Spaghetti 01: xover SGA/Farscape
I do a lot of writing at work to pass the time. Most of it just stays in stacks on my desk, but I've decided that I'll just start posting these things on my journal, both to encourage me to type them up, but also to see if I will eventually go anywhere with them. So I present you with Spaghetti number one (IE throw it to the wall and see what sticks).
amiguriken got me started on tassosss' Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow fic which is a GOOD SGA/Farscpe crossover. It amazes both Kristy and I that there are very few of these xovers out there. I mean both shows have wormholes, it should be a natural! Since she's a big 'Scaper it makes her happy, and I'm a Crichton fan. I just love how John reacts to things. He really is Robinson Caruso on Mars. So much fun. Anyway, since reading the bits of TaTaT, I found myself doing a bit of crossing at work that night.
Title: Starting Points and Similarities
Fandom: Farscape/SGA
Pairing: Sheppard/Crichton possibly
It wasn’t like he was asking much. Sanity is a fairly simple thing to want. In fact, it probably on that list of basic human needs from Psych 101 underneath shelter or something. He’s having trouble remembering, though whether due to the fact that he slept through that class or the hypoxia, he’s not sure.
The big alien guy is hooting and growling in something that might be a language. The alabaster chick is talking back to him in what could be another. John just lies limply on the floor where he’s been thrown.
“Well this seems vaguely familiar,” the smiling blue-eyed man squatting next to him says in a drawl.
“Mitchell?” John croaks.
“No, I’m John.”
“No, I’m John,” he insists because the sanity thing is important and if he isn’t John Sheppard then that throws the whole thing right out the window. “You’re Mitchell,” he concludes as best he can.
A tall dark haired beauty babbles something at the man who thinks he’s John. The man replies, like she hadn’t been speaking gibberish at all.
“John’s a common name, but not everyone from my planet is named John.”
His planet. John figures it’s a good idea to pass out. Everything goes black.
----
Wormhole travel is safe. That’s the first thing Rodney will tell you. Of course, then he’ll make you’re heart stop by adding “mostly.” Anything that rips you apart and then puts you back together is bound to have its issues. The Stargates themselves make the process safer by doing that. An uncontrollable wormhole is nobody’s friend. Despite all John’s new experiences with space travel, he’s never really feared the vacuum. Even that one time when the Daedalus’ main hatch was opening, he’d felt somewhat secure. So being spit out of a wild wormhole into the black emptiness with no Puddlejumper around him was at the least a surprise. Fear grips him like nothing he’s felt before. He hasn’t been prepared for this. Of course, he’s hardly prepared for also being snared by a net and yanked into what appears to be some sort of art deco hanger.
----
John is only still just getting used to the idea of Hermiod. At least there’s some sort of frame of reference for the little gray guy. The frog thing stealing his food isn't in that frame, not so much outside of Star Wars, anyway.
“It’s stealing my food,” John says to NotMitchell as the man approaches the cell.
The little frog gives an indignant sounding speech.
“Shut up, Sparky,” NotMitchell says to the thing, and then turns back to John. “You could try moving the food away from the door.”
“I don’t mind being locked up. The sad part is, I think I’m starting to get used to it, but I draw the line at eating whatever that is.”
“Then why do you care that Rigel is eating it?” NotMitchell asks.
“Principle.”
“You’re from Earth.”
“Yup.”
NotMitchell frowns at him, waves around at the cell and rest of the ship, and says, “You don’t seem surprised by all this.”
John shrugs. He doesn’t know who these “people” are. NotMitchell smiles at him like he knows exactly what John is thinking.
---
It is hard sleeping on the ship. For a military guy who is used to being able to sleep just about anywhere, it’s disconcerting. The ship makes a noise that’s not like anyplace John has ever been.
“Can’t sleep?”
John jumps at the voice. He hasn’t been paying attention to anything beyond the cell doors. NotMitchell is leaning against the open door. John raises an eyebrow in response. NotMitchell keeps talking as if he’s done nothing unusual.
“It used to bug me too. I couldn’t figure it out. Moya, that’s the ship, is alive. It’s like living inside a gigantic whale listening to all the things that keep her going.”
“Alive?” John asks with surprise.
NotMitchell nods. “It’s pretty neat.”
John glances at the door, but NotMitchell is armed, and they’ve already taken his P-90 and Beretta.
“You’re not a prisoner. Not really,” the man says reading John’s mind again.
John asks with a smirk, “Then can I have my guns back?”
He gets a smirk in return as NotMitchell says, “Nope.”
“Didn’t think you’d go for that. Why do you keep smiling at me?”
“You’re from Earth. You came through a wormhole.”
“So?”
“So, now there are two of us. My name is John, John Crichton. Feel free to give me your name, rank, and serial number if you like.”
“My name’s John Sheppard, Lt Colonel John Sheppard, and we can skip the serial number. I have a feeling it wouldn’t mean much to you anyway.”
amiguriken got me started on tassosss' Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow fic which is a GOOD SGA/Farscpe crossover. It amazes both Kristy and I that there are very few of these xovers out there. I mean both shows have wormholes, it should be a natural! Since she's a big 'Scaper it makes her happy, and I'm a Crichton fan. I just love how John reacts to things. He really is Robinson Caruso on Mars. So much fun. Anyway, since reading the bits of TaTaT, I found myself doing a bit of crossing at work that night.
Title: Starting Points and Similarities
Fandom: Farscape/SGA
Pairing: Sheppard/Crichton possibly
It wasn’t like he was asking much. Sanity is a fairly simple thing to want. In fact, it probably on that list of basic human needs from Psych 101 underneath shelter or something. He’s having trouble remembering, though whether due to the fact that he slept through that class or the hypoxia, he’s not sure.
The big alien guy is hooting and growling in something that might be a language. The alabaster chick is talking back to him in what could be another. John just lies limply on the floor where he’s been thrown.
“Well this seems vaguely familiar,” the smiling blue-eyed man squatting next to him says in a drawl.
“Mitchell?” John croaks.
“No, I’m John.”
“No, I’m John,” he insists because the sanity thing is important and if he isn’t John Sheppard then that throws the whole thing right out the window. “You’re Mitchell,” he concludes as best he can.
A tall dark haired beauty babbles something at the man who thinks he’s John. The man replies, like she hadn’t been speaking gibberish at all.
“John’s a common name, but not everyone from my planet is named John.”
His planet. John figures it’s a good idea to pass out. Everything goes black.
----
Wormhole travel is safe. That’s the first thing Rodney will tell you. Of course, then he’ll make you’re heart stop by adding “mostly.” Anything that rips you apart and then puts you back together is bound to have its issues. The Stargates themselves make the process safer by doing that. An uncontrollable wormhole is nobody’s friend. Despite all John’s new experiences with space travel, he’s never really feared the vacuum. Even that one time when the Daedalus’ main hatch was opening, he’d felt somewhat secure. So being spit out of a wild wormhole into the black emptiness with no Puddlejumper around him was at the least a surprise. Fear grips him like nothing he’s felt before. He hasn’t been prepared for this. Of course, he’s hardly prepared for also being snared by a net and yanked into what appears to be some sort of art deco hanger.
----
John is only still just getting used to the idea of Hermiod. At least there’s some sort of frame of reference for the little gray guy. The frog thing stealing his food isn't in that frame, not so much outside of Star Wars, anyway.
“It’s stealing my food,” John says to NotMitchell as the man approaches the cell.
The little frog gives an indignant sounding speech.
“Shut up, Sparky,” NotMitchell says to the thing, and then turns back to John. “You could try moving the food away from the door.”
“I don’t mind being locked up. The sad part is, I think I’m starting to get used to it, but I draw the line at eating whatever that is.”
“Then why do you care that Rigel is eating it?” NotMitchell asks.
“Principle.”
“You’re from Earth.”
“Yup.”
NotMitchell frowns at him, waves around at the cell and rest of the ship, and says, “You don’t seem surprised by all this.”
John shrugs. He doesn’t know who these “people” are. NotMitchell smiles at him like he knows exactly what John is thinking.
---
It is hard sleeping on the ship. For a military guy who is used to being able to sleep just about anywhere, it’s disconcerting. The ship makes a noise that’s not like anyplace John has ever been.
“Can’t sleep?”
John jumps at the voice. He hasn’t been paying attention to anything beyond the cell doors. NotMitchell is leaning against the open door. John raises an eyebrow in response. NotMitchell keeps talking as if he’s done nothing unusual.
“It used to bug me too. I couldn’t figure it out. Moya, that’s the ship, is alive. It’s like living inside a gigantic whale listening to all the things that keep her going.”
“Alive?” John asks with surprise.
NotMitchell nods. “It’s pretty neat.”
John glances at the door, but NotMitchell is armed, and they’ve already taken his P-90 and Beretta.
“You’re not a prisoner. Not really,” the man says reading John’s mind again.
John asks with a smirk, “Then can I have my guns back?”
He gets a smirk in return as NotMitchell says, “Nope.”
“Didn’t think you’d go for that. Why do you keep smiling at me?”
“You’re from Earth. You came through a wormhole.”
“So?”
“So, now there are two of us. My name is John, John Crichton. Feel free to give me your name, rank, and serial number if you like.”
“My name’s John Sheppard, Lt Colonel John Sheppard, and we can skip the serial number. I have a feeling it wouldn’t mean much to you anyway.”