Fantastic Myth, Wild Legend, Simple Truth
Curse you comment_fic for inspiring people to write amazing prompts which inspire random, crazy bursts of writing. I honestly didn't even know where to go with this prompt and it kind of took on a mind of its own. But I really like where it ended up. I surprised myself. =P I hope you get as much pleasure and enjoyment out of reading this as I got from writing it.
Title: Fantastic Myth, Wild Legend, Simple Truth
Rating: G
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: McShep, although it's really only implied, nothing blatant or graphic
Prompt: "Stargate Atlantis, John/Rodney, the most dangerous men in two galaxies" by tigriswolf
If someone were to ask Rodney just how they ended up with their reputation, he'd launch himself into a long rant about Ancient technology and subspace theory and quantum dimensional mirrors and black holes and interdimensional realities and so forth, rattling off data and equations with hands gesticulating wildly in broad sweeps of movement. At some point he'd pause, take a breath, furrow his brow and pause again, and then grudgingly admit that he had absolutely no damn clue; no possible theory he could come up with would explain it.
John would shrug and say that he never saw it coming.
Teyla would smile, and list off such qualities as loyalty and courage and the tenacious stubbornness inherent in both of them that allowed them to work exceptionally well together.
Ronon would raise an eyebrow and give that little half-smile that made his eyes light up and that was a treasure in and of itself because he'd finally grown comfortable enough, felt at home enough, to be able to open up that much. He'd casually pat the person on the back or shoulder, always underestimating his own strength, causing them to stumble as he offered to show them with an air of enjoyment as he dragged them to the gym.
Elizabeth Weir, after being recovered from where she drifted aimlessly in space, would grin, delight in her eyes, and refrain commenting beyond "I really couldn't say".
Jack would stare for a moment, offer a "Huh," and a shrug and continue on his way.
Teal'c would close his eyes and smile, acknowledging their ability as warriors, even if unconventional.
Daniel would laugh and say that even with whatever minor knowledge he gained from ascending he wouldn't know, especially since even a fully ascended Ancient probably couldn't say for sure.
For that matter, an ascended Ancient would merely refrain from answering, citing their rule of noninterference, not wanting to admit that they really weren't omniscient.
Sam would gape for a moment at hearing such reputation, then shake her head, unable to contain the incredulous "Rodney?!" that would emerge, before pausing and thinking back to the events of that year in which she was head of the Atlantis expedition, contemplating the entirely different facet of Rodney that she had been presented with, and grinning helplessly before repeating, "Rodney."
The Wraith, were they still around to ask, would hiss in disgust and negate that they could hold such a title, claiming it ridiculous, and then draining the inquirer for the arrogance and disrespect.
The Asgard would blink and politely, but firmly, assure that it was not possible.
The various populations of various planets would recount wild legends, none of which would correlate with each other, and would often vary even between person to person.
Woolsey would admit to not knowing, but cheerfully declaring that it helped a great deal in bolstering their reputation and creating valuable alliances and trading partners.
The older generations of Genii would grimace in distaste and spew forth accusations of theivery and murder and destruction of their ideals and government. Children would listen, and learn to hate, but learn to fear more, and generations later, the Genii would consider themselves grateful to have survived a terrible ordeal in their past, and parents would tell the stories in order to ensure good behavior.
And centuries later, the legend would still be told, the stories bearing no resemblance to those originally spoken, and nowhere near the truth. They'd vary between heroic, courageous tales of glory and honor and tales of deeds so evil and repugnant that people still quaked in fear.
And throughout time, as legend turned to myth and the stories grew wilder still, only one being would remember the simple truths of quick, open, awed minds, nimble knowing touches with deft fingers, the simple childish delight of discovery, the open, loving hearts and treasured souls that reached out for her comforting humming presence and reveled in it, needed it, needed her, even while they reveled in and needed each other.
Only one being would know, and know forever, long after they were less than dust on the wind and long after even their myths slowly died and no one else would remember.
One being would remember and hold the precious memory close, refusing to forget even as everything else was forgotten, abandoned. John Sheppard and Rodney McKay were the most dangerous men in two galaxies, and the reason why was devastatingly simple.
And Atlantis would never tell.
Title: Fantastic Myth, Wild Legend, Simple Truth
Rating: G
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: McShep, although it's really only implied, nothing blatant or graphic
Prompt: "Stargate Atlantis, John/Rodney, the most dangerous men in two galaxies" by tigriswolf
If someone were to ask Rodney just how they ended up with their reputation, he'd launch himself into a long rant about Ancient technology and subspace theory and quantum dimensional mirrors and black holes and interdimensional realities and so forth, rattling off data and equations with hands gesticulating wildly in broad sweeps of movement. At some point he'd pause, take a breath, furrow his brow and pause again, and then grudgingly admit that he had absolutely no damn clue; no possible theory he could come up with would explain it.
John would shrug and say that he never saw it coming.
Teyla would smile, and list off such qualities as loyalty and courage and the tenacious stubbornness inherent in both of them that allowed them to work exceptionally well together.
Ronon would raise an eyebrow and give that little half-smile that made his eyes light up and that was a treasure in and of itself because he'd finally grown comfortable enough, felt at home enough, to be able to open up that much. He'd casually pat the person on the back or shoulder, always underestimating his own strength, causing them to stumble as he offered to show them with an air of enjoyment as he dragged them to the gym.
Elizabeth Weir, after being recovered from where she drifted aimlessly in space, would grin, delight in her eyes, and refrain commenting beyond "I really couldn't say".
Jack would stare for a moment, offer a "Huh," and a shrug and continue on his way.
Teal'c would close his eyes and smile, acknowledging their ability as warriors, even if unconventional.
Daniel would laugh and say that even with whatever minor knowledge he gained from ascending he wouldn't know, especially since even a fully ascended Ancient probably couldn't say for sure.
For that matter, an ascended Ancient would merely refrain from answering, citing their rule of noninterference, not wanting to admit that they really weren't omniscient.
Sam would gape for a moment at hearing such reputation, then shake her head, unable to contain the incredulous "Rodney?!" that would emerge, before pausing and thinking back to the events of that year in which she was head of the Atlantis expedition, contemplating the entirely different facet of Rodney that she had been presented with, and grinning helplessly before repeating, "Rodney."
The Wraith, were they still around to ask, would hiss in disgust and negate that they could hold such a title, claiming it ridiculous, and then draining the inquirer for the arrogance and disrespect.
The Asgard would blink and politely, but firmly, assure that it was not possible.
The various populations of various planets would recount wild legends, none of which would correlate with each other, and would often vary even between person to person.
Woolsey would admit to not knowing, but cheerfully declaring that it helped a great deal in bolstering their reputation and creating valuable alliances and trading partners.
The older generations of Genii would grimace in distaste and spew forth accusations of theivery and murder and destruction of their ideals and government. Children would listen, and learn to hate, but learn to fear more, and generations later, the Genii would consider themselves grateful to have survived a terrible ordeal in their past, and parents would tell the stories in order to ensure good behavior.
And centuries later, the legend would still be told, the stories bearing no resemblance to those originally spoken, and nowhere near the truth. They'd vary between heroic, courageous tales of glory and honor and tales of deeds so evil and repugnant that people still quaked in fear.
And throughout time, as legend turned to myth and the stories grew wilder still, only one being would remember the simple truths of quick, open, awed minds, nimble knowing touches with deft fingers, the simple childish delight of discovery, the open, loving hearts and treasured souls that reached out for her comforting humming presence and reveled in it, needed it, needed her, even while they reveled in and needed each other.
Only one being would know, and know forever, long after they were less than dust on the wind and long after even their myths slowly died and no one else would remember.
One being would remember and hold the precious memory close, refusing to forget even as everything else was forgotten, abandoned. John Sheppard and Rodney McKay were the most dangerous men in two galaxies, and the reason why was devastatingly simple.
And Atlantis would never tell.