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Rodney was unpacking the last of his books when someone knocked on his office door. He still wasn't used to it, the heavy wooden doors with knobs you had to pull or push, so he just shouted "In!" and kept working.
"Doctor McKay?" It was a man about his own age, fairish and solid-looking. He wore coke-bottle glasses and an inquisitive expression. "I'm Henry Farnsworth. Office down the hall a bit. Saw your lights on and thought I'd introduce myself."
"How do you do," Rodney said, trying not to sound impatient. The English were so hung up on protocol, on saying all the right words at the right time. He'd promised Hardy he'd try, but he was still gate-lagged and out of sorts, and right now he'd rather be facing a Replicant than making small talk.
"Settling in all right?"
Rodney shrugged. "Everything's fine so far. Of course, I've only met five people so far and one of them is the janitor."
"He's the nicest bloke we've got," Farnsworth said.
"Then I shudder to think of the rest of your department. What do you do, other than play welcome wagon?"
"Seems like I should be asking you that question."
"What?"
Farnsworth leaned back against the doorframe. "Doctor Hardy's a good department head, and a great physicist, so when he says we need to give someone a fellowship for the year and to trust him, we do. Doesn't mean I'm not curious why he'd stick his neck out so far for someone with almost no publishing history and a vita covered in 'classified's." His expression was still inquisitive, untroubled. Rodney didn't know what to make of him.
But there wasn't any harm in answering the man's question, or at least part of it. "My primary speciality is Lorentzian wormhole physics. However, lately I've been working on a theoretical model for drawing energy through subspace. I think I'm close to something interesting, but I needed somewhere I could focus on my research for a while, away from the day-to-day demands of… of my other work." He didn't say, away from the spectacle of John Sheppard in love, and the way Atlantis practically radiated with his contentment. Away from the million and a half festivals that Kin'a's people had to celebrate a union between two leaders - and wasn't it fitting, somehow, that Sheppard would marry an alien princess? Tall and regal and gorgeous, like all his women, but like none of the others, she'd come home with them, to stay. Rodney had made it through the first three weeks of engagement parties on sheer willpower alone. Then he'd e-mailed Tom Hardy at Cambridge, cashing in the last of the favors he'd stored up over the twenty years they'd known one another to beg for a seminar, a lecture, anything. Anything, as long as it was far away.
"Well, you'll find that here," said Farnsworth. "And if you're interested, I'm doing a problems in space-time reading group this term, Wednesday evenings, at my flat. Mostly other faculty, but the occasional over-eager student joins in."
"Hawking won't be there, will he?"
"Dr. Hawking? Hardly. He's a bit grand for us."
"Good. I promised Hardy I wouldn't call him misguided to his face. Apparently it's bad for his breathing."
Farnsworth laughed out loud at that. His laugh was warm and clear, almost musical, and Rodney found himself smiling in response without meaning to. "It's not funny," he insisted lamely.
"No, of course not," Farnsworth said, wiping at his eyes. "Not in the slightest. Doctor McKay, you're a breath of fresh air. If you won't come to our group voluntarily, I'll have to drag you to my flat by force."
Rodney had a mental flash of Farnsworth pulling him through the door of his own one-room apartment in town, and he felt warm in a way he hadn't in a long time. "I think I can manage it," he said. "Wednesdays?"
Rodney at Cambridge! And then he and Henry do actually fall in mutually requited love and live happily ever after, and they return to Atlantis and do science. I had to work the whole thing out in my own head, and I promise, it ends up OK.
You can't! You can try not to love it, but you are powerless to resist.
(Inspired, btw, by a reading group in media theory I was part of as one of those over-eager students for a term in Glasgow, longer ago than I care to admit. I spit-taked red wine on Simon Frith. Such are my claims to fame.)
The first story is so wonderful in its emotional honesty (and great writing), but that said, this makes me very happy. Hugs and puppies--well, not puppies, but Steven Hawking jokes, which is as close as Rodney will ever get to puppies--for Rodney. In my mind, Farnsworth will probably end up making the first move on Rodney, but Rodney will have to be the suave one and stop Farnsworth and take off his glasses. Theirloveissodorky!
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Rodney was unpacking the last of his books when someone knocked on his office door. He still wasn't used to it, the heavy wooden doors with knobs you had to pull or push, so he just shouted "In!" and kept working.
"Doctor McKay?" It was a man about his own age, fairish and solid-looking. He wore coke-bottle glasses and an inquisitive expression. "I'm Henry Farnsworth. Office down the hall a bit. Saw your lights on and thought I'd introduce myself."
"How do you do," Rodney said, trying not to sound impatient. The English were so hung up on protocol, on saying all the right words at the right time. He'd promised Hardy he'd try, but he was still gate-lagged and out of sorts, and right now he'd rather be facing a Replicant than making small talk.
"Settling in all right?"
Rodney shrugged. "Everything's fine so far. Of course, I've only met five people so far and one of them is the janitor."
"He's the nicest bloke we've got," Farnsworth said.
"Then I shudder to think of the rest of your department. What do you do, other than play welcome wagon?"
"Seems like I should be asking you that question."
"What?"
Farnsworth leaned back against the doorframe. "Doctor Hardy's a good department head, and a great physicist, so when he says we need to give someone a fellowship for the year and to trust him, we do. Doesn't mean I'm not curious why he'd stick his neck out so far for someone with almost no publishing history and a vita covered in 'classified's." His expression was still inquisitive, untroubled. Rodney didn't know what to make of him.
But there wasn't any harm in answering the man's question, or at least part of it. "My primary speciality is Lorentzian wormhole physics. However, lately I've been working on a theoretical model for drawing energy through subspace. I think I'm close to something interesting, but I needed somewhere I could focus on my research for a while, away from the day-to-day demands of… of my other work." He didn't say, away from the spectacle of John Sheppard in love, and the way Atlantis practically radiated with his contentment. Away from the million and a half festivals that Kin'a's people had to celebrate a union between two leaders - and wasn't it fitting, somehow, that Sheppard would marry an alien princess? Tall and regal and gorgeous, like all his women, but like none of the others, she'd come home with them, to stay. Rodney had made it through the first three weeks of engagement parties on sheer willpower alone. Then he'd e-mailed Tom Hardy at Cambridge, cashing in the last of the favors he'd stored up over the twenty years they'd known one another to beg for a seminar, a lecture, anything. Anything, as long as it was far away.
"Well, you'll find that here," said Farnsworth. "And if you're interested, I'm doing a problems in space-time reading group this term, Wednesday evenings, at my flat. Mostly other faculty, but the occasional over-eager student joins in."
"Hawking won't be there, will he?"
"Dr. Hawking? Hardly. He's a bit grand for us."
"Good. I promised Hardy I wouldn't call him misguided to his face. Apparently it's bad for his breathing."
Farnsworth laughed out loud at that. His laugh was warm and clear, almost musical, and Rodney found himself smiling in response without meaning to. "It's not funny," he insisted lamely.
"No, of course not," Farnsworth said, wiping at his eyes. "Not in the slightest. Doctor McKay, you're a breath of fresh air. If you won't come to our group voluntarily, I'll have to drag you to my flat by force."
Rodney had a mental flash of Farnsworth pulling him through the door of his own one-room apartment in town, and he felt warm in a way he hadn't in a long time. "I think I can manage it," he said. "Wednesdays?"
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how can anyone *not* love a space time reading group?
thank you!!!
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(Inspired, btw, by a reading group in media theory I was part of as one of those over-eager students for a term in Glasgow, longer ago than I care to admit. I spit-taked red wine on Simon Frith. Such are my claims to fame.)
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