die. Whirling on her, Rodney let fly with a stream of invective that would put any Marine in the city to shame, “I don’t care if you supposedly fought actual vampires back in the City of Angels for the Hopeless!” he cried, unable to bear holding back his opinion on that stupidity. Real vampires? Demons, gremlins, and other assorted ooky things that went bump in the night? Please. Just like with aliens and the Wraith, Rodney would believe it when he saw it (and video would be acceptable, saving him from putting his life on the line again). “The Wraith are far more than ‘energy vampires’, and staking them through their nonexistent hearts is just an inconceivably stupid idea!” Though somehow she had conceived of it, which maybe had to do with her mysterious background. Not that he actually believed she was sharing her body with a descended Asuran - as if an Asuran would ever share.
Winifred ‘Fred’ Burkle, BA, MA, and not even one PhD (which was actually a shame, considering her knowledge of physics was great enough that Rodney might envy it if his wasn’t even better), didn’t back one even one millimeter from his glare, the dim-witted twit. “But have you even tried?” she demanded persistently.
And questions like that were why her smarts were often outweighed by her sheer stupidity. Rodney would swear that she reached new heights of illogical absurdity ever nanosecond. “Why would I waste my valuable time by proposing such an abominably idiotic tactic to Colonel Sheppard?” Rodney shot back. “Trying to fight off the Wraith with a flimsy piece of wood is so doomed to failure I shouldn’t even have to tell you it is, Miss Why-no-no Bungle.” If only the girl weren’t Carter’s new protégé (“She has an innate understanding of wormhole physics and dimensional vortices, unlike anything I’ve ever seen!” Sam had enthused), then she wouldn’t be here plaguing him.
And like a plague, Fresh-Outta-Smarts was almost impossible to get rid of. He’d almost rather face a Wraith than deal with her superstitious nonsense.
Frannie stared at him, seemingly aghast at his latest mangling of her name, which made Rodney give a snort; she should have learned by now that he didn’t learn the names of anyone he respected - or at least he pretended he didn’t. For he actually could remember her name; it was just that it and her hokey downhome quirkiness kept reminding him of Steve Urkle - and juxtaposed to that, her nickname and supposed former occupation reminded him of Freddie Kruger. The cognitive dissonance was so disarming and creepy, Rodney had actually resorted to thinking up a list of names for the girl beforehand, instead of relying on thinking them up on the fly.
At his derisive sniff, Frances let out an almost kittenish growl of frustration, (which Rodney would never admit he found cute, and, just maybe, sort of hot, which made him glad she caused him to yell at her often), then slowly released her breath in an obvious show of ‘I’m letting this go’. “Fine,” she bit out, frigidly polite as always - but her eyes were glinting blue and blood red, which Rodney found both alarming and nauseating. “How about setting them on fire?”
Prepared to blast her with a plethora of reasons why Frieda’s latest offering was just as obnoxiously foolish as her last, Rodney held himself back. “Huh…” He pondered for a moment, thinking about temperature and immolation and the improbability of anything living recovering from being burned to ashes. “That…is not entirely an utterly imebelic idea.” Seeing her lips start to curve up in a smile, Rodney added scathingly, “Considering it came from you.”
Fred glared.
Rodney smirked and began to mentally review what he knew about the operation of flamethrowers.
His domain was once again under his control and all was right with his world.